God is up to something. Be hopeful
God is up to something. Be hopeful
البحث
إكتشاف أشخاص جدد وإنشاء اتصالات جديدة وصداقات جديدة
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2 التعليقات 5 المشاركات 172 مشاهدة1
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THE AGONY OF THE BENUE STATE PEOPLE
Benue, land of sorrow and pain,
Where blood of innocents stains the ground again.
The cries echo through the night,
As lives are lost, and futures take flight.
Who will save our land from this despair?
Will it be the Governor, SGF, or Federal care?
Will faith leaders step in to calm the strife?
Or will our children continue to lose their life?
The farmers, once proud, now lie in death's cold grasp,
Their villages bleeding, their future aghost.
The land is scarred, the people worn,
Their hearts heavy with grief, their hope forlorn.
We call out for help, for someone to hear,
To save our Benue, to wipe away our tears.
The Agony is real, the pain is true,
Benue State is dying, and nobody's coming through.
Help us spread the word, send out a plea,
To those who can help, to set our people free.
Benue needs a savior, a voice to cry out loud,
To stop the bloodshed, to heal the wounds allowed.
Afodaga Digital Coach and supported by CAP Members.THE AGONY OF THE BENUE STATE PEOPLE 😭😭😭 Benue, land of sorrow and pain, Where blood of innocents stains the ground again. The cries echo through the night, As lives are lost, and futures take flight. Who will save our land from this despair? Will it be the Governor, SGF, or Federal care? Will faith leaders step in to calm the strife? Or will our children continue to lose their life? The farmers, once proud, now lie in death's cold grasp, Their villages bleeding, their future aghost. The land is scarred, the people worn, Their hearts heavy with grief, their hope forlorn. We call out for help, for someone to hear, To save our Benue, to wipe away our tears. The Agony is real, the pain is true, Benue State is dying, and nobody's coming through. Help us spread the word, send out a plea, To those who can help, to set our people free. Benue needs a savior, a voice to cry out loud, To stop the bloodshed, to heal the wounds allowed. Afodaga Digital Coach and supported by CAP Members.0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 93 مشاهدة -
THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 2
The first time Jessica stepped into the VIP lounge, her stomach twisted with shame. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and desperation, a far cry from the stench of the slums she had grown up in. The neon lights flickered, casting shadows over the faces of men who watched her like she was a meal. She was nineteen, dressed in a tight black dress that clung to curves she hadn’t even known she possessed—a far cry from the bony girl who used to count grains of rice in the dirt.
Lady Lily, the woman in the sleek car, had painted this life as glamorous. "You’ll wear designer clothes, sleep in five-star hotels, and make in one night what your parents sweat for in a year," she had said.
But the first time a client touched her, Jessica had locked herself in a bathroom afterward and scrubbed her skin raw.
Not all of it was hell.
There were nights when the men were kind—older businessmen who preferred conversation over groping, who tipped her extra when they saw textbooks peeking out of her bag. Some even admired her ambition.
"You’re too smart for this," one had said, a silver-haired executive who paid her just to listen to him talk about his failed marriage. He left her an envelope thick with cash and a note: "For your education."
On those nights, Jessica allowed herself to hope. She would return to her tiny apartment—a step up from the slums, but still a far cry from luxury—and spread her books across the bed. Economics. Law. Literature. She devoured knowledge like a starving woman, her highlighter bleeding across pages late into the night.
And then there was the money.
Every month, without fail, she sent home stacks of cash—enough to feed her siblings, to pay for medicine, to finally get her father’s cough checked by a real doctor. Her mother’s voice on the phone was lighter these days, no longer frayed with exhaustion. "God bless you, my daughter," she would say, and Jessica would swallow the lump in her throat.
They never asked where the money came from.
She never told.
But then there were the other nights.
The ones where men didn’t see her as a person, just a body. The ones where their hands left bruises, where their laughter was cruel, where they called her names that made her want to vanish.
One client, a politician with a gold Rolex and dead eyes, had smirked as he threw cash at her feet. "Pick it up," he ordered.
She did.
That night, she cried in the shower until the water ran cold.
Lady Lily had warned her: *"This life will eat you alive if you let it."
Jessica refused to let it.
She kept a strict schedule—classes in the morning, study sessions in the library between appointments, nights "working" only when she had to. She learned how to read men, how to manipulate their desires, how to give them just enough to keep them coming back without losing pieces of herself.
And she never, ever let herself forget why she was doing this.
Her siblings were slipping away—one sister pregnant at sixteen, a brother dropping out of school to hawk goods in traffic. The slum was a monster, and it was hungry.
But Jessica had claws too.
Then came the night she met him.
A crime lord.
Not just any client, but the kind of man even powerful people whispered about. His name was a rumor, a shadow. And when he walked into the VIP lounge, the air shifted.
He didn’t leer at her like the others. He studied her.
"You don’t belong here,"* he said, his voice low.
Jessica met his gaze without flinching. "Neither do you."
For the first time in years, someone saw her—*really* saw her.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
TO BE CONTINUED...THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS PART 2 The first time Jessica stepped into the VIP lounge, her stomach twisted with shame. The air smelled like expensive whiskey and desperation, a far cry from the stench of the slums she had grown up in. The neon lights flickered, casting shadows over the faces of men who watched her like she was a meal. She was nineteen, dressed in a tight black dress that clung to curves she hadn’t even known she possessed—a far cry from the bony girl who used to count grains of rice in the dirt. Lady Lily, the woman in the sleek car, had painted this life as glamorous. "You’ll wear designer clothes, sleep in five-star hotels, and make in one night what your parents sweat for in a year," she had said. But the first time a client touched her, Jessica had locked herself in a bathroom afterward and scrubbed her skin raw. Not all of it was hell. There were nights when the men were kind—older businessmen who preferred conversation over groping, who tipped her extra when they saw textbooks peeking out of her bag. Some even admired her ambition. "You’re too smart for this," one had said, a silver-haired executive who paid her just to listen to him talk about his failed marriage. He left her an envelope thick with cash and a note: "For your education." On those nights, Jessica allowed herself to hope. She would return to her tiny apartment—a step up from the slums, but still a far cry from luxury—and spread her books across the bed. Economics. Law. Literature. She devoured knowledge like a starving woman, her highlighter bleeding across pages late into the night. And then there was the money. Every month, without fail, she sent home stacks of cash—enough to feed her siblings, to pay for medicine, to finally get her father’s cough checked by a real doctor. Her mother’s voice on the phone was lighter these days, no longer frayed with exhaustion. "God bless you, my daughter," she would say, and Jessica would swallow the lump in her throat. They never asked where the money came from. She never told. But then there were the other nights. The ones where men didn’t see her as a person, just a body. The ones where their hands left bruises, where their laughter was cruel, where they called her names that made her want to vanish. One client, a politician with a gold Rolex and dead eyes, had smirked as he threw cash at her feet. "Pick it up," he ordered. She did. That night, she cried in the shower until the water ran cold. Lady Lily had warned her: *"This life will eat you alive if you let it." Jessica refused to let it. She kept a strict schedule—classes in the morning, study sessions in the library between appointments, nights "working" only when she had to. She learned how to read men, how to manipulate their desires, how to give them just enough to keep them coming back without losing pieces of herself. And she never, ever let herself forget why she was doing this. Her siblings were slipping away—one sister pregnant at sixteen, a brother dropping out of school to hawk goods in traffic. The slum was a monster, and it was hungry. But Jessica had claws too. Then came the night she met him. A crime lord. Not just any client, but the kind of man even powerful people whispered about. His name was a rumor, a shadow. And when he walked into the VIP lounge, the air shifted. He didn’t leer at her like the others. He studied her. "You don’t belong here,"* he said, his voice low. Jessica met his gaze without flinching. "Neither do you." For the first time in years, someone saw her—*really* saw her. And that was the most dangerous thing of all. TO BE CONTINUED...
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THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS
PART 1
The stench of rotting garbage and sweat clung to the air like a curse. In the heart of Lagos' worst slump, where hope went to die, a little girl with too-big eyes and ribs poking through her skin crouched in the dirt, counting grains of rice like they were gold. Jessica was eight years old the first time she understood what hunger truly was—not just the gnawing emptiness in her belly, but the kind that made her mother weep silently at night, the kind that made her father’s hands shake when he couldn’t afford medicine for her baby brother’s fever.
Nine people. One room. A single mattress stained with years of suffering, shared between her parents and seven children. The walls were thin, and the sounds of the slum never slept—drunken shouts, the cries of hungry babies, the scuttling of rats that were bolder than the people. Jessica learned early that life wasn’t fair. While other children played, she scavenged. While others dreamed, she fought—for food, for space, for a single moment of silence.
But there was something different about Jessica. Even as a child, her eyes burned with a fire that poverty couldn’t extinguish. At ten, she taught herself to read using tattered newspapers she found in the trash. At twelve, she sold boiled groundnuts under the scorching sun, saving every coin in a rusted tin she buried beneath their floor. At fifteen, she watched her eldest sister, Ada, disappear into the night with a man who promised her "work"—Ada never came back. That was the day Jessica swore she would never let the slum swallow her whole.
By some miracle—or sheer stubbornness—she finished secondary school. Then came the university admission letter, a flimsy piece of paper that felt like a ticket to heaven. But heaven came with a price. Her parents cried—not tears of joy, but of shame, because they couldn’t afford it. So Jessica did what she had always done: she fought.
She sold pure water under the rain, braved the leering eyes of market men who "tipped" her extra for bending low, took cleaning jobs in rich neighborhoods where women looked at her like she was dirt. Still, it wasn’t enough. Then one evening, a woman in a sleek car rolled down her window and said the words that would change everything: "A girl like you could make a month’s salary in one night."
Jessica knew what it meant. She wasn’t ******. But as she stared at the woman’s manicured nails and perfumed wrists, she thought of her siblings’ hollow cheeks, her father’s cough that never went away, her mother’s broken back from carrying other people’s loads. That night, she made a choice—not because she wanted to, but because the slum had given her no other options.
She became an escort. Not the kind draped in shame, but the kind who wore her pain like armor. She studied men the way she had once studied textbooks—learning their weaknesses, their desires, the way power curled around them like smoke. She was careful. She was smart. And most importantly, she had a plan.
This life wouldn’t break her. It would fuel her.
Because Jessica had one rule: no matter how far she sank, she would never stop climbing.
TO BE CONTINUED....THE DEVIL'S MISTRESS PART 1 The stench of rotting garbage and sweat clung to the air like a curse. In the heart of Lagos' worst slump, where hope went to die, a little girl with too-big eyes and ribs poking through her skin crouched in the dirt, counting grains of rice like they were gold. Jessica was eight years old the first time she understood what hunger truly was—not just the gnawing emptiness in her belly, but the kind that made her mother weep silently at night, the kind that made her father’s hands shake when he couldn’t afford medicine for her baby brother’s fever. Nine people. One room. A single mattress stained with years of suffering, shared between her parents and seven children. The walls were thin, and the sounds of the slum never slept—drunken shouts, the cries of hungry babies, the scuttling of rats that were bolder than the people. Jessica learned early that life wasn’t fair. While other children played, she scavenged. While others dreamed, she fought—for food, for space, for a single moment of silence. But there was something different about Jessica. Even as a child, her eyes burned with a fire that poverty couldn’t extinguish. At ten, she taught herself to read using tattered newspapers she found in the trash. At twelve, she sold boiled groundnuts under the scorching sun, saving every coin in a rusted tin she buried beneath their floor. At fifteen, she watched her eldest sister, Ada, disappear into the night with a man who promised her "work"—Ada never came back. That was the day Jessica swore she would never let the slum swallow her whole. By some miracle—or sheer stubbornness—she finished secondary school. Then came the university admission letter, a flimsy piece of paper that felt like a ticket to heaven. But heaven came with a price. Her parents cried—not tears of joy, but of shame, because they couldn’t afford it. So Jessica did what she had always done: she fought. She sold pure water under the rain, braved the leering eyes of market men who "tipped" her extra for bending low, took cleaning jobs in rich neighborhoods where women looked at her like she was dirt. Still, it wasn’t enough. Then one evening, a woman in a sleek car rolled down her window and said the words that would change everything: "A girl like you could make a month’s salary in one night." Jessica knew what it meant. She wasn’t stupid. But as she stared at the woman’s manicured nails and perfumed wrists, she thought of her siblings’ hollow cheeks, her father’s cough that never went away, her mother’s broken back from carrying other people’s loads. That night, she made a choice—not because she wanted to, but because the slum had given her no other options. She became an escort. Not the kind draped in shame, but the kind who wore her pain like armor. She studied men the way she had once studied textbooks—learning their weaknesses, their desires, the way power curled around them like smoke. She was careful. She was smart. And most importantly, she had a plan. This life wouldn’t break her. It would fuel her. Because Jessica had one rule: no matter how far she sank, she would never stop climbing. TO BE CONTINUED....
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Somewhere along the path of life,
you'll get crushed by its demands and unpredictability.
You'll hit the wall. You'll feel hopeless. Sad. You'll feel alone. You'll question every decision you've made.
You'll wonder if you're really where you're meant to be, or if you've lost your way entirely. And sometimes, everything will feel like too much. Like nothing is working. Like you're standing still while the world keeps moving. But I hope that in such times, you'll remember that you'll be okay. That the waves and winds will eventually settle. That these moments, just like seasons, don't last forever. You won't feel like this always. You'll not be hopeless forever. You will not be stuck here forever. And even when it's hard to believe, you are not alone. You will rise again. You will find your way through life. You will look back, with tears of joy, seeing how far you came.Somewhere along the path of life, you'll get crushed by its demands and unpredictability. You'll hit the wall. You'll feel hopeless. Sad. You'll feel alone. You'll question every decision you've made. You'll wonder if you're really where you're meant to be, or if you've lost your way entirely. And sometimes, everything will feel like too much. Like nothing is working. Like you're standing still while the world keeps moving. But I hope that in such times, you'll remember that you'll be okay. That the waves and winds will eventually settle. That these moments, just like seasons, don't last forever. You won't feel like this always. You'll not be hopeless forever. You will not be stuck here forever. And even when it's hard to believe, you are not alone. You will rise again. You will find your way through life. You will look back, with tears of joy, seeing how far you came.
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O Loving Shepherd of our souls, I come before You with a heart open and ready to receive. In the midst of life's unending demands, grant me the grace to find quiet moments with You. Help me to embrace the stillness where Your voice can be heard, where Your comforting presence can be felt. Teach me to be like Mary, who chose what was better, and to learn from Martha, who found hope in her listening. May Your words, "I am the resurrection and the life," resonate within me, bringing peace to my troubled spirit and assurance of Your everlasting love. In the precious name of Jesus, our Living Hope, I offer this prayer. Amen.O Loving Shepherd of our souls, I come before You with a heart open and ready to receive. In the midst of life's unending demands, grant me the grace to find quiet moments with You. Help me to embrace the stillness where Your voice can be heard, where Your comforting presence can be felt. Teach me to be like Mary, who chose what was better, and to learn from Martha, who found hope in her listening. May Your words, "I am the resurrection and the life," resonate within me, bringing peace to my troubled spirit and assurance of Your everlasting love. In the precious name of Jesus, our Living Hope, I offer this prayer. Amen.0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 98 مشاهدة1
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*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE*
DATE: MONDAY 16TH JUNE 2025
THEME: *FAITH'S ANCHOR*
MEMORIZE
Hebrews 11:1
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
READ
Hebrews 11:1-6
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
For by it the elders obtained a good report.
Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.
By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh.
By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God.
But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him.
THOUGHT FOR THE DAY
*The loss of hope is the crash of faith*
MESSAGE
According to our memory verse for today, faith depends on hope to sustain it's substance unto maturation. Faith hangs on the wings of hope because it is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.
POINT TO NOTE:
*The loss of hope is the crash of faith!*
One of your greatest responsibilities is to keep hope alive always because without hope, faith is powerless to deliver. There must be a picture kept perpetually before your eyes on which your faith anchors.
Faith is the future that we hope for in the present. The Bible says, "Now Faith is the substance hoped for," so the substance of faith in the present that we can hold on to is
Hope.
Hope is the true picture of the future, as shown from the scriptures.
We must continue to gaze on the promises of God in the scriptures to keep faith alive.
*Our gaze on the scriptures is the reason for Hope.*
We can only be hopeful if we continue to gaze at what God has told us in His Word.
*Faith starts to sink very fast when we take our eyes off of the word of God.*
I can only think of Peter walking on the water to go to Jesus because the Lord Jesus Christ (the Word) gave him faith to do so by telling him to come over to Him on the water.
The Lord Jesus Christ represents the Word of Hope. Peter's ability to keep his eyes on the Lord Jesus is the exercise of keeping Hope alive for faith to stay sustained. He only began to lose faith and consequently began to sink when he took his gaze off the Lord.
Beloved, where are you today in your walk with God? Are you still walking on the water, or are you already sinking because you are distracted by situations and circumstances around you?
MY COUNSEL
Refocus your eyes on the Lord Jesus Christ today through the word of God.
*Your future hides in the scriptures.*
Keep hope alive always by keeping your gaze on what God has said to you from His word.
ACTION STEPS
1. Revisit past revelations from the scriptures.
2. Renew your faith in God by refreshing your hope in the word.
3. Pray fervently for grace to stay focused on the promises of God through the Word.
PRAYERS
Dear heavenly Father, Thank you for today's devotional guide. Help me to stay tuned to your word by faith in Jesus' name. Amen.
REMEMBER
*The loss of hope is the crash of faith.*
AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID
DAILY READING: Ezekiel 41-42, Judges 14-15, Acts 10.
HYMN
My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness ;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus' name.
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand ;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.
2
When darkness hides His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the vail.
3
His oath, His covenant, His blood,
Support me in the 'whelming flood ;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.
4
When He shall come with trumpet sound,
On ,may I then in Him be found,
Clothed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne !
PLEASE SHARE*THE RESTORER'S DAILY GUIDE* DATE: MONDAY 16TH JUNE 2025 THEME: *FAITH'S ANCHOR* MEMORIZE Hebrews 11:1 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. READ Hebrews 11:1-6 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the elders obtained a good report. Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear. By faith Abel offered unto God a more excellent sacrifice than Cain, by which he obtained witness that he was righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he being dead yet speaketh. By faith Enoch was translated that he should not see death; and was not found, because God had translated him: for before his translation he had this testimony, that he pleased God. But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him. THOUGHT FOR THE DAY *The loss of hope is the crash of faith* MESSAGE According to our memory verse for today, faith depends on hope to sustain it's substance unto maturation. Faith hangs on the wings of hope because it is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen. POINT TO NOTE: *The loss of hope is the crash of faith!* One of your greatest responsibilities is to keep hope alive always because without hope, faith is powerless to deliver. There must be a picture kept perpetually before your eyes on which your faith anchors. Faith is the future that we hope for in the present. The Bible says, "Now Faith is the substance hoped for," so the substance of faith in the present that we can hold on to is Hope. Hope is the true picture of the future, as shown from the scriptures. We must continue to gaze on the promises of God in the scriptures to keep faith alive. *Our gaze on the scriptures is the reason for Hope.* We can only be hopeful if we continue to gaze at what God has told us in His Word. *Faith starts to sink very fast when we take our eyes off of the word of God.* I can only think of Peter walking on the water to go to Jesus because the Lord Jesus Christ (the Word) gave him faith to do so by telling him to come over to Him on the water. The Lord Jesus Christ represents the Word of Hope. Peter's ability to keep his eyes on the Lord Jesus is the exercise of keeping Hope alive for faith to stay sustained. He only began to lose faith and consequently began to sink when he took his gaze off the Lord. Beloved, where are you today in your walk with God? Are you still walking on the water, or are you already sinking because you are distracted by situations and circumstances around you? MY COUNSEL Refocus your eyes on the Lord Jesus Christ today through the word of God. *Your future hides in the scriptures.* Keep hope alive always by keeping your gaze on what God has said to you from His word. ACTION STEPS 1. Revisit past revelations from the scriptures. 2. Renew your faith in God by refreshing your hope in the word. 3. Pray fervently for grace to stay focused on the promises of God through the Word. PRAYERS Dear heavenly Father, Thank you for today's devotional guide. Help me to stay tuned to your word by faith in Jesus' name. Amen. REMEMBER *The loss of hope is the crash of faith.* AUTHOR: JEDIDIAH DAVID DAILY READING: Ezekiel 41-42, Judges 14-15, Acts 10. HYMN My hope is built on nothing less Than Jesus' blood and righteousness ; I dare not trust the sweetest frame, But wholly lean on Jesus' name. On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand ; All other ground is sinking sand, All other ground is sinking sand. 2 When darkness hides His lovely face, I rest on His unchanging grace; In every high and stormy gale, My anchor holds within the vail. 3 His oath, His covenant, His blood, Support me in the 'whelming flood ; When all around my soul gives way, He then is all my hope and stay. 4 When He shall come with trumpet sound, On ,may I then in Him be found, Clothed in His righteousness alone, Faultless to stand before the throne ! PLEASE SHARE0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 73 مشاهدة -
After a 3-year battle with leukemia, 12-year-old Michael “MJ” Dixon from Killeen, Texas is officially cancer-free. Despite a slim 23% survival chance and no bone marrow match, MJ beat the odds with faith, a clinical trial, and unwavering strength. He now inspires others with his story of resilience and hope. 💪🏾After a 3-year battle with leukemia, 12-year-old Michael “MJ” Dixon from Killeen, Texas is officially cancer-free. Despite a slim 23% survival chance and no bone marrow match, MJ beat the odds with faith, a clinical trial, and unwavering strength. He now inspires others with his story of resilience and hope. 💪🏾
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CONFESSION FOR THE DAY.
I declare that I am strengthened, energized, endued with power, ability and might. I have been catapulted to a life of victory, success, prosperity, hope, and assurance. I live over and above the natural courses of life, the corruption, evil, and decadence prevalent in this world of darkness. The indwelling presence of Christ is in me, in the person of the Holy Spirit. I don’t lack or want for anything: ideas, inspiration, wealth, prosperity, and all the goodness of God are in my spirit, and I bring them forth from the fullness in my spirit. He is my helper, the One who upholds me with His righteous right hand; the stronghold of my life.CONFESSION FOR THE DAY. I declare that I am strengthened, energized, endued with power, ability and might. I have been catapulted to a life of victory, success, prosperity, hope, and assurance. I live over and above the natural courses of life, the corruption, evil, and decadence prevalent in this world of darkness. The indwelling presence of Christ is in me, in the person of the Holy Spirit. I don’t lack or want for anything: ideas, inspiration, wealth, prosperity, and all the goodness of God are in my spirit, and I bring them forth from the fullness in my spirit. He is my helper, the One who upholds me with His righteous right hand; the stronghold of my life.0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 94 مشاهدة
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