DEMILADE PART 3
A Mother’s Unwavering Faith
The room was dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from a flickering candle on the wooden nightstand. A soft, scanty piano melody played in the background, mingling with the distant noise of the world outside. The air was thick with emotion, a mixture of relief, gratitude, and an overwhelming sense of divine presence.
Demilade knelt before his mother, his eyes brimming with tears. His voice trembled as he spoke, barely above a whisper.
“Mummy, that was all I saw,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “He told me you did not give up on me. Thank you so much, Mummy.”
His mother, a woman of unwavering faith, looked at her son with eyes that had known years of silent prayers and relentless hope. A warm smile spread across her face as she began to sing, her voice soft yet firm, filled with reverence and joy:
The steadfast love of our God never ceaseth,
His mercy never comes to an end,
They are new every morning,
New every morning,
Great is Thy faithfulness, O Lord,
Great is Your faithfulness.
Demilade’s heart swelled with gratitude. He grasped his mother’s hands tightly, as though trying to make up for the years he had strayed.
“Thank you so much, Mum,” he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity. “You are the best mother ever.”
Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes as she continued to sing, her voice soaring with uncontainable joy:
When I think of the goodness of Jesus,
And all He has done for me,
My very soul shall shout hallelujah,
Praise God for saving me.
The weight of the moment was almost unbearable. Demilade felt the warmth of God’s mercy wrapping around him. He closed his eyes and lifted his hands in worship.
“Thank you, Jesus. Thank you, Lord.”
His mother’s voice rose again, this time even more triumphant:
Dependable, dependable God,
Dependable, dependable God,
Reliable, reliable God,
Reliable, reliable God,
Great are You, Lord, great are You, Lord,
Great are You, Lord, great are You, Lord.
Demilade joined in the chorus, his voice thick with emotion.
“Jesus, You are great.”
His mother placed her hands on his shoulders, her eyes filled with awe and reverence. “So God was actually hearing me all this while?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank You, Jesus. I almost gave up, but You told me to continue. Eleven years…” she paused, shaking her head, overwhelmed by the realization. “Eleven years I have been praying for the genuine salvation of your soul, son. And God was with me all the way.”
A deep sigh escaped Demilade’s lips. He lowered his head, his hands clenching into fists. “Mummy, I am sorry for putting you through so much stress. I am so sorry.”
His mother smiled, wiping a tear from his cheek. “Jesus, You are so wonderful. Thank You, Jesus. I will not stop praising You all my life.”
Demilade pulled his mother into a warm embrace. “Thank you for not leaving me alone.”
She held him close, running her fingers through his hair like she had done when he was just a child. “Welcome home, my son. If I can’t stand in the gap for my child, what then can I do?”
“Thank you, Ma,” Demilade whispered, his heart finally at peace.
The distant noise faded, and in its place, a sacred silence filled the room. A mother’s prayers had been answered, and a lost son had found his way home.
The Final Goodbye
The atmosphere was heavy with grief, the weight of sorrow thick in the air. A sad piano melody played softly in the background, blending with the sound of the breeze that rustled the trees. The distant murmur of the roadside and the quiet sobbing of mourners added to the solemnity of the moment.
Pastor Ade stood at the foot of the freshly dug grave, his hands clasped together as he gazed at the grieving faces before him. His voice, though firm, carried the burden of loss.
“We are here at the graveside of a friend, a brother, a son—one whom death has taken from us too soon. As we gather here to bid farewell to Akinpelu, let us remember that one day, people will stand at our graves as well. That is, if we are even granted the privilege of burial. Some leave this world, and their bodies are never found. But that is not what truly matters. What matters is where we will spend eternity.”
The crowd listened in silence, many lowering their heads as his words sank in. Pastor Ade continued, his gaze sweeping across the mourners.
“In times like these, we say that God knows the journey of a man. But I tell you, God does not determine where a man will spend eternity. That choice is ours to make while we still draw breath. Once this body dies, when life leaves us, the decision is sealed forever. So I urge you to think carefully about this as we continue our own journey through life.”
He took a deep breath, then turned to Sister Motayo, who stepped forward. Her voice trembled slightly as she lifted the microphone.
“Praise God,” she began, her tone carrying both sorrow and urgency. “I want to sing this song as a reminder that we must choose our eternity—whether it be life after death with Christ, or eternal separation from Him. May the Lord bless you as you listen.”
She closed her eyes and began to sing, her voice filled with emotion:
It’s my life, I can live as I like
It’s my life, I can like and dislike
It’s my life, I can do what I want
It’s my life, I can do anyhow
Her voice wavered as she continued:
That’s how we feel when we are still alive
When we breathe the air that we breathe
But when we are gone
We are all left with love
Waiting for the judgment
And the people of this world
Will do all the crying
Stand at the grave
And sing that common song…
A hush fell over the mourners as she transitioned into another solemn hymn:
Shall we gather at the river?
Where bright angel feet have trod
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God
Yes, we’ll gather at the river
The beautiful, the beautiful river
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.
Tears streamed down many faces as the reality of mortality set in. The finality of death was undeniable, and yet, hope lingered in the message of the song.
Pastor Ade stepped forward once more. He lifted his voice, addressing the mourners with deep conviction.
“Living souls, one day our bodies will no longer respond to anyone or anything. The time will come when every one of us will be called back home. But how many of us will truly make it to heaven? I tell you, anyone who has not given their life to Christ will not enter the gates of heaven. If you are here today, and you know in your heart that if this were your funeral, you would not make it home to God, then I beg you—give your life to Christ now.”
A heavy silence followed his words, broken only by the distant wailing of the grieving.
He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands. “If you are ready, kindly say after me: Lord Jesus, I give my life to You today…”
And in that moment, as voices joined in the solemn prayer, the weight of eternity rested upon the hearts of all who stood at the grave of Akinpelu.
A Divine Calling
The graveside was eerily silent, save for the soft hum of a scanty piano playing in the background. The gentle whisper of the breeze mixed with the distant noise of passing cars, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. The mourners had started dispersing, yet Demilade stood still, his heart heavy with emotions he couldn’t explain.
He turned to Sister Motayo, who was standing a few steps away, her face serene despite the grief surrounding them.
“Good afternoon, Sister Motayo,” Demilade greeted, his voice gentle yet firm.
Motayo looked up and smiled faintly. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“That was a powerful ministration you gave back there,” he said, admiration evident in his tone.
“We bless God,” she responded, her hands clasped together in reverence.
Demilade hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Actually, I wanted to ask—when next will you be ministering? I would love to be under your ministration again.”
Motayo let out a soft chuckle. “Ha! I don’t really know. I’m not often called for ministration like that. We are still trusting God to give us a big platform to reach the whole world. Until then, we will keep being hopeful.”
Demilade nodded, deep in thought. “Wow, no wonder.”
“No wonder what?” Motayo asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I felt it so strongly in my spirit to speak with you after the program,” he admitted. “If you were given the opportunity to minister every day, would you?”
Motayo’s face lit up with joy. “Ha! It would be my greatest joy. After all, I eat every day, except when I am fasting. So if I can eat every day, I should be able to preach Christ every day.”
Demilade smiled, impressed by her conviction. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small business card, handing it to her. “That’s great. Anyway, this is my card. I am Oluwademilade Abraham. Please reach out to me. We have souls to win for the Lord.”
Motayo took the card with both hands, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much, sir. I will surely get in touch with you.”
“God bless you,” Demilade said, nodding respectfully.
“Amen, sir,” she responded with a warm smile.
At that moment, the sound of a car pulling up interrupted their conversation. Demilade glanced in the direction of the vehicle and sighed. “Please excuse me, I need to attend to something important.”
Motayo nodded. “Okay, sir. Have a nice day.”
“You too,” Demilade replied before walking away.
As Demilade walked toward the car, a familiar voice called his name. “Demilade.”
He turned around to see his boss stepping out of the sleek black vehicle, her expression stern.
“Good afternoon, ma,” he greeted cautiously.
“What is good about the afternoon?” she snapped, her eyes flashing with anger. “Why are you suddenly so rude?”
“Excuse me, ma?” he asked, taken aback.
“Don’t you dare talk back at me!” she barked.
Demilade bowed his head slightly. “Sorry, ma.”
“I’ve called you countless times. Why have you not been picking up my calls?” she demanded.
“I apologize, ma,” he replied, keeping his tone even.
Her lips curled in frustration. “What is wrong with you? You and your guys broke the rules, and that is why that idiot is lying in that grave! You broke the rule, Demilade! You broke it, and now my business is suffering. We buried Deejay Coleman two days ago!”
Demilade sighed. “I know.”
“Thank goodness you’re still here,” she muttered, her voice softer but still laced with irritation.
“Yeah,” he answered simply.
“Meet me at the usual place tonight,” she ordered.
Demilade shook his head. “Not anymore.”
She stiffened. “You said what?”
“I said not anymore. I am a changed man. The days of darkness are over. The light of Christ has come, and it is here to stay forever.”
His boss stared at him in disbelief. “So what happens to my business? What happens to us?”
“If you will excuse me, ma’am, I need to be on my way. I have a meeting with my pastor in twenty minutes.”
She scoffed. “Really?”
“Yes, ma.”
She folded her arms and studied him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Okay. I will keep in touch.”
Demilade smiled faintly. “Don’t bother, ma’am. It’s not going to work.”
She frowned. “You say what?”
“I said it is not going to work.”
“Demilade!” she snapped, her voice laced with warning.
“Yes, ma?”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Be careful of that girl.”
Demilade stiffened. “Who?”
“Motayo,” she said, her gaze piercing. “Her path is dangerous.”
A cold shiver ran down his spine, but he kept his expression calm. “God is in control,” he replied before turning away, leaving his past behind.
The air was thick with the weight of the past as a gentle but melancholic piano tune played faintly in the background. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying distant noises from the street beyond. A knock on the door interrupted the silence.
Demilade hesitated for a moment before opening it. Standing before him was Shindara, an old friend from the past he was trying so hard to leave behind.
“Shindara, what are you doing here?” Demilade asked, his voice laced with both surprise and caution.
Shindara chuckled lightly, stepping forward. “What’s up with you? At least let me come in before you load me with questions.”
Demilade exhaled, stepping aside to let him in. “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm hmmm,” Shindara mimicked with a grin, walking into the dimly lit room.
The door shut behind them with a faint creak. The sound of footsteps echoed softly as Shindara found a seat.
“So what have you come to do?” Demilade asked, arms crossed.
Shindara rolled his eyes. “Not even offering me a seat first? Are you hostile now?”
Demilade sighed. “Oh, sorry. Pardon my manners. Have your seat, please.”
Shindara settled down, studying Demilade intently. “Demilade, what is going on? Why are you doing this?”
“What am I doing, please?” Demilade feigned ignorance.
“Come on, I know you. You’re a great man. You’ve always cared for others, always made sure people around you had a better life. Look at me, would I have ever smelled fame and money if I hadn’t met you? The streets are thriving because of you. Now, everything is falling apart because you’ve decided to leave us behind. How are we supposed to cope?”
Demilade sighed heavily. “Shindara, I understand your frustration, but I want you all to understand me too. I am no longer interested in that life.”
“But why?”
“Because, Shindara, I lost two of my closest friends in one night because of that same life.”
Shindara frowned. “Not in one night, and it wasn’t even your fault.”
“It was my fault,” Demilade countered.
“Coleman drove drunk, Demilade. Was he supposed to do that? And AK? You were in the hospital in a coma when he went to patronize a prostitute instead of being by your side. It’s not on you.”
Demilade clenched his jaw. “No, you don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it.”
“I gave those guys the hope of living. I told them to follow me, and they did. I introduced them to the business. And that business killed them.”
“It’s not your fault, man. You did what you were supposed to do as a friend. You gave them a chance at life, but they demanded more than life could offer.”
Demilade shook his head. “But they wouldn’t have demanded more if I hadn’t put them in that position in the first place.”
Shindara sighed. “Listen, when you take a donkey to the river, you don’t tell the donkey how much water to drink. The donkey decides for itself.”
“You don’t understand. AK was an SU when I met him. I taught him how to live on the street. I taught him drugs, alcohol, women. I taught him everything.”
“But did you teach drug abuse?”
“No.”
“Then why are you so hard on yourself?”
Demilade’s voice broke. “I’m not hard on myself. I’m just changing my ways.”
Shindara leaned back. “Okay, hold on.”
The beeping of a phone filled the silence.
Demilade frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Making a call.”
“I’m not talking to her.”
“Boss wants to talk to you.”
“I said I’m not talking to her.”
A familiar voice crackled through the speaker. “Demilade, please. Why won’t you talk to me? What exactly have I done? Didn’t I treat you well? Didn’t I give you everything you wanted? I am begging you, my life is falling apart. I am nothing without you by my side. Please, help me. What can you do for me?”
Shindara watched as Demilade clenched his fists. “This is tough for me. Cut the call.”
“Demilade, please, don’t let her cut the call. I’ve called you so many times, and you never answered. Please, I’m begging you.”
Demilade exhaled. “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll do something about it.”
“Please tell me what you’ll do. I need to hear it.”
“No, I’ll get back to you.”
“No, tell me now.”
“Fine. I’ll organize training for people. I’ll give all my materials to Shindara, and you’ll figure out the rest.”
A pause. Then, “I believe you, dear. But why this sudden generosity?”
“It won’t be free. I’ll decide on that later. But I’ll give the materials to Shindara before she leaves. That will be all.”
“One more thing, Demilade.”
“What?”
“How about me? I miss you.”
Demilade’s expression darkened. “Cut the call now, or I’ll drive you out.”
“Okay, maybe we should take this one step at a time.”
The call disconnected.
Shindara stared at him, incredulous. “What the hell, Demilade?!”
“What?”
“So you’ve been—Damn it.”
“Cut the crap. Open that drawer and take everything there. Those are my materials. They’ll help. We’ll run the training together, and you’ll continue from where I stopped.”
Shindara hesitated. “You believe in me that much to take over your role?”
Demilade gave a small smile. “Have a nice day, Shindara.”
Shindara grabbed the materials, still in shock. “Thank you so much.”
The sound of footsteps faded as the door opened and closed behind him. A phone rang.
Demilade glanced at the screen. “Motayo? Why is she calling me? What’s happening today? I was warned that this girl is dangerous. I thought I blocked her…”
He sighed and picked up the call. “Hello, Motayo.”
“Hello, sir. Thank you for picking up. I’ve been calling for three days.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“I understand. E ku ise Oluwa.”
“Thank you.”
“Sir, you said you’d get back to me last week. I decided to call when I didn’t hear from you.”
Demilade hesitated. “Well, actually, I have to be honest with you. Our plan won’t work anymore.”
“Ha! Why, sir?”
“For reasons best known to me, we just can’t work together right now. Keep praying. God will send you your destiny helper. Thank you, God bless you. Have a wonderful day… Are you still there?”
A cold silence. Then, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The call disconnected. The melancholic piano resumed, filling the empty room with its haunting tune.
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