ABOUT THE BLOOD
About the blood novel
More Than Just a Match
It was a hot Saturday afternoon, but inside Ola’s house, the air was crisp and cool, thanks to the soft hum of the air conditioner that whispered comfort into every corner of the elegantly furnished living room. A faint roar of a football crowd poured from the large flat-screen television mounted on the wall, setting the mood for the evening.
The knock came, soft but deliberate, followed by footsteps. Ola moved quickly to the door and swung it open, a bright grin spreading across his face.
“Tunde! Adekunle!” he beamed. “You made it! Come in, come in!”
Tunde stepped in first, his eyes immediately sweeping across the polished marble floors, the rich leather sofas, and the massive plasma screen that dominated the wall like a theatre screen. His laugh was hearty.
“Ola, the man with the golden spoon! Look at this place. Everything is sparkling like it was washed with heaven’s detergent.”
Adekunle followed close behind, his gaze lingering on the brand-new SUV parked just outside.
“And is that a new car? Ola, you’re enjoying life o,” he said, half-joking, half-envious. “Meanwhile, we’re out there hustling like there’s no tomorrow.”
Ola chuckled and waved off the praise. “Abeg, stop flattering me. It’s just favour, nothing more.”
Tunde dropped onto one of the sofas and gestured at the TV. “No be favour alone. This one don pass luck. TV like cinema screen, AC chilling like we’re in Canada, and that fridge—full of imported drinks, abi?”
He leaned closer, whispering in mock seriousness, “Meanwhile, my own fridge has been on strike since NEPA forgot my street existed.”
The room erupted in laughter. Even Adekunle joined in, shaking his head.
“True talk, Tunde. Some of us are managing sachet water, but Ola is here popping champagne. Oga landlord, teach us your ways o!”
With a grin, Ola motioned them to sit. “It’s not that deep, my people. Make una relax—the match is about to start. Liverpool versus Manchester United. It’s going to be fire!”
Tunde scoffed, grabbing a throw pillow. “Fire ke? More like disaster. Liverpool has been hot lately, but Manchester United? They’re like our government—plenty grammar, no action.”
Adekunle sighed, his tone shifting. “True o. Just like our economy. Nothing is working. The price of even garri has become a prayer point. Survival is becoming an achievement.”
As Ola switched the TV to the match broadcast, he nodded thoughtfully. “It’s the same story everywhere. But what can we do? For now, let’s enjoy this match. At least football is one distraction from all the wahala.”
The referee’s whistle pierced through the speakers, signalling kickoff. The trio leaned forward, their focus sharpening—but only for a moment.
“Shoro niyen?” Tunde exclaimed a few minutes later, throwing his arms up. “See how Liverpool is already dominating! Manchester United defenders are just standing like statues.”
Adekunle jabbed Ola in the ribs playfully. “My guy, you better prepare extra drinks for us o. This humiliation needs cold compensation.”
“I hear una,” Ola laughed as he stood. “Let me get something to cool your heads. But on a serious note,” he added, his voice trailing from the kitchen, “don’t you think the state of things in the country is affecting even the players?”
Tunde’s voice turned sober. “Maybe. But let’s be honest, these clubs are still making millions. Meanwhile, people like us can barely afford bread. Government promises are like Manchester United’s defence—full of holes.”
Adekunle chuckled. “And the referee? That one is like our politicians—biased and unreliable.”
Returning with drinks, Ola rolled his eyes. “Na wa o. So football analysis has become political commentary?”
Tunde shrugged. “Why not? Everything is connected. When the economy is broken, even small pleasures like football become a luxury. If not for you, Ola, how would we have watched this match?”
Adekunle nodded in agreement. “You do well for us today, bro.”
Ola handed each of them a cold drink. “My people, we’re in this together. One day, things will change. For now, let’s just laugh at Manchester United.”
As if on cue, a roar erupted from the TV. Liverpool had scored.
“Ah! Goal!” Tunde screamed. “I told you! This is what happens when you put hope in the wrong team.”
Adekunle flung his arms up. “Just like putting hope in the wrong leaders!”
Ola doubled over with laughter. “You people will not kill me today!”
But beneath the laughter and banter, something stirred. The evening carried more than football—it was a window into the lives they once lived and the men they had become.
As they sipped from their glasses, the room fell into a nostalgic lull. Memories floated to the surface, unbidden but welcomed.
“Ola,” Tunde said after a pause, his voice laced with curiosity and something deeper. “You’re doing well now. But how? Honestly. We were all in the trenches together.”
Adekunle leaned forward, eyes twinkling. “Do you remember how we used to dress like peacocks just to impress the ladies? Starched shirts, shiny shoes—posing like GQ models.”
Tunde burst out laughing. “Sweet-talking like politicians! Bro, the way we used to bet on who would win a girl’s heart first…”
Adekunle corrected him, laughing. “Let’s be honest. It wasn’t about the heart. It was who would get her to bed first!”
Ola chuckled, shaking his head. “You guys haven’t changed. Always dragging me into memory lane. Those days are gone, my friends. Let’s leave them where they belong.”
“Not so fast,” Tunde said, grinning mischievously. “Who can forget your world record? Fifty women in one month. My guy, you were a legend!”
Even Ola couldn’t help but laugh. But the laughter faded as his expression grew serious.
“And what did it get me? Emptiness. That life was a trap. I’m grateful for the night that changed everything.”
They fell silent, remembering.
“You mean that night we trailed those three sisters into the church?” Tunde asked quietly.
Adekunle nodded. “We went to play games… but we met Christ instead.”
Ola looked at them with calm resolve. “It was the best decision we ever made. I’m glad we left that life behind.”
Tunde leaned back, his tone half-light, half-wistful. “Hmm. We all left the life, but the blessings didn’t come equally. Look at you, Ola. Living large. Meanwhile, we’re still hustling.”
Adekunle raised his glass with a crooked smile. “Maybe you collected all the blessings meant for the three of us.”
“Abeg, don’t start,” Ola said with a laugh, though he felt the weight of their words. “God’s timing is different for everyone. Yours will come. Just hold on.”
The room was quiet again, but not empty. Beneath the clinking of glasses and the cheer from the television, something deeper stirred—an understanding that though the road had been rough, they had found something real. Brotherhood. Redemption. Hope.
And as Liverpool scored yet another goal, the friends laughed—not just at the game, but at life, at memories, and at the knowledge that even in a country struggling to breathe, there were still moments worth cherishing.
Certainly! Here’s the continued novel-format version of your gospel-themed story, incorporating the new section with depth, internal reflection, and narrative flow:
Chapter Seven: The Blood That Speaks
The cheers from the television faded into a distant murmur, replaced by a heavy silence that had nothing to do with the outcome of the match. The room, once filled with laughter and playful banter, now crackled with tension, disappointment, and unspoken pain.
Tunde leaned back into the leather sofa, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, jaw clenched.
“Ola,” he said, his tone laced with frustration, “this your ‘keep the faith’ talk is easier said than done. You’re the one living comfortably. Do you even know what it feels like to hustle every single day and still come up empty?”
Adekunle slammed his fist into his palm. “Exactly! It’s easy to sound hopeful when your fridge is full and your account is fat. But for us? Every day is war. Do you even understand what that’s like?”
Ola didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he watched his friends with a quiet, steady gaze—eyes filled not with pity, but with the ache of remembrance.
“My brothers,” he said finally, voice calm, “I get it. I’ve been there too. But speaking death over your situation won’t raise it to life. You’ve got to believe again.”
Tunde sat up, face drawn. “Believe? In what? Empty pockets? Rising prices? Hustling with no return? Sometimes it feels like we’re just pouring water into a basket.”
Adekunle nodded vigorously. “If you really care about us, Ola, then stop with the pep talk. Give us something tangible. Tell us how you did it. Not just ‘favour’ and ‘grace.’ Give us the real truth.”
Ola sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined.
“There’s no magic formula,” he said. “It’s God’s grace, yes—but it’s also knowledge. It’s understanding what you’ve received in Christ and applying it. That’s where many of us miss it. You both have the same access, the same potential. But frustration can blind you to what’s already yours.”
Tunde’s voice broke, bitter and low. “Potential doesn’t pay rent, Ola.”
“And it definitely doesn’t buy garri,” Adekunle added with a dark chuckle.
Ola’s eyes didn’t waver. “That’s why I’m asking—when you gave your life to Jesus, what happened to you? What did the blood of Jesus actually accomplish in your life?”
Tunde blinked. “The biggest thing? Forgiveness. We were made clean. By the washing of the blood, we were set free.”
Adekunle nodded slowly. “We became new people. That blood wiped away everything.”
Ola’s voice softened with a knowing smile. “That’s beautiful. But let me ask again—what else did the blood do?”
The room fell quiet. The question lingered like incense.
Tunde frowned. “What else? You mean there’s more?”
“Plenty more,” Ola said, sitting up straighter. “You didn’t get saved just to escape hell. That was never the full deal. Salvation is a complete package.”
He stood and walked slowly to the window, peering outside at the quiet street beyond.
“God is your source,” he said. “But you must understand that your resources are not limited to this earth. They are stored in the heavenly realm. You are meant to call them forth. When Adam sinned, he was cut off from divine supply. The blood of Jesus didn’t just forgive—it reconnected us to that supply. The blood reorders your spiritual nature and gives you legal access again.”
Adekunle leaned forward, intrigued. “Keep talking.”
Ola turned from the window. His face was serious now. His words carried weight.
“The blood speaks. It covers every blemish. It is your voice in the realm of the spirit. And before God prospers a man, that man must understand how to administer the blood—not just quote scripture, but apply it.”
Tunde narrowed his eyes. “Apply the blood? How do you mean?”
“Stop repeating scripture like a ritual,” Ola said. “Personalize it. Speak to your reality. Use your mouth like a sword. Declare what the blood has purchased for you. Say, ‘According as it is written…’ and begin to command your situation to align.”
Adekunle raised a hand. “What about Holy Communion? Does that count?”
Ola smiled. “Absolutely. Communion isn’t just a religious act—it’s spiritual warfare. When you break the bread and drink the wine, you’re activating the terms of the New Testament covenant. You provoke the blood to work on your behalf. You can use it to declare healing, restoration, financial breakthrough, whatever the need is—so long as you understand it’s not a symbol; it’s power.”
Tunde’s eyes widened. “So mindset and confession are everything?”
“Exactly,” Ola said. “Life and death are in the power of the tongue. Don’t parrot society’s hopelessness. Speak according to Philippians 4:8—what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, and of good report. Speak heaven’s reality into your earth.”
Adekunle sat still, as though stunned by a revelation. “Wow.”
Ola walked back to them and lowered himself into the armchair. “Let me tell you something personal,” he said, his voice lower now. “This business you see thriving? It was once dead. Nothing was working. Clients ghosted me, debt collectors were on my neck, and I almost shut it all down. Then one night, I remembered what I had—the blood.”
Tunde tilted his head. “You mean… you used the blood on your business?”
“Yes,” Ola said. “I took Holy Communion alone in my room. I prayed, declaring that my business would live and not die. I spoke scriptures over my account books. I applied the blood of Jesus over every aspect of my finances. And I told God, ‘Your blood has made me a partaker of divine resources. I receive now.’”
Adekunle’s mouth fell open. “What happened after that?”
“The very next morning, a client who had abandoned a deal months earlier called me. Not only did he come back, but he brought two new clients with him. From that day, doors began to open. Not because of me, but because of the blood speaking.”
Tunde sat still, overcome. “So the blood is not just for sin—it’s for life?”
Ola nodded solemnly. “The blood is everything. It’s redemption. It’s power. It’s inheritance. When you activate it with faith and understanding, it becomes your voice in the spirit realm.”
Adekunle exhaled, shaking his head. “My God.”
Tunde, eyes glistening, could only whisper, “Kaa sa.”
For a moment, the room was sacred. No one moved. No one joked. The match forgotten, the AC’s low hum now felt like the breath of heaven hovering over them.
And so, under Ola’s guidance, the friends begin to see their faith in a new light. Will they apply these lessons to transform their lives? Only time will tell.
Now, what is the essence of telling you this story? It is to enlighten the minds of as many people as possible who get to listen, watch, or read this—to know that there is more to the blood of Jesus than just the washing away of sins.
When we give our lives to Christ, we don’t just receive forgiveness; we receive access. The blood cleanses us, yes—but more than that, it ushers us into the family of God, qualifying us for all the covenant promises written in Scripture. The blood of Jesus is not only a cleanser; it is an activator.
The Bible says in Revelation 12:11:
“And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony, and they loved not their lives unto the death.”
This tells us that the blood is also a weapon—one that defeats the devil, silences his accusations, and breaks every chain.
Let me put it plainly:
Galatians 6:17 says, “From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.”
What is this mark? The blood. When you bear the blood, you bear divine immunity. The enemy has no right to trouble you. And more than that, the blood becomes your signature—your access pass—to all the inheritance of the saints.
Now, what are these promises?
- The promise of salvation
- The promise of long life
- The promise of good health
- The promise of deliverance from demonic oppression
- The promise of freedom from spiritual and physical bondage
- And the promise of financial and spiritual prosperity
If this is true—and it is—why do many believers still suffer under the weight of poverty, oppression, and lack?
Two words: Ignorance and unbelief.
Many believers do not know these truths. And as Scripture says in Hosea 4:6, “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge.” What you do not know, you cannot enjoy. And what you do not believe, you cannot activate.
Now that you know, it is time to say:
Enough to ignorance. Enough to unbelief.
It is time to walk in the full manifestation of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross—which is far more than forgiveness. It is freedom, abundance, power, and divine inheritance.
But how do we activate this?
Through the Holy Communion.
Dear friends, Holy Communion is not about a religious ritual; it’s about a divine transaction. It’s not about bread and wine—it’s about the body and blood of Jesus. It’s not about method—it’s about the Master. Communion is not an obligation; it is a celebration of victory, of healing, of access.
It marks the story of Jesus—how He was broken for us, so that we might be made whole. And every time we partake, we proclaim His death until He comes—not in sorrow, but in expectation and faith.
When you sit at your table—whether alone or with family—remember this: Jesus is the One who supplies your physical food and your spiritual nourishment. Every meal can be a reminder. Every Communion moment can be a turning point.
Now, can we make it a culture to celebrate Jesus through the Communion? Can we choose to activate the blood—not just in church on Sunday, but in our homes, our businesses, and our daily lives?
Let me guide you:
Communion Steps:
- Prepare.
Get your Communion elements ready. Bread to represent His body, and wine or juice to represent His blood. If you’re with family, create a reverent atmosphere. - Explain.
Especially for children or new believers, give a short explanation: this is not tradition, this is power. - Pray a Prayer of Invitation.
Invite the Holy Spirit to preside over the Communion. You may even sing a worship song to prepare your hearts. - Reflect.
Remember Jesus’ sacrifice. Reflect on your relationship with Him. 1 Corinthians 11:27-32 reminds us to examine ourselves before partaking. - Pray.
Thank God for His love, His promises, and His sacrifice. Pray with faith and joy. - Partake.
Break the bread and drink the cup. Declare Luke 22:19-20 over your elements:
“This is My body given for you; do this in remembrance of Me… This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is poured out for you.” - Praise and Rejoice.
Rejoice because your time to walk in the full blessing of Jesus is now. Sing, dance, shout, testify. The blood is speaking—so let your voice agree with heaven!
Friends, never forget this: you are not ordinary.
You carry the mark of Christ, and that mark is the blood.
Don’t live as a beggar when your Father is the King.
Don’t live as a victim when you are more than a conqueror.
You’ve been given the blood—use it.
You’ve been handed the keys—unlock your inheritance.
You’ve been offered Communion—receive it in truth and power.
May your life from today reflect the victory, the peace, the abundance, and the authority purchased for you by the blood of Jesus Christ.
God bless you.
Dear Readers,
Thank you for taking the time to read this Holy Spirit inspired novel ABOUT THE BLOOD. Your interest and engagement with this story mean the world to us. Writing this novel was a journey of meditation on God’s word, reflection, and inspiration, and knowing that it has reached you is incredibly fulfilling. Your support inspires me to keep creating Holy Spirit filled stories that captivate the mind and stir the heart. We deeply appreciate your thoughts, feedback, and the moments you’ve spent with this work. Thank you for being a part of this journey. I look forward to sharing more stories with you in the future!
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