Stories of Faith - Episode 44

Narrated by Ayooluwa Adepoju-Kisha

In December of 2006, when I was in 100 level in the University of Ibadan, my menstrual period started normally, but won't stop, even after 2 weeks. By my nature, I was not worried about it. However, my then roommate, turned big sis, Dammie Tabitha, being a nurse, kept hammering on me getting checked. So, of course, I went to meet my sweet sweet Mama, Adepoju Folasade, who is also a Nurse. And that was when my plenty journeys back and forth hospitals began. 

In the year 2010, during my final year, my dear friend and brother, Tayo Odejimi insisted I went to the University College Hospital (UCH) for proper treatment. That was when I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). That was after 4 years of excruciating pains, sleepless nights and many many embarrassing moments. The symptoms I had included very long delay between periods (6 months to 1 year) bleeding in heavy clots (whenever it came), leading to extreme pain (accompanied with vomiting and stooling.....hahaha), bleeding could start at any time or could be on for weeks on end (my longest experience was about 17 weeks or so)and just suddenly increase in the middle of no where (I always had a sanitary pad or 2 in my bag), sudden and excessive weight gain, and ultimately, infertility (which I was then told to expect). 

Well, another round of journeys to and from UCH started and all they could say was that it can only be managed. Part of the management included taking contraceptive pills 🤦‍♀️ and some other orisirisi that now made me add weight. I was also told that they couldn't help the infertility until I got married and was ready to have children, and the treatment could take 10 years before I could get pregnant. 

Plenty of money went into buying of pads, running tests and scans, buying drugs, etc. But oh! My faith was strengthened!!! Because, "Though our outward man perish..... Praise and worship was my go-to weapon. I danced into the night many times and by day break, the bleeding dried up (only to return many times). I listened to many of Kenneth Hagin's and Gloria Copeland's healing messages and appropriated them. I didn't always get the results I wanted but my faith kept growing. I would have used my last cash to buy sanitary pads and then trek to fellowship serve God in my many capacities and probably drop my last #10 😂. Then go back to my room and sleep hungry. Plenty incidences flood my mind now, including during my service year and when I started working in Lagos and had to travel to Ibadan, many times, for treatment. All these went on for 11 years. 

When I finally agreed to marry my Sunshine, Jonathan Chang Kisha (another long story 🤣😂😂), in 2016, that was the first thing I told him. He was so calm that night in April. And then, when we spoke the next day he told me that he had a good dance into the night, and He who sits in heaven laughs (Ps.2:4), so he also had a good laugh. He then told me (more like decreed), that from the day he married me, the bleeding ceased and we would have as many children as we want, when we want them. But, of course, the devil will not leave us without a fight. 

On the day of our traditional wedding, I suddenly started bleeding and I mean bleeeeeeeeeeding. Between 5am and 12 noon, I had used up like 12 pads. All those pictures you saw me smiling bah, that was Mr. Kisha encouraging (and tickling😊) me. Well, when it was time for the engagement to start, I just told myself that the devil has lost so I danced like the winner that I was. Oh! I danced that day. It wasn't just wedding excitement o. It was prophetic! That was when the torrents became trickles for that day and we had a non-embarrasing event. Suffice it to say here that while we were praying towards the wedding, one of the things God told us is that we shall not be put to shame. That shame would have been terrible, but God's word had gone ahead. 

Fast forward to when we were ready for a baby. We didn't even plan or anything o. On 19th February, 2018, exactly 6 months after our wedding, I found out I was pregnant. Of course, we were so excited. Then, the devil tried again. We lost the baby on the 9th of April. It was a lot of pain, both physical and emotional. Then fear set in. And self pity and many other emotions. Most people around me had no idea (I was new in Kano so I had only 1 friend, Aderonke Ajiboye Amehson, my Kano angel) but I could tell that my friends in other places who knew my story and who I told I was pregnant were worried. Even my parents. You know, the pregnancy looked like it happened by chance. In fact, a friend of mine, who is a medical doctor said "you had something that looked like PCOS cos you couldn't get pregnant like that (he wanted to marry me but ran for his dear life when I told him 🤣🤣🤣) . Anyway, I had work to do. I needed to enthrone Jesus above all those emotions. So, I set to work. By the time I was through, I knew I had taken hold of my soundness of mind and was ready for another pregnancy, that I was carrying to term. And so it was. 

Our baby was born, on 7th April, 2019, exactly a year short of 2 days after we lost the first one.

Stories of Faith - Episode 43

Narrated by Kajungu Boaz Kyarimpa

Before killing me, the killers decided that I should dig my own grave. As I was digging, I was also praying. “Lord, I believe you can deliver me. You can protect me from being killed by these people. I’ve preached about Daniel in the lion’s den, and about how you delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego from the fiery furnace. Are you still the same God? You can show me now. Please give me that faith.”

I was hoping that God would give me wings to fly away, or that He would send fire from heaven. But God answered in a much different way from what I could have imagined.

As I was digging the grave, one of the killers picked up my Bible and was looking at it. Noticing the many markings in it he asked, “What do all these colors mean?”

“Those are my favorite verses,” I said.

Interested, the man started reading the many highlighted verses. “Are you sure you’ve read all of these?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” I responded. I could see that the man had some pity for me.

Turning to his fellow killers he said, “Friends, I know we’re going to kill this man, but please let me help him dig!”

The leader nodded and the man jumped into the hole with me and started digging. “Lord, I prayed, “this grave is going to be finished quickly now. What are You going to do?”

God had a plan, but sometimes we want to try and force God to answer our prayers in the way that we think is best, rather than just trusting Him.

To my surprise, as soon as we were finished digging, the grave digging killer said to his colleagues, “Why should we use the grave for this man we don’t even know? Let him go and dig another grave near the highway. This is our field; why should we bury him here?”

The group agreed, and decided to use the grave for another man they had just killed. Then ironically, one of the killers said, “Before we bury that man, why don’t we pray for him.”

I watched as the group gathered around the body of the person they had just killed before coming after me. “Mary, mother of Jesus, receive him,” they said before rolling the corpse into the grave that had been meant for me.

All of a sudden my entire outlook changed. “Lord!” I gasped, “Don’t allow me to be separated from these people before I tell them who You are! These are people who have never heard about You. They think they can pray for someone they have killed. And we are partly responsible. We never came and taught them the truth about You.”

Right after they buried that man, we moved closer to the highway. I was about to start digging another grave when the man who had my Bible asked if he could keep it. I said, “yes,” but the other killers told him “No! It’s ours—you’ll have to pay for it!”

I could see that the Holy Spirit had already touched this man’s heart, so I begged him, “Please, can I have that Bible and say something before I dig another grave?”

The man was excited and said, “Go ahead!” but another one shouted, “No! He’s our enemy. He has nothing to tell us.”

Then the arguing became very sharp, with some of the group insisting that I should be given the opportunity to speak, while others insisted that I had nothing to say. Just when it appeared that the killers were going to fight each other, one who appeared older than the others asked, “Why are you going to fight over someone you don’t even know? Those who want to listen, sit and listen; others, sit and shut your ears. When he’s done, we’ll kill him.”

So they all sat down and I started to preach.

First, I thanked them. “Thank you for praying for somebody that you have killed. However, you need to understand what the Bible says about death—the only chance you have to be saved is during your lifetime—not after you are dead. ‘For the living know that they will die,’ I quoted from Eccl. 9:5, ‘but the dead know nothing.’ I’m not going to plead for you to let me go, I continued, because I know that even if you kill me a time is coming when I will be resurrected.

“Among the people you are killing are another tribe—they are not Hutu or Tutsis. They are God’s children. You think that you’re fighting a tribal war, but you’re mistaken. This is a war between Christ and Satan. You think that the people you’re killing are Tutsis, but they belong to a totally different tribe because they have given their hearts to Jesus and they are His children.”

Then I read 1 Peter 2:9-10 to them: “But you are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, His own special people, that you may proclaim the praises of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light; who once were not a people but are now the people of God, who had not obtained mercy but now have obtained mercy.”

As I preached, I could see some of the killers were crying, and I knew that the Holy Spirit was working on their hearts. After preaching for 15 to 20 minutes I told the group, “Now I’m going to say a final prayer, and after that I will dig another grave.”

As soon as I finished praying, someone shouted, “If anyone kills this person, his blood be upon them!”

“No, we can’t kill him!” the others said. “Let him go! We can’t kill him.”

Then the leader spoke up. “I was the one who suggested that we kill this man in a very bad way. But now, we’re not going to kill him.”

I knew it was only by God’s grace that my life was spared. Who am I? I didn’t have any power. God was just kind.

During the approximately 100-day genocide from April 7 to mid-July, 1994, approximately 1 million people were killed, including my entire family. But even though I came face to face with death numerous times, the Lord always saw fit to spare my life.

Stories of Faith - Episode 42

Fulani Herdsman finds Jesus

As a Fulani herdsman, Abdul witnessed the brutal persecution of Christians in northern Nigeria, but accidentally hearing about Jesus while passing a church changed his life forever.

Raised a Fulani herdsman, Abdul heartbreakingly recalls the times his own family and friends would attack Christian villages leaving no survivors.

“You cannot count the people they killed – they would go into villages and kill the entire village,” he says.

He even admits that he was involved in orchestrating one murder himself, as he recounts with tears his old life.

In 2002 he walked past a church by chance and heard a preacher say that Jesus was the only way to heaven; these words filled his mind with questions and his journey to truth began.

He began asking those around him questions about Jesus and the Bible. The advice was always the same: “Christians are not serious people and Islam is the far superior religion. He wasn’t satisfied with the answers.”

“I was at a loss; if Jesus was the way, then why was I still following Mohammed?”

He was desperate to hear the message of Jesus preached again, even though he knew attending church was a risk.

On Christmas Day he sneaked out of his home and attended a church service. He didn’t receive Christ that day but he returned home to find all his belongings outside. His mother discovered he had attended church and kicked him out. He had nowhere to go.

The same night, he had a vivid dream about two paths, and he knew immediately Jesus was speaking to him.

“That night, even after seeing how my mother reacted, I decided to accept Jesus Christ as my Lord. It didn’t matter to me if they wanted to kill me or disown me. I didn’t care, I wanted to accept Jesus Christ.”

His family began trying to convert him back to Islam. They tried using voodoo and threatened to kill him but he would not renounce Christ.

He went to church once more and when a police officer saw him there, he warned him that he needed to escape.

“The churches in my town would not accept me as a Fulani and my family wanted to kill me.”

This is when he knew he had to leave the state.

After leaving, he prayed continually for a place to go where he would be accepted.

“I prayed to God: I want you to lead me where I will learn your Word better and where I will be embraced and accepted.”

Not long after, his prayers were answered when someone told him about YWAM. He had no money, but a pastor blessed him with finances and encouragement to go.

He is still at YWAM and knows he has been blessed, and he looks ahead with hope.

Culled from https://vom.com.au/fulani-herdsman-finds-jesus/