Bedroom Whispers

The Preacher's Kid

I feel I should chronicle my spiritual journey. It's been a long road with so many, or so few turns, and bends, and lessons, and milestones, and sometimes, U-turns.

It's a Sunday and being born into a Christian family, I'm supposed to be in church with family but, neh! I ain't doing that no more. I also stopped attending the family devotion usually held in the mornings and nights.

At this point in my journey, I'm on a path of responsibility assumption. What this means for me is there's little or zero blame to be thrown around for the things that happen to me. What it also means is that I'm responsible for the things that occur to me, at least those that are within the boundary of control. What it also means is that for every action I take, I bear the full consequences in peace.

This is a tough one or was because I now daily realize the amount of power I once handed people. When I started, I found people to blame for everything.

I remember being dedicated to a local assembly at a time and I was going through a rough patch in my academics. I remember being told by pops I was acting foolishly and blindly for associating closely with those good folks in school. I was told they were the cause of my poor grades.

Bashed so often with spiteful words, I pulled back and got laid back. My grades got better and things were fine. Of course, he was right. Wasn't he?

I once hated my parents who, I thought, caused me to leave those good people. What they didn't know was that I was passing through some real deep shit low key, and those guys kept me sane.

I remember my first pseudo-therapy session ever was with one of them. I didn't know how deeply hurt and sad and bitter I was until I began to talk and pour out my heart to this gentleman.

I raged and began to shake, the tremor so visible I looked like I was convulsing. I cried like I never did. The type that brings tears from your eyes and makes your nose runny and your face and body sweaty. I was in a total mess physically and he just sat quietly and watched me.

That was the beginning of my conscious recovery journey. I then got to meet a few others who were like pillars to my crumbling self, and someone somewhere felt those people were the cause of my poor grades. No. The reverse was the case. That story is not for here.

I fast became disinterested in religion but stuck close to those folks. I soon found out that those guys were my true religion. It wasn't about my congregating in a building. It wasn't about flipping of paper pages and chanting hymns and Amens. Love was all that mattered. We cared.

Many years down the line, many of them have gotten married. I've attended a few ceremonies and painfully missed a lot. Some now have children and I deeply wish them the best.

What kicked off my total spite for secular religion was when, after grad school, I had pretty stabilized and had moved on fine, dad dared to tell me I had "lost the fire" I had when I was little and he wanted me to "go back to my first love". Hello? Who switched this man overnight? Who is this new guy? Who stole my pops and replaced him with this clown?

I lost my fire? Oh. So I'm the one who stepped back. Wow! Now he wanted his son to step up in the local church at home and take up responsibilities. He wanted commitment at his local assembly.

Cut the bull crap, man. Hit me with the truth. You were just an egotistical prick. I forgot a major intro. I was a PK! The fucking "Preacher's Kid".

"You know what? Fuck you pops! All you ever cared deeply about was your fucking image in society. How those fuckers would see you, what they'd say about you, a pastor who couldn't bring his family to church. Fuck them all, and fuck you too. Two middle fingers to all y'all's hypocritical asses."

I had moved back in with my parents after grad school. I had undergone the compulsory National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) program and was job hunting. I had met some good folks at NYSC who made me realize that we are first humans before any other thing.

I met Muslims and Christians and I discovered that we were all innately humans who thrive in the atmosphere of love, irrespective of race and religion.

Coming back home, I had started associating with folks who bore that same belief. Needless to say, this didn't go down well with Dad, for his son had "left his fold and has been drawn away to be destroyed by wolves."

I had quit that meeting too, to please 'em parents whilst hurting my soul, for I became a shadow but what did they care? Their "lost son" had returned and now dined at the table that had "the word of truth".

Fed up with the farce called the church and all, I decided to personally find my Truth. Every prayer meeting always seemed to have the "Oh God, bless me" prayer. "Give me this, give me that." "Punish this, destroy that." "Fight for us, Stand against them." I was not going to take that shit anymore. I left each meeting sadder than when I entered. Whatever happened to "fullness of joy in His presence"?

I wanted to touch and live in Light and Peace and not have to fight demons every fucking day as though my nightly demons weren't enough.

One year, away from home and all that drama, with my colleagues at NYSC, I had lived in what seemed like paradise. I looked forward to my dreams at night and anticipated waking up to see 'em folks. I wondered what made my association with them different?

I knew that something was not right. I knew I had to find my footing. I was just waiting for the right time.