Comfort’s Quiet Cost

 

I stretched again on my bed as the cool harmattan breeze caressed my face. I pulled the blanket over my straying legs, covering them properly. I was wide awake, but I wanted to wait for my alarm to properly wake me up, so I turned to check my phone. It was 5:59 a.m.

“One more minute…”

“All of Me” by John Legend began playing just as my phone rang, cutting me mid-sentence. A smile spread across my face as I picked the call. Tunde’s baritone voice hit my ears like sticks on a drum, that distinct sound that sends chills down my spine. Only Tunde had such an effect on me.

“My darling,” he called again, and my face flushed even more.

“Gosh! How did I get so lucky?” I asked playfully, yet meaning every word.

“I want you to know your ringtone speaks my mind,” he said.

I laughed and pulled my blanket even closer, as though trying to trap all the love in.

“You that have taught me bad things. See me now listening to artists I would never have even looked twice at,” I replied, my eyes dancing, too excited to remain in their sockets.

He laughed and said the line that was slowly becoming a cliché between us—“The things we do for love.”

I chuckled lightly and closed my eyes—maybe from the ecstasy of our love, or maybe from the strange feeling that tugged at my heart again, sinking my tummy. I held my tummy like one in pain, forcing my thoughts back to Tunde, my heart thudding.

Tunde was everything I had desired in a man. He was tall, with a handsomeness that shone like the sun. His smile felt like the dance of a million stars. He was kind and lovely, always knowing the right thing to do for every season. His words felt like ice cream melting in the mouth—the slow release of goodness. Like the cooling touch of cold water on a hot afternoon.

Tunde was financially stable. Not wealthy, but stable. He was the alarm I would stay awake to hear ring. But most importantly, he was everything the other guys from church weren’t. He was sincere.

The only problem was that Tunde was a free thinker—but it really didn’t feel like a problem, because he was willing to consider my faith again.

I jumped out of bed when I noticed the time. I was already running late for church and hadn’t had my quiet time. I rushed to get ready and dashed out.

I arrived just in time for praise and worship. Thank God for Pastor Nifemi, who picked me up along the way—even though I nearly wished she hadn’t. Once again, it seemed this woman was after my marital destiny with these her weird Sunday morning sermons that always felt targeted at me. Except she knew very little about my personal life, and her quiet mind-your-business lifestyle wouldn’t allow her to get premium gist about people in church.

I sat at the back, worshipping God, and of course, I began thanking Him again for Tunde—my great blessing.

Then my tummy sank. My joy drained away. My worship suddenly felt tasteless, like I was guilty of some unseen crime. I pushed the feeling aside quickly, too afraid to know what lay behind that curtain of emotions.

Then Pastor Isaac came on stage.

And that was when I heard it.

That voice.

That voice I couldn’t mistake, even though it had been two years since I last heard it.

“Leave Tunde.”

It was clear. Stern. Yet calm.

I fell on my knees immediately, crying. Many probably thought I was responding to the song Pastor Isaac was singing—but no. I was facing my own Isaac, and I wasn’t sure I could even take him up Mount Moriah.

“I can’t,” I said amidst weeping.

“I can’t,” I repeated.

I could feel His piercing gaze.

“If you don’t, you’ll be stunted. He doesn’t fit into your purpose. And no, Priscilla—he is not your Isaac. He is Ishmael. I have made promises to you, and I will fulfill them all, but not with Ishmael in the picture. Let him go, my darling.”

I wept even more, because I had avoided and ignored Him for so long. Yet here He was—two years later—forcing me to pay attention again, for my own good.

That afternoon, after I let go of Tunde, I discovered Pastor Isaac was part of my Isaac package. Comfort can be sweet, but the reward of obedience na em sweet pass.

From Mrs Isaac😉