Nancy was a player. A player on the pole. She was pretty good. Damn!
She was an even better artiste. At the club -her playground, She would striptease men till they groan, moan, and howl. And at the prayer grounds, she’d put up the same moaning, groaning and howling performance. A holy ground where holy men gathered. Saints. Saints who access heavens, and the portals of grace in the snap of a finger. She was a curse to that ground. An alien.
Nancy was not just a sinner. She was a stripper-sinner, on holy grounds! A sinner that sinners crucify for sinning differently. So sinful she couldn’t stand on a ground so holy. Her very feet drip iniquity. She would rather strip bare, kneel, bow, and howl.
But she needed help to access the portals, and be a good artiste, not the one on the pole. A better person. Not a player.
The saints talked away in tongues, in reckless abandon, switching languages at will. While the sinner, lips glossing with the heaviness of her sins’ sinfulness, found her lips too weighty, too uncooperative to mutter a word of prayer. Just a word to save her own life. And so, she moans on. It was all she made men do. It was all she knows to do. It was all she could do, to try get a hold of Grace.
On the holy grounds, she wished an Angel, a friend, would one day walk up to her little corner, and talk to her , and help her. Nay. She had no one. But, God had everyone. Everyone talked to God, and talked among themselves. In a show of tongues. A talk show.
And so she resigned to the heavy cloud of blackness and blankness caving in on her.
She was an Orphan, who had had to break out, and flee the orphanage. For there the devil, the owners’ husband, molested her at will, day in, day out. She fled. The night job at the club was her only lifeline. One she detested so much, that she repents and seeks divine pardon night after night.
She didn’t almost drown in that pool by accident. It was a suicidal attempt. She was rushed comatose to a nearby hospital. Her chances of survival were slim. So slim, eye witnesses concluded her dead, and carried on the news to campus.
And the kneeling silhouette was back… to her little chaotic corner on the prayer ground, where she moaned, groaned and howled.
She stripped no more..
She found Grace too, eventually….
‘How do you know so much?’ You may ask.
I’m Biodun Adams, lead pastor of the Saints’ Haven Church. Nancy, the kneeling silhouette, is my beloved wife of 8 years.