A few weeks ago, I walked into a colleague’s office, and our chat naturally drifted to parenting and school decisions. She mentioned how her son had recently taken the common entrance exam into secondary school—not because he was due for it, but as a mock trial.
To her surprise, he did well, and now people around her were suggesting that
she allow him to move ahead to JSS1 (7th grade), even though he was just ten.
“He’s bigger than most kids his age,” they argued. “He’s mature for his age.” She
was torn—and I could relate.
That conversation
reminded me of something personal. I told her about a call I’d received just
weeks before from my mom. As is her custom, my mom had spent the day praying
for her grandchildren, but this time, she focused specifically on Nailah and
the high school she would attend. Nailah would soon be turning ten, and my mom
felt it was time to pray intentionally.
As she shared some of the schools on her heart—some we’d discussed, others I
hadn’t even considered—I realized I had become relaxed in that area of prayer.
It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I had prayed about Nailah’s education for years.
In fact, I’ve prayed about her future since the day she was born—teachers,
classmates, friends, even her future in-laws.
But in that moment, God gently nudged me through my mom. Don’t become
complacent, He reminded me. Keep praying intentionally.
That’s when I
shared a deeply personal story with my colleague. One that had shaped how I see
God’s plans and how I steward what He gives me.
Growing up, my
mom discovered a Christian school in Jos—Bethany Academy. It was everything I
wanted. Small class sizes. Hot meals. Hot water baths. Balance. Soft life. When
she showed me, I fell in love instantly. My dad promised me that if I passed
the entrance exam, he’d send me there.
I worked hard and passed all seven entrance exams I sat for, including
Bethany’s. At one interview, I honestly told them I had passed multiple exams
but preferred Bethany Academy. Even though I was the second-best candidate they
had interviewed, another school placed me on a waiting list—just because I
wasn’t enthusiastic about attending them.
I was overjoyed when Bethany offered me admission. But then, tragedy struck. During
the Abacha regime, my dad was imprisoned over a false coup. With him gone, no
one could pay my fees. My mom had just started working, and her salary could
barely cover even half of Bethany’s fees.
My aunt Rahila (of blessed memory) offered to pay, but my mom, thinking long
term, declined. She didn’t want to risk pulling me out halfway if my aunt
couldn’t keep up. I was devastated—angry at my mom, angrier at God. Why show me
a dream and help me pass, only to shut the door?
I ended up at Baptist High School—
my personal
hell—and I was determined to escape.
I pulled every dramatic stunt imaginable—even some not in the books.
Fake spiritual attacks? Check.
Threatening letters to myself in a different handwriting? Done.
Anything to convince my mom to set me free.
She never budged.
Every plea—tears, financial logic (“Send me to SLOGA, it’s cheaper!”), even a
sudden hike in school fees that I thought would be my escape route—met a brick
wall.
Then came Uncle
Abba Kyari (The late Chief of Staff, RIP). My dad’s old high school friend
stepped in and paid the school fees for all of us until I graduated. Just like
that, my last loophole vanished. I had no choice but to stay.
And then came the
final blow from my mother:
“Before I put you in that school, I prayed. God said that’s where you should
be. So if you’re going to die, you’ll die there. I’ve sacrificed you like
Isaac.”
Game over. I
surrendered. Quietly. Waiting for my sweet, soft-hearted dad to return and
rescue me—because if anyone would understand me, it would be him—because he was
the soft one, the pushover. My mom? The disciplinarian.
During this time,
my mom told my dad that I needed serious prayers because of all the ‘spiritual
attacks’ she believed I was facing. His response: “Don’t bother, she’s fine.
What she’s displaying is psychological. She just hates the school and is doing
whatever she can to get out.” When I heard that, my heart skipped a beat. This
man had seen right through me. But I was also comforted—my father understood
me better than I had given him credit for
When my father
was eventually released, I thought, “Now, I’ll finally leave.” But he looked at
me and said I was going nowhere.
I surrendered. I stopped fighting and endured.
Years later, I now see the bigger picture. That school grounded me. I met
people who shaped me. I grew spiritually in ways I wouldn’t have in a more
permissive environment. God had known what I needed—better than I did.
I then told my
colleague about my BSF leader’s son. Like me, her son had passed his entrance
exams, and she needed to choose between two schools. Each required a
non-refundable deposit, and she could only afford one.
Realizing time was running out and she hadn’t prayed properly, she spent the
night in prayer, asking God for direction. In response, God gave her a dream.
She saw her son graduating from one of the schools but noticed a dent on his
face. She asked him what had happened, and he replied, “It was because of the
school you sent me to.”
The dream revealed that although he would make it through, something would dent
his life—bad friends, bad habits, or negative influences. She woke up, thanked
God for the warning, and enrolled him in the other school immediately.
What a powerful reminder that one decision can shape the course of a life. One
wrong influence can change everything. Just one voice. One friend. One piece of
bad advice.
That reminded me of Farouk Abdulmutallab—the young Nigerian who tried to bomb a
plane. He had originally been seeking spiritual growth in Islam but crossed
paths with the wrong guide. What if he had met the right mentor instead?
That’s why my prayers for my children go
beyond school admissions. I pray that God Himself will:
- Reveal their blueprint to us, like He did with Samson’s parents.
- Make His voice real to them, like He did with Samuel.
- Protect their destinies from derailment, like Joash’s was—because the godly
uncle who guided him died and he fell under bad counsel.
- Place the right people on their paths, because Naaman was healed only because
his servants convinced him to listen to Elisha.
- Shield them from evil influences, because Abdulmutalab just needed the right person
to redirect his genuine search.
And I pray this
with holy fear and with hope because even the best builders can construct
something utterly misaligned—if they never consult the Architect’s blueprint. Without
God’s design, we risk making decisions—especially for our children—that look
successful on the outside but may ultimately fall short of His purpose. That’s
why we must ask Him for His plan and build according to His vision, not ours.
An architect
designs for the Owner—and in our lives, God is both. He holds the vision and
the deed to every life He creates, including the children He entrusts to us. As
parents, we’re the builders, not the designers. Our job isn’t to improvise, but
to seek His plan—then build with confidence, knowing the outcome will fulfill
His purpose.
As the Bible
reminds us:
'For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper
you and not to harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope.’ (Jeremiah
29:11
That conversation in my colleague’s office settled it for me: parenting
is not passive. It’s an act of stewardship—and stewards don’t move unless they
know the Master’s plan.
So I pray constantly—for the blueprint, for wisdom, for divine voices, and for
the courage to follow God’s path, even when it’s nothing like I imagined.
And when you see my mom, please thank her—for standing her ground and being the
faithful steward God ordained her to be. May we all learn to trust the
Architect like she did.
