AT LAST, HOPE

HOME TO TELL

STORY 1

*VOCATION CRISIS IN THE SEMINARY*

💬A Story of me thinking to leave the seminary:

The chapel was quiet that evening, lite only by a single flickering candle. I sat alone in the pew, hands clenched, thoughts heavy. For weeks now, a storm had been brewing inside me—doubt, confusion, restlessness.

At first, everything felt right. The prayers, the silence, the purpose. But now, every bell that rang sounded more like a question than a call. I began to wonder: "Am I really called to this vocation? Or am I just afraid to disappoint?"

During classes, my mind wandered. During prayers, my heart felt hollow. I tried to push it away, blaming tiredness or temptation. But the feeling grew.

I missed the world outside—the laughter, the freedom, the unknown. I missed being just me, not “Fr Victor” in training. Some nights, I even dreamed of walking away.

One evening, during games, I stood near the gate and looked out at the road. The world beyond seemed so open, while the walls behind me felt tighter than ever.

But still—I couldn’t just leave. Not yet. Not without knowing for sure.

So I stayed that night. And I prayed, not for strength, but for clarity.

Because sometimes, the hardest part of the call… is figuring out if it was ever yours. which lead me to reflect on a poem called *EQUIPMENT* by Edgar Guest ( That I have all the greatest of men have had, so l should figure it out for myself). I think over, slept over, yet still l am here.

STORY 2

A VISIT TO A FRIEND HOUSE

One quiet Monday morning, I decided to visit my friend Raymond.

The sky was cloudy, and the air smelled like rain waiting to fall.

I grabbed my phone, slipped on my sneakers, and locked the door behind me.

The streets were calm, except for a barking dog and a passing vendor.

As I walked, I remembered our childhood games and secret hideouts.

Raymond house is far from mine-- Located in Hilltop and hill as the name imply.

Halfway there, I met Mrs. Chidimma, who smiled and asked about my friend.

I greeted her kindly and promised to greet him for her.

Reaching the old iron gate of Raymond’s house, I pushed it open with a creak.

He was already outside, sitting on the porch, munching Munch kins.

“Look who finally remembered me!” he joked, tossing a part of it my way.

I laughed and shook my head, “Blame the busy life, not my heart.”

We sat down, talking about everything and nothing at once.

He showed me his latest Quote—abstract and full of fun.

Then his elder sister came out with some naira note and asked him to buy something for his visitor.

Few minutes later he came back with two bottle of RC.

We drank, we played, and we talked about dreams under the mango tree.

Time flew fast; the sun began to hide behind the clouds.

I stood up reluctantly, promising to return next weekend.

Raymond waved, “Don’t wait too long next time!”

Smiling, I walked back home, heart light and memory full.