Chapter 3: The Counsel
785 Words
Chidinma didn't go home.
She went to church.
It was late afternoon—the building was empty except for the security guard half-asleep in his chair and the hum of the ancient air conditioning unit Pastor Adeyemi refused to replace because "it still works, why waste money?"
She found him in his office, bent over a Bible with notes scrawled in the margins, reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when she knocked.
"Chi." He smiled, then frowned. "What's wrong?"
She stepped inside and closed the door.
"I need to talk. And I need you not to tell me what to do."
He took off his glasses. Folded them carefully. "Sit."
She sat.
And then, slowly, shakily, she told him everything. Emeka's debt. The men who took him. The phone call. The estate. Obiora Kalu and his cold eyes and his impossible offer.
Pastor Adeyemi listened without interrupting. When she finished, he was quiet for a long time.
"What are you afraid of?" he finally asked.
"That I'm making a deal with the devil."
"Are you?"
She looked up. "Isn't that what this is?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "Is it?"
Chidinma exhaled sharply. "Pastor, I need answers, not questions."
"I don't have answers, Chi. Only you and God have those." He leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "But I'll ask you again: what are you afraid of?"
She thought about it. Really thought.
"I'm afraid that if I do this, I'll become someone I don't recognize. I'm afraid I'll compromise everything I believe. I'm afraid..." Her voice cracked. "I'm afraid God will be disappointed in me."
Pastor Adeyemi's face softened. "Do you remember the story of Esther?"
"Of course."
"Tell it to me."
Chidinma frowned. "Pastor—"
"Humor me."
She sighed. "Esther was a Jewish girl. Orphan. Raised by her cousin Mordecai. The king chose her to be queen, but she hid her identity. When Haman plotted to kill the Jews, Mordecai told her to go to the king and plead for her people. But going to the king uninvited could mean death. She was afraid."
"And?"
"And she went anyway. She said, 'If I perish, I perish.'"
Pastor Adeyemi nodded. "Esther walked into the king's palace—a pagan king's palace—and became his wife. She lived in luxury bought with blood and idolatry. She ate food sacrificed to false gods. She played a role." He paused. "Was she compromised?"
Chidinma hesitated. "No. She was... strategic."
"She was obedient," he corrected gently. "God put her in that palace 'for such a time as this.' Not because she was perfect. Not because the situation was clean. But because she was willing."
"You think I should do this."
"I think," Pastor Adeyemi said carefully, "that you should pray. Really pray. Not the kind of prayer where you already know the answer you want. The kind where you're willing to hear God say something you don't expect."
"And if He says yes?"
"Then you trust Him to keep you."
"And if He says no?"
"Then you trust Him with Emeka."
Tears burned her eyes. "I don't know if I'm strong enough for that."
"None of us are," the pastor said quietly. "That's why we need grace."
He stood, walked around the desk, and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Chi, listen to me. You are not responsible for saving Emeka. You're not responsible for saving that man, Obiora, either. You're only responsible for obedience. God is big enough to handle the rest."
She nodded, throat too tight to speak.
"Go home," he said. "Pray. And whatever you hear—trust it."
* * *
She prayed all night.
Not the pretty prayers she prayed on stage. Not the poetic ones she wrote in her journal. Raw, desperate prayers that sounded more like arguing.
God, I don't understand this. If You love Emeka, why won't You just... fix this? Why does it have to be me? Why does it have to be this?
Silence.
Are You there?
Silence.
She opened her Bible. It fell open to Isaiah 43.
"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze."
She read it three times.
You're asking me to walk through the fire.
And then, quietly, in that place deeper than thought, she felt it—not a voice, not a vision, just a knowing.
I'll be with you.
She closed the Bible. Pressed it to her chest. Wept.
By the time the sun rose, she knew what she had to do.
- Writer
