Story come!
Once upon a time, in the bright coastal lands where the sea hums songs of faith and freedom, there lived a woman whose voice could lift spirits.
She was a gospel artist, beautiful, humble, full of grace and light on her feet. Her music wasn’t just melody, it was ministry. When she sang, people felt heaven lean a little closer.
And then came the man of God. Tall, eloquent, wrapped in charm like fine cloth. His words flowed smooth as oil, and his prayers could stir even the coldest hearts. When he spoke, people said, “Surely, the Spirit moves.”
When the preacher met the singer, it felt divine; a match made in heaven’s rehearsal room. He courted her with scriptures, showered her with love, words and grand promises.
The world called it “kingdom love”. They called it “purpose partnership”. He was gentle, attentive, endlessly affirming. She felt seen, chosen, cherished.
They both lived by the same vow: no intimacy before marriage. Celibacy was their badge of holiness, and they wore it proudly. So, after a year of godly dating, surrounded by songs and prayers, they sealed it with vows. The church rejoiced. The online flock cheered. “A divine union!” they called it.
Then came the honeymoon, a beautiful escape beyond the borders of their homeland. The sea was blue, the air was sweet, the rooms were perfumed with love’s promise. But the nights… the nights were silent.
The man of God stayed prayerful, distant, untouched. The new bride, radiant and ready, waited patiently. She thought, “Perhaps he’s fasting, or resting, or waiting for the right moment.”
But the moment never came. Not the first night, nor the second, nor even the seventh. The honeymoon ended, but the celibacy continued.
At first, she told herself to be patient; to let her husband lead as the head. But patience turned to worry, worry turned to confusion, and confusion birthed quiet tears on a pillow that never felt shared. The marriage, though wrapped in ministry and smiles, began to taste bitter behind closed doors.
Soon, she started seeing shadows in the light. The man who once spoke softly now spoke sharply. His warmth turned cold, his guidance became control. He lied easily, manipulated gently, then blamed her for her own hurt. She felt small in her own home, a guest in her own marriage. And behind every sermon he preached, she heard echoes of deceit.
He was adored in public, always praising his “beautiful wife” with perfect smiles. But she knew the weight of the truth; nights of emptiness, days of fear, the loneliness of sharing a house without a heartbeat of love.
The gospel girl tried to hold on, prayed on her knees till her tears ran dry. But light and darkness cannot share a room forever. The fire that once felt holy had turned to smoke, and she was choking in it.
After a year and a few moons, the coastal woman packed her courage, her peace and her sanity, and walked away before she lost them all. She said, “I’d rather be single and sane than married and buried in depression.”
And so ended the “perfect” marriage that began with hallelujahs and hashtags.
***
So, my dear readers, marriage is indeed a holy thing; but holiness without honesty is hell in disguise. Before you shout “Amen” at the altar, make sure your partner’s prayers are louder than their pretence. And remember; love that doesn’t touch your heart, your mind and your body might just be fasting from the truth.
