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The small village of Adomakrom lay hidden between rolling hills, its red clay roads winding like veins of life through fields of cassava and maize. The people were simple, honest folk — farmers, traders, artisans. It was in this quiet place that Samuel Owusu was born.
From a young age, there was something different about Samuel. While other boys chased lizards and played in the dusty streets, Samuel could often be found sitting beneath the ancient odum tree near the village chapel, his eyes fixed on the horizon, lost in thought. His mother, Ama, a woman of fervent prayer, often said, “This child belongs to God. He is not like the others.”
Samuel’s father, a schoolteacher, instilled in him discipline and a love for books. But it was Ama’s prayers that seemed to shape the boy’s soul. Every dawn, Samuel would hear her soft voice rising to heaven, pleading for mercy upon their family and community. Those prayers sank deep into his heart, stirring a hunger he could not explain.
By age fifteen, Samuel began to sense the pull of God’s Spirit. He would stand at the back of the village chapel, watching the old pastor preach with passion. The words seemed to burn in his heart. Many nights, Samuel would stay awake, reading his tattered Bible by the faint light of a kerosene lamp.
Then came the dream.
In the dream, Samuel stood before a great multitude — their faces stretched as far as his eyes could see. Some were weeping, some were bound in chains, others reached out to him as if begging for help. A voice thundered from above:
“Feed My sheep. Strengthen the weak. Bind up the broken. This is your work.”
Samuel awoke drenched in sweat, trembling. From that night, he knew: God had called him to preach the Gospel.
The years that followed were marked by preparation. Samuel served quietly in the village chapel — sweeping floors, cleaning pews, learning from the old pastor who became like a father to him. He fasted often, spending hours in prayer, crying out for God’s power to heal, deliver, and save.
When he turned twenty-one, with the blessing of his church elders, Samuel began preaching in nearby villages. His messages were simple, but the anointing was undeniable. Hardened sinners wept at his words. The sick testified of healings. The poor rejoiced as he preached hope.
Word spread. Soon, larger towns began to invite him for crusades. His name was whispered with respect — “That young man from Adomakrom, the one God is using mightily.” Yet, through it all, Samuel remained humble. His one desire was to see souls saved and Jesus glorified.
Night after night, he would lie on his mat, gazing at the stars, and pray:
“Lord, keep me pure. Keep me humble. Let me not fail You.”
He had no idea how fiercely that prayer would be tested in the years ahead.