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The weeks after Samuel dismissed the businessman’s dark offer passed quickly. Yet the words lingered in his mind, like smoke that refused to clear.
He told himself it was nonsense. I am God’s servant. I have no need of such things.
But with each passing day, the pressure grew. The demands of the ministry were relentless. The headquarters he had built in Accra required heavy maintenance. His staff had grown — now he employed dozens: drivers, security personnel, office workers, sound technicians, media teams. Salaries had to be paid.
Worse, Samuel’s diary was always full. Crusades, conferences, meetings with government officials, interviews with the press. The quiet mornings he once spent in prayer became rare. His old Bible, its cover worn from years of use, lay unopened for days at a time.
Naana watched with sorrow. She tried to speak, but Samuel would wave her off with a tired smile.
“My dear, let’s talk later. I have to prepare for this next program.”
But he wasn’t preparing his heart. He was preparing his image.
Slowly, Samuel began to make small compromises.
Where once he had preached boldly against sin, now he softened his messages. After all, important people filled his meetings now — men of wealth and position. He didn’t want to offend them.
Where once he would spend hours counseling the broken-hearted, he now delegated that to junior pastors. His time was “too valuable” for small matters.
Where once his heartbeat only to see souls saved, now he found himself more concerned with numbers — crowd sizes, offering amounts, social media followers.
And the invitations kept coming.
Each one promised a larger platform, a greater influence. Samuel found himself constantly traveling, always in front of people, yet increasingly far from God.
One evening, after a grand event that drew over a hundred thousand people, Samuel sat alone in his mansion. His staff had left. His family was asleep.
He stared at the glittering city lights outside his window and felt a gnawing emptiness.
“Lord… where are You?” he whispered.
But the heavens felt silent.
And in that silence, the enemy spoke.
“You have come too far to fail now.”
“Protect what you have built.”
“Others have taken steps to secure their ministries. Why shouldn’t you?”
The thought of that businessman’s offer returned with force. Samuel wrestled with it, but pride and fear began to cloud his judgment.
Days later, at a private gathering of high-profile leaders, Samuel met Mr. Mensah, a polished, well-connected man with ties to both government and secret societies. Mensah spoke with subtle charm, praising Samuel’s work, hinting at partnerships that could take his ministry “to the next level.”
At first, Samuel resisted. But Mensah was patient. He introduced Samuel to powerful people, opened doors to television networks, arranged meetings with influential figures who offered massive sponsorships — all in exchange for small compromises.
A diluted message here. A shared platform there. A prayer offered at a gathering Samuel would once have refused to attend.
It was all so gradual, so subtle, that Samuel barely noticed his slide.
Naana’s heart grew heavy. One night she pleaded with him:
“Samuel, I beg you — come back to the place of prayer. Let us return to God before it is too late!”
But Samuel, wearied by the endless demands and blinded by the praise of men, brushed her off.
“Naana, please. You don’t understand what it takes to lead at this level. I am doing my best for God.”
She went away, tears streaming down her face, and fell on her knees.
“Lord, save my husband. He is drifting. Don’t let the enemy destroy him.”
But the enemy was already tightening his grip.
Samuel was at the crossroads — and soon, he would step onto the wrong path.