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That night, Alberta could not sleep. The echoes of the pastor’s words—“This is not sin; it is sacrifice”—haunted her like chains around her soul. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tears slipping quietly down her cheeks.
Her heart battled with two voices. One whispered: “He is God’s servant. Trust him. This is the price of your destiny.” The other thundered within: “This is wrong. God is not in this. Run before it is too late.”
But fear choked her. What if she left and the curses he spoke became real? What if her life turned into endless struggles because she disobeyed? She clutched her blanket and cried silently, hoping no one would hear her.
Days turned into weeks. Outwardly, Alberta smiled in church, lifted her hands in worship, and sang with passion. But behind closed doors, she carried a storm. Each time she stood before the congregation, guilt gnawed at her soul, yet no one suspected the weight she bore.
The pastor continued his manipulations, covering his evil with scriptures and so-called prophetic utterances. The more he pressed her, the weaker her spirit felt. She was drowning, yet trapped in silence.
One Sunday, while singing a worship song, Alberta’s voice cracked, and she broke into uncontrollable tears on stage. The congregation thought she was “deep in the Spirit.” But inside, she was screaming for rescue.
Her breaking point was near.
Behind her smile, Alberta carried a secret too heavy to bear.
After the service, Alberta slipped into a quiet corner of the church compound. She leaned against the wall, covering her face with both hands, and sobbed. The weight of shame and confusion pressed heavily on her chest.
She whispered, “God… if You are real, please see me. I feel lost. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
For the first time, Alberta dared to speak honestly to God—not through the voice of her “spiritual father,” but from her own broken heart. Her tears became her prayer.
That night, she opened her Bible on her bed and her eyes fell on Matthew 11:28: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Her heart trembled. Could it be that Jesus, and not the pastor, was the true rest she had been searching for? She held the verse close, like a lifeline.
But then came the familiar tormenting thoughts: “You are nothing without Papa. He holds the keys to your destiny. If you disobey, your life will crumble.”
Alberta shivered. The battle inside her was fierce. She longed to break free, but fear tightened its grip.
The next day, she avoided the pastor’s office and told him she was unwell. His reply came with sharp words: “Daughter, don’t let the enemy deceive you. If you resist me, you resist God’s will.”
Her stomach twisted. Could God really be like this?
That night, Alberta knelt beside her bed again. With trembling lips she prayed, “Lord, if You are truly my Father, show me the truth. Deliver me. Don’t let me be deceived any longer.”
It was her first real cry for freedom.
Alberta’s prayer that night stirred something new inside her—a flicker of courage she had not felt before. The more she prayed sincerely, the more the pastor’s words began to sound different. What once felt holy now echoed with manipulation.
The following week, the pastor called her urgently. “Daughter, I sense your spirit drifting. Come to my office tonight, or the enemy will snatch your destiny.”
But Alberta hesitated. Instead of rushing, she paused and asked, “Papa, is there any scripture that shows this type of covenant you are teaching me?”
For the first time, silence lingered on his end of the line. His voice grew sharp. “You dare question the anointing? Be careful, or curses will follow you!”
Her hands trembled as she hung up, but inside, a warning bell rang. Was this truly the voice of a shepherd—or the roar of a wolf in disguise?
That Sunday, Alberta noticed other young ladies always staying close to the pastor, obeying his every command. Their eyes looked tired, their laughter forced. A chill ran down her spine. Could it be that she wasn’t the only one caught in his net?
During the service, a visiting preacher shared a message: “A true shepherd points people to Christ, not to himself. If a leader draws you to depend on him instead of God, beware!”
Alberta’s heart pounded. It felt as though God Himself was exposing her hidden struggle. She looked at the pastor on the pulpit, and for the first time, she saw not a father—but a man hiding behind religion.
The chains around her soul began to crack.
One evening, while Alberta lingered after choir rehearsal, she overheard two ladies whispering behind the church building.
“He told me the same thing,” one said bitterly. “That intimacy with him would open doors for my destiny.”
The other sighed. “And I believed it. Now I feel trapped. If I speak, everyone will call me rebellious. Who will believe me against Papa?”
Alberta’s heart froze. Her worst fears were confirmed. She was not alone—others had been entangled in the same web of manipulation.
Her chest tightened with both anger and relief. Anger that the man she trusted as a father was deceiving so many, and relief that she was not losing her mind—this was real abuse, cloaked in spirituality.
That night, Alberta couldn’t shake the conversation from her head. She pieced together things she had ignored before: the way the pastor always surrounded himself with vulnerable young women, his secretive “deliverance sessions,” his threats of curses against those who questioned him.
The veil lifted. What she once thought was divine authority was nothing but a mask for evil desires.
Alberta felt both fear and determination rising within her. If others are suffering like me, then silence will only make it worse. But how do I speak when he holds all the power?
She opened her Bible and her eyes landed on Ephesians 5:11: “Have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather reprove them.”
Her hands shook as she closed the book. God was clearly warning her: silence was no longer an option.
The breaking point had come. Alberta would have to choose between fear of man and fear of God.
Her journey toward freedom—and truth—was just beginning.