family rooted deeply in faith. His father, Pastor Edosa, was the pastor of Ministry of Grace, a
modest but fiery church tucked in the heart of the city. His mother, Mama Favour, was a quiet
but relentless prayer warrior whose knees bore the marks of countless hours spent interceding
for her family.
From a young age, Tega showed signs that troubled his parents. While other children were
content with biscuits and toys, Tega always wanted more.
"Tega, this food should be enough for you," his mother would say gently.
"But why does Efe have more meat? It's not fair! I want more!" he would whine, pouting with
arms folded.
His parents tried to correct his greed with discipline and scripture, but Tega’s heart was hard.
He began stealing small things, sweets from the market stalls, coins from his father’s offering
basket.
"Tega! You stole from the church offering?" Pastor Edosa’s voice quivered more in heartbreak
than in anger.
"They won't miss it. It was just twenty naira," Tega shrugged, not even looking remorseful.
As he grew older, so did his ambitions. By sixteen, Tega was already running errands for petty
thieves. By eighteen, he carried knives. He dropped out of school, and every attempt by his
parents to bring him back was met with disdain.
"You think your prayers can change me? I'm not like you! I want real money. Respect. Power,"
he spat during one argument.
Pastor Edosa would return to the altar with tears in his eyes.
"Lord, please… bring my son back. I don't care how far he's gone, just don’t let him die this
way."
Church members began whispering.
"How can a man preach holiness when his own son is terrorizing the streets?"
"Maybe God is punishing him."
Still, Pastor Edosa did not waver. Mama Favour would walk through the night, laying hands on
Tega’s room door, declaring, “He will not die in sin. He will return. My son will return.”
Tega, meanwhile, spiraled deeper. He joined a violent gang, then a cult known for blood rituals
and political ties. His hands became stained literally with blood. He performed dark rituals for
corrupt governors and influential men. He had cars, money, girls, everything he once dreamed
of.
But he also had no peace.
One night, during a particularly gruesome ritual, he saw something. The blood on the altar
wouldn’t wipe off his hands. The faces of his victims swirled around him. He collapsed,
trembling.
He heard a voice clear, terrifying.
"Your time is short."
He woke up shaking, soaked in sweat, the eyes of the cult leader on him.
"You're losing your grip, Tega. You need to toughen up."
But Tega was done.
He returned home unannounced. His hair was overgrown, his clothes soiled, eyes hollow.
"Mama... Papa... help me. I can't do this anymore."
His parents embraced him, sobbing. The prodigal had returned.
Deliverance was not instant, but it was real. Tega cried at the altar, confessing his sins. He gave
his life to Christ. The same pulpit he once mocked became the ground of his redemption. The
church that once scorned his father now wept with him.
Years passed. Tega became a vibrant youth minister. He married Ese, a devoted woman with a
heart for missions. They had twin boys, Tomi and Tobi. Tega vowed to raise them in the way of
the Lord.
But the past has a way of casting long shadows.
From an early age, Tomi and Tobi were strong-willed and mischievous. By their teenage years,
they were skipping school, lying, sneaking out at night. Despite all of Tega’s efforts, devotions,
discipline, heart-to-heart talks the boys drifted.
"Why are you so hard on us? Weren’t you worse? Didn’t you kill people?" Tomi once yelled
during a heated argument.
Tega fell silent, crushed.
"I wanted to spare you from my pain. I thought if I changed, you wouldn't have to know that
darkness."
But the boys were already in a cult. Tega found out too late.
One fateful evening, a violent clash between rival groups erupted. The news came like thunder.
Both Tomi and Tobi were dead.
The pain was indescribable. Tega screamed in anguish, tearing at his clothes. Ese collapsed in
shock.
At their funeral, Tega could barely stand.
"I gave my life to You. I served You. Why didn't You save them?" he wept at the altar.
Then, in the stillness of the night, he heard God whisper:
“You found mercy, but your sons tried to gamble with grace. Tell others, so they don't wait
until it's too late.”
Tega rose with a new fire. He started The Narrow Path Move menta ministry dedicated to
teenagers. He travelled across cities, into schools, ghettos, churches.
"Don’t think you can live anyhow and repent later! I did but my sons didn’t make it. Some
never return!"
His story pierced hearts. Thousands gave their lives to Christ. He showed them his scars not as
badges of honour, but as warnings.
Though Tega mourned his sons every day, he found purpose in his pain. He became a voice
crying in the wilderness of youth:
"Choose the narrow path early. You may not survive the wide road."
And so, from the ashes of waywardness, a man rose not just redeemed, but transformed. A
vessel of warning and mercy, preaching that grace is powerful, but delay can be deadly.
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