CHAPTER 22 – THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the LIVING WORD

I wiped my face again.

Aunty Favour’s patience on the line gave me courage. It was like speaking to someone who wouldn’t judge me, someone who understood pain beyond what words could explain.

“I don’t know where to start…” I whispered.

“Anywhere, dear. Start from anywhere.” Her voice was warm, motherly.

I inhaled shakily.

“ My name is Mololuwa…My sisters and I… we’ve been fighting for our father’s inheritance. Not because we are greedy, but because life hasn’t been kind to us. We needed something to finally help us breathe. To start over. To heal.”

My voice cracked.

“There were paintings…valuable paintings my father left behind. Paintings we found…by accident. We wanted to sell them to rebuild our lives. To fulfill dreams we had buried for so long. I personally wanted to use part of the money to support children…support projects like Lighthouse. It is my dream… But now… Now everything feels tainted. People have died. Blood has stained the journey.”

I paused, waiting for her to speak.

But Aunty Favour said nothing.

She waited.

I continued, my words spilling out like water breaking through a dam.

“Our father was not a good man. He hurt us deeply while he lived. And even now, his shadow is destroying us… One of my sisters lost her child overnight. My husband and I… we can’t even have a child naturally because of trauma I suffered as a girl. The police have been involved because someone died protecting us, my sister has been arrested…and now, I don’t even know if keeping these paintings is right anymore. I have step-cousins and step brothers who hate my sisters and I. The truth honestly is that I tried holding the family together…” My tears poured with no restrictions…

I broke down again, sobbing into my palm.

“I wanted to be useful, Aunty… I wanted to be light to others… but right now, I feel like darkness is swallowing me whole.”

There was a pause.

Then her voice came, steady and full of grace.

“My dear Mololuwa… I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry so much pain. I’m so sorry life dealt you such heavy blows. But can I tell you something?”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me.

“You were never called to carry the weight alone.”

Her words hit me like a soft blow to my chest.

“You are not the Savior, dear. You are not the fixer. You are a vessel. God doesn’t expect you to light up the world by burning yourself out. He expects you to yield, to trust Him, even when everything feels dark.”

I listened, tears streaming silently.

“And hear this carefully… Purpose doesn’t wait for life to become perfect. You can still be light right here, right now, even in your brokenness. Even while holding shattered dreams. Even before the money comes, before the comfort arrives.”

My mouth trembled.

“How?” I whispered.

“By surrendering it all. By choosing to trust that God’s hands are bigger than your own. By refusing to let bitterness write the rest of your story.”

She paused again, letting her words sink in.

“I know the fight for survival is real. I know the pain of betrayal is real. But if you let this pain define you, it will strip you of the greater calling on your life. Don’t let your father’s past dictate your future. Don’t let this inheritance war become your identity. You are MORE than this struggle, Mololuwa. You need to be strong in the Lord before you can help the rest of your siblings”

I wept harder.

It was like she had seen into the deepest parts of my soul.

“You can still be the vessel of comfort you dreamt of becoming. You can still become the woman who lifts others. But it won’t come through struggle. It will come through surrender.”

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, clutching it like a lifeline.

“Can you pray for me?” I asked, my voice shaking.

A soft sigh came from the other end.

“With joy,” she said.

And right there, sitting on the cold kitchen floor, holding my broken heart in my hands, I listened as Aunty Favour began to pray.

She prayed for healing…for restoration…for strength.

She prayed that God would fight my battles…that the chains of generational pain would break.

She prayed for new beginnings.

And as she prayed, something warm began to rise inside me.

An Assurance.

A tiny light that refused to be snuffed out.

Maybe… just maybe… there was still a future for my sister’s and I.

A future bigger than our pain.

A future bathed in Light…Light strong enough to swallow our dark and pain-filled past.

To be continued…

A short Word for you my Dear reader…
Sometimes, life’s betrayals, battles, and broken dreams try to redefine who we are. But our scars are not the final chapter of our stories. God can bring beauty from ashes… if we dare to surrender and trust Him beyond the pain.

Prayer Point:
“Lord, heal the broken places in me. Help me not to let pain define my future. Give me the strength to surrender my dreams, my struggles, and my battles into Your hands. Make me a vessel of light, even in the midst of darkness. Amen.”

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