Adulthood arrived without warning. One day I was a boy kneeling by my mother's bed, begging God not to send me to hell, and the next, I was a young man standing in a crowded street, wondering how I would survive the next day without food in my stomach.
It was then I began to understand what many sermons had hidden from us: life is not lived on righteousness alone. Life is practical. Life is demanding. Life doesn't care how many Bible verses you can recite or how many church services you attend. Life wants proof in your hands money in your pocket, bread on your table, strength in your spirit.
I remember the first time I went to bed truly hungry. Not just skipping a meal because food was late, but lying on the mat with my stomach burning and my head dizzy because there was nothing to eat at all. I prayed that night, yes, I prayed hard, but morning came, and prayer didn't fill my belly.
That was when the truth began to dawn: righteousness without bravery is a recipe for suffering.
I looked around me, and I saw the evidence everywhere. The so-called "bad boys" of the neighborhood the ones who smoked, who hustled, who dared to take risks were making money, dressing well, and living loudly. They weren't saints, but they were surviving. Some were even thriving. Meanwhile, the sons of the "righteous" were like me hungry, timid, afraid to offend God, but too weak to face life squarely.
I told myself it was just a phase. Maybe God was testing me. Maybe He wanted me to remain faithful until He opened the windows of heaven. But as the months turned to years, I realized the window of heaven was not opening. My prayers remained unanswered, my obedience unrewarded.
It became clearer when I went to school to pursue a higher diploma. That period was the real test of fire. Education was supposed to be the ladder out of poverty, but in reality, it was another battlefield where only the brave survived.
I had no financial support strong enough to carry me through. My parents did what they could, but they were already stretched thin. Many times, I trekked to classes with an empty stomach. Sometimes I sat in lectures, my eyes open but my mind numb because hunger had stolen my focus. Other times, I skipped classes just to hustle a little doing menial jobs here and there, hoping to gather enough for food or books.
There were days when I almost gave up. Days when I asked myself, Why did they raise me this way? Why was I taught only to fear hell but not taught how to face hunger? Why did they teach me to pray without teaching me to hustle with wisdom?
The painful irony was that many of my peers who weren't as "righteous" as I was seemed to navigate life better. They weren't afraid to cut corners. They weren't afraid to speak up. They weren't afraid to take bold steps. Some even cheated the system, and while I frowned in self-righteousness, they got results.
It was then I remembered that verse: "The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force." For the first time, I saw it not just as a spiritual statement but as a life principle. Nothing good comes easy. You take it, or you remain empty-handed.
The society around me only confirmed it. Corruption was everywhere, from the streets to the government offices. Those who were bold enough to play the game succeeded, while those of us waiting for heaven's blessing were left behind.
I began to see religion for what it was a comfort for the poor, a drug for the fearful, a tool for those in power. It was like the pastors and elites knew the truth: that life rewards the brave. But instead of teaching it, they fed us fear so they could benefit from our ignorance.
The more I observed, the angrier I became. Here we were, the righteous children, starving and struggling, while the so-called men of God lived in abundance. They told us to give, even when we had nothing. They told us to sow seeds, even when we were hungry. They promised that blessings would come, but the only blessings I saw were the ones they were enjoying with our money.
The harsh reality slapped me: if I didn't learn bravery, if I didn't fight life with my own hands, I would die righteous but broke.
Slowly, I began to change. I started to test my boundaries. I learned to hustle harder. I learned that sometimes you have to push back, to demand, to claim your space in the world.
It wasn't easy. The guilt of my upbringing still clung to me like chains. Every bold step felt like rebellion. Every hustling move felt like sin. But I knew deep down that if I didn't change, poverty would swallow me whole.
Life had made its point clear: you could pray all you want, but if you don't fight, if you don't dare, if you don't rise with bravery, you will remain in the dust.
And so, in those years of hunger, struggle, and silent tears, I made a decision I would no longer be the righteous child alone. I would learn to be brave.