Lord, what should I write this time? I asked myself as my eyes closed and my mind wandered through the lessons that shaped me. Why not tell them the story? So here we go.
Dahunsi was an only child, the long-awaited evidence of God’s mercy. His parents, Funmi and Lanre, had prayed, fasted, and wept for fifteen years before their promise finally arrived, prompting the name Oluwadahunsiadurami Adedeji. Their joy was immeasurable.
But raising Dahunsi was nothing like they imagined. By fifteen, he already looked older than his age, broad-shouldered, confident to a fault, and convinced the world owed him respect. Brilliant, yes, but his temper was a wildfire. School after school expelled him until this fourth one finally broke Lanre.
Sitting in the parlour, a half-glass of cold Five Alive in his hand, Lanre stared at the message he had dreaded: “Your son has been expelled.” His voice trembled. “What have I done to deserve this, Oh God?”
He had no idea that all this chaos was the soil for a miracle he never expected.
In frustration, he and Funmi decided to send Dahunsi to Ibadan to stay with his grandparents. “Let him learn a trade. Let him breathe,” they said.
The morning they left Lagos was heavy. The road into Ibadan was dusty, long, and strangely symbolic. Dahunsi sat in the backseat, irritated, wondering why life kept pushing him into corners.
Then the twist – an unexpected figure waiting at the family house.
David.
A distant relative. Calm. Gentle. Raised on prayer and discipline. He had only come to help the grandparents, but heaven had positioned him for something bigger. From the moment he met Dahunsi, something tugged at his spirit. He spoke to the boy without judgment, and somehow, that disarmed him.
On the first night, David invited him to morning prayers. Dahunsi scoffed, but by dawn, something nudged him awake. He heard NSPPD playing softly, Apostle Selman’s voice echoing down the hallway. Curiosity dragged him out of bed.
Day one: he sat at the edge, arms folded… but he listened.
Day two: he stayed longer, pretending not to care.
Day three: something cracked. He found himself responding, whispering “Amen” under his breath.
By the end of the week, he was not the same boy.
His grandparents noticed. David noticed. Even his parents noticed.
“Dahunsi,” his mother asked, almost afraid to breathe, “the neighbours say you greet them now… you helped someone carry water… you washed plates… you?”
For the first time, he smiled without arrogance. “Mummy… I’m learning something new.”
Slowly, the battles he never understood began to quiet. The boy who once shouted, “Do you know who I am?” started learning who he truly was.
Not the troublesome child.
Not the expelled student.
Not the angry fighter.
But the answered prayer his parents had waited fifteen years to hold.
Sometimes God hides transformation in unlikely places, through unlikely people, on unlikely dusty roads to Ibadan.
The Charge
Never assume God has abandoned you simply because the road is rough. Dahunsi was not being punished – he was being positioned. His change did not begin when he behaved better. It began when he heard better.
One David. One prayer. One moment of surrender.
That was enough.
So guard your atmosphere and honour the voices God sends. Your turnaround may not enter with noise. It may come quietly, the same way Dahunsi’s did.
And remember this:
When God is ready to rewrite a story, even a dusty road to Ibadan becomes a pathway to destiny.
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1 thought on “When God Rewrites a Story”
God truly writes the best stories. This is inspiring and encouraging. Thank you Dr Davis.