CALLED BEFORE US- Ep 7

Episode 7 — The Calling

The first sign that something had shifted was not dramatic. It was quiet. A restlessness.

Purity felt it on a Tuesday morning in Kigali.

He had woken before his alarm, long before the rest of the Reverers team stirred in the guesthouse. The sky outside was still indigo, hills barely visible against the thinning darkness. He lay on his back staring at the ceiling fan that rotated lazily above him, his heart beating with an unfamiliar weight.

More like… anticipation mixed with dread.

He reached for his phone and opened his Bible app without thinking. Jeremiah 1. He frowned.

He had not searched for it. It was just there from the previous night’s reading plan. He scrolled.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.

His chest tightened.

“Ah,” he muttered quietly. “Not this one.” He locked his phone and turned onto his side. He had been content.

Tech job in Lagos. Good pay. Flexible hours. Serving in media at church. Missions photography with Reverers whenever he could take leave.

He loved it.

He loved capturing moments when someone encountered God. He loved being behind the lens, unseen. He did not crave a pulpit. He did not crave titles.

He especially did not crave the weight of shepherding people’s lives. He closed his eyes again. Sleep did not return.

Later that afternoon, after a long outreach session in a small community outside the city, he wandered away from the team for a moment.

The hills rolled endlessly. Green and steady. The wind carried faint laughter from children nearby. He lifted his camera instinctively, snapped a few frames, then lowered it again. The restlessness had not left.

It had grown. He felt it during worship that evening when one of the local leaders began praying for “laborers who will not run from the field.”

His stomach tightened. He felt it when an elderly woman held his hand after prayer and said in slow English, “You carry a shepherd heart.”

He smiled politely. But her words lodged somewhere deep. Shepherd heart.

That night, he did not call Valerie immediately. Not because he didn’t want to. Because he didn’t know what to say.

Back in Lagos, Valerie was in the media room at church, headset slightly crooked on her braids, eyes fixed on the live feed monitors.

“Lower camera two,” she instructed calmly. “Yes. Perfect. Leave it.”

Her voice had grown more confident in recent weeks.

Creative director.

She still found the title amusing. But she loved it.

She loved the controlled chaos. The coordination. The quiet thrill when visuals aligned perfectly with a sermon point. After service, as people lingered in the foyer greeting one another, she stepped outside for air.

Her phone buzzed.

Purity: Can we talk tonight?

Her heartbeat quickened.

Valerie: We always talk.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Purity: I know. Just… I need to talk.

Her stomach flipped.

Valerie: You’re scaring me.

Purity: I’m not breaking up with you.

She exhaled sharply.

Valerie: Very funny.

Purity: 8pm your time?

Valerie: Okay.

She slipped her phone back into her bag, but something unsettled her.

When he said he needed to talk, it didn’t feel casual.

At exactly 8:03 p.m., her phone rang. She answered on the first ring. He was not smiling. That alone made her chest tighten.

“Hi,” she said cautiously.

“Hi.” Silence.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes.” That was not convincing.

“Purity.” He ran a hand over his face.

“Something has been happening.” Her throat dried.

“What kind of something?” He hesitated.

“I don’t want to say it dramatically.”

“Then say it normally.” He exhaled.

“I think God is calling me.” She blinked.

“To what?” He held her gaze through the screen.

“To pastoral ministry.” The words landed like a stone in still water. She did not react immediately. He watched her carefully.

“Valerie?” She swallowed.

“Since when?”

“Since… maybe always,” he admitted quietly. “But I ignored it.” Her chest constricted.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want it.” A flicker of relief passed through her before she caught herself.

“And now?” she asked. He looked away briefly.

“Now it won’t leave me alone.” Her breathing slowed.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means when I pray, it’s there. When I worship, it’s there. When I’m teaching the younger guys photography and they start asking life questions, it’s there.” He leaned forward slightly.

“It’s like God keeps pressing it on me.” Her heart began pounding louder.

“You don’t even like spotlight,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You like background.”

“I know.”

“You like camera.”

“I know.” She inhaled shakily.

“And you’re sure this isn’t just… missions adrenaline?” He shook his head slowly.

“No.” Silence stretched.

“Have you told anyone?” she asked.

“Not fully.”

“Babe.”

“I spoke to one of the team leads here.”

“And?”

“He said he’s been sensing it too.” Her stomach dropped.

“And he encouraged it?”

“He told me to pray more.” She let out a slow breath. Her mind had already gone somewhere she did not want it to go. 

Her father standing on an altar. Her mother waiting alone at night. Church members calling at midnight. Her childhood filled with absence disguised as service.

Her voice became smaller.

“So what now?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Do you want it?” He paused.

“That’s the hard part.”

“Answer me.” He looked directly at her.

“Yes.” The word sliced through her.

She felt something fragile inside her chest crack.

“You want it.”

“Yes.” Tears welled without permission.

“Boo…”

“You promised,” she whispered. His face fell.

“I know.”

“You promised you wouldn’t choose calling over loving me well.”

“I’m not.” She shook her head slightly.

“It starts small,” she murmured.

“What does?”

“Sacrifice. ‘Just one more meeting.’ ‘Just one more counseling session.’ ‘Just one more prayer.’” Her voice trembled.

“And suddenly your wife is second.”

He listened. Not defensive. He just listened. 

“I am not your father,” he said quietly. She closed her eyes.

“I know.”

“I will never be him.”

“I know.”

“But it feels the same,” she admitted, tears slipping down. Silence. He inhaled slowly.

“Mama….” She wiped her face impatiently.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. Her chest tightened further.

“And I don’t want to lose myself,” she whispered. He felt that. Deeply.

“This isn’t official,” he said carefully. “I haven’t told Pastor in Lagos yet. I haven’t accepted anything.”

“But you want it.”

“Yes.”

“And if God confirms it?” He did not answer immediately.

“Then I obey.” The room felt too small. She laughed softly, but it was humorless.

“Of course you do.” He frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you love God.”

“Yes.”

“And I love that about you.” He waited.

“But I don’t know if I love what that love might cost me.” The honesty hung between them. Raw. He did not rush to respond.

“I don’t want ministry to swallow us,” he said eventually.

“Ministry swallows everything,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t have to.”

“It did in my house.”

“I’m not your house.” She looked at him.

“You say that now.” His voice deepened.

“Baby… Mama please, look at me.” She lifted her eyes reluctantly.

“I have watched men use ‘calling’ as an excuse to neglect responsibility.” Her breath hitched.

“I will not be that man.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No. But I can build systems to protect against it.” She frowned.

“Systems?”

“Yes. Accountability. Boundaries. Mentorship.” She was quiet.

“I don’t want to pastor alone,” he added. “If this happens, I want you beside me. Not behind me.” 

The word pastor beside him made her chest constrict again.

“I never wanted to marry a pastor,” she said softly. He swallowed.

“I know.”

“I swore it.” He gave a faint, sad smile. “God must have laughed.” She let out a broken breath.

“This is not funny.”

“I know.” Silence.

Then he said gently, “Do you still want to be my girlfriend?” Her head snapped up.

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s a real question.” Tears blurred her vision again.

“I just got used to the idea of us.”

“And now it feels unstable?”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly.

“I’m still me,” he said.

“For now.” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He absorbed that without anger.

“For now,” he echoed quietly. They sat in silence.

Neither wanting to end the call. Neither knowing what to say next.

“I need time,” she whispered.

“Take it.”

“Don’t rush me.”

“I won’t.” She wiped her face again.

“Have you told your parents?”

“No.”

“Your pastor in Lagos?”

“No.”

“You’ll tell him.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“When I return.” Her stomach twisted.

“So this is real.”

“Yes.” Her heart beat painfully.

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

“If this becomes your life… I need to know I won’t disappear in it.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

He leaned closer to the screen.

“I will fight for us.” Her chest tightened at the word fight.

“I don’t want to compete with God,” she whispered.

“You’re not competing. You’re included.” She shook her head slightly, unconvinced.

“I need to pray,” she said finally.

“So do I.” They stared at each other a moment longer.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Her breath caught. He had not said it like that before. Not so plainly. She hesitated. The words felt heavy now.

“I…” She swallowed. “I care about you deeply.”

He nodded.

“I’ll take that.” She forced a small smile.

“Goodnight, Purity.”

“Goodnight, Baby.” The call ended. She sat there long after the screen went dark.

Tammy knocked lightly and entered without waiting.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said gently. Valerie looked up, eyes swollen.

“He thinks he’s called to be a pastor.” Tammy froze.

“Oh.”

Valerie laughed weakly. “Exactly.” Tammy sat beside her.

“Do you love him that much?” Valerie’s throat tightened.

“Yes.” Tammy squeezed her hand.

“Then this won’t be simple.” Valerie leaned back against the wall.

Outside, Lagos traffic roared as usual. Inside her chest, something trembled. She had prayed for a man who loved God. She had prayed for maturity. For stability. For depth. She had not prayed for this.

And in Rwanda, Purity stepped out under the night sky again, looking at the hills.

“God,” he whispered, voice almost breaking, “why now?” The wind answered with silence.

And somewhere in Lagos, a girl who swore she would never marry a pastor lay awake staring at her ceiling, wondering if she was watching history repeat itself.

To be continued

Hiiii babiesss…. I know you guys missed Valerie and Purity. Well!! They are back.

Do you think Valerie would break up with him cause he’s not called to ministry?