THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART TWO
The years rolled forward like pages turning under an unseen hand.
Seasons changed, streets grew busier, and buildings rose higher across the city skyline, yet one rhythm in Excel’s life remained unchanged.
Morning light would often find her kneeling beside her modest bed, the room quiet except for the distant hum of the waking city.
Soft rays of sunlight spilled across the pages of her open Bible, warming the worn paper as her lips moved in quiet prayer. The stillness carried the sacred weight of devotion.
Afternoons would see her in lecture halls filled with restless students and the rustle of notebooks.
Professors posed difficult questions, yet time after time her calm voice rose with clarity, offering answers that silenced confusion.
Heads turned.
Pens paused mid-air.
Curiosity and admiration followed her everywhere she went.
Evenings belonged to the church.
There, beneath warm lights and quiet hymns, she served faithfully—sometimes praying with trembling seekers at the altar.
Sometimes guiding younger believers through Scripture, sometimes standing quietly in the corner while others sang. Her life moved in a steady circle of devotion.
Two weeks passed in the swift rhythm of work and ministry.
Morning sunlight spilled across the polished floors of a corporate office high above the city.
The tall building overlooked busy streets far below, where cars moved like slow rivers between concrete towers.
Glass walls framed the skyline in every direction. At the center of the spacious office stood a large mahogany desk, polished to a mirror shine. A gold nameplate rested firmly upon it.
“Excel, CEO.”
Beyond the transparent walls, employees moved briskly along the hallway.
The gentle clatter of keyboards and the distant ringing of phones formed a constant hum of activity, like a quiet orchestra of industry.
Near the wide window that stretched from floor to ceiling, she stood alone.
Her hands were clasped calmly behind her back. For a moment, her eyes closed. The morning sun rested softly upon her face as she whispered a silent prayer only heaven could hear.
The scene shifted as evening arrived.
Inside the church auditorium, voices mingled in a soft buzz of conversation.
Ceiling fans turned slowly above the congregation, stirring the warm air scented faintly with polished wood, perfume, and the faint trace of incense.
Golden sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting long beams across rows of iron-framed cushioned chairs.
Near the pulpit she stood—modestly dressed, posture upright, a quiet dignity surrounding her presence.
Brothers who noticed her would suddenly grow prayerful. Some watched with reverence. Others with a quiet longing they struggled to hide.
Sisters adjusted their veils and whispered among themselves, their eyes occasionally drifting toward her.
Around her, a small circle of youths had gathered.
One young man shifted his weight nervously, his fingers clasping and unclasping as he gathered courage. The faint creak of the tiled floor echoed beneath his shoes.
His voice finally broke through the soft murmurs in the room.
Jace (nervously):
"Excuse me, Sister Excel… how do you remain so consistent? We try, but we fall."
The surrounding youths leaned closer, their curiosity sharpening the silence around them.
A few nearby believers paused mid-conversation to listen, while the slow hum of the ceiling fans continued above them, stirring the quiet tension of the moment.
Excel did not answer immediately.
She adjusted the Bible resting gently in her hands, her fingers settling along its spine. Her gaze moved from one face to another—patient, thoughtful, measuring the sincerity in their eyes.
The pages rustled softly as her fingers traced a line of Scripture. She lingered there a moment, drawing a quiet breath before lifting her eyes from the page.
Her voice flowed gentle and composed, the calm of the verse settling into every word.
Excel (calmly):
"The Bible says, ‘Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.’"
The words settled into the air like a weight of truth. Several youths exchanged glances as recognition flickered across their faces.
Somewhere near the back, a chair shifted slightly as another listener leaned forward, drawn by the authority in her calm tone.
Excel stepped closer to them. Her sandals brushed gently against the tiled floor, producing a soft echo beneath the slow whir of the fans.
Her tone calm and unhurried, carrying the patience of someone used to guiding wandering hearts.
Excel (patiently):
"You see, consistency is not about strength of flesh. The flesh is weak. It will always be weak. If you trust in discipline alone, you will fall."
Jace lowered his eyes slightly, absorbing the words. A quiet murmur moved among the youths, some nodding slowly while others stood still, wrestling with the conviction settling upon their hearts.
Excel’s gaze moving across the group as she leaned forward a little, voice soft but clear, like someone guiding rather than correcting.
Excel (gently):
"But if you watch and pray—that means you stay alert spiritually. You examine your thoughts. You guard your heart."
The young group grew quieter still. One brother clasped his hands together as though holding onto the instruction.
The atmosphere in the hall subtly shifted—less chatter, more reflection—as nearby believers sensed the weight of spiritual counsel unfolding.
Jace swallowed hard, his attention fixed on her. Excel’s tone deepened slightly as she continued.
Excel (seriously):
"When you stop watching, temptation doesn’t knock loudly. It whispers. It starts small."
A ripple of unease moved through the listeners. Several youths lowered their heads in silent recognition, memories of small compromises surfacing in their minds like shadows beneath light.
Excel’s voice steady and cutting through the stillness like a quiet blade of truth.
Excel (firmly):
"A neglected prayer. A delayed devotion. A tolerated thought. That is how weakness grows."
A young lady standing near the back slowly folded her arms across her chest, conviction settling visibly across her expression.
The surrounding silence thickened, as though the room itself had paused to listen.
Excel’s fingers rested on the Bible for a moment, as though guarding the words within. Then she lifted her head, drawing a slow breath.
Her tone carrying the gravity of something lived, not merely taught.
Excel (solemnly):
"And prayer is not an event. It is breath. When breath stops, life stops. When prayer stops, fire dies."
The room fell into a deep stillness. Even the soft conversations in distant corners faded as her words spread across the hall.
Some youths lowered their heads instinctively, while others stared at the floor, sensing a spiritual weight that pressed gently upon every heart.
For several moments, no one spoke.
Outside the church walls, evening traffic murmured faintly along the road. Inside, the quiet felt sacred.
Later, whispers traveled through the corridors as people moved between groups and doorways.
Sera’s shoulders shifted slightly, and her eyes followed the figure with quiet intensity. A soft exhale preceded her words, a note of awe threading through her voice.
Sera (softly):
"She’s different."
The statement floated through a small group of sisters who stood near the aisle. Their eyes followed Excel as she moved across the hall, her calm composure stirring both admiration and curiosity.
Vael’s breath caught slightly, a quiet exhale carrying his thought before the words fully formed.
Vael (thoughtfully):
"She’s pure."
A young brother standing nearby nodded slowly, his expression filled with respect.
Around them, conversations softened as more listeners turned to watch her quietly assisting another group of youths.
Lyra’s chest tightened, and a soft breath escaped her lips, trembling just slightly with wonder before her tone found its shape.
Lyra (awe):
"If Christ comes today, she will go."
The words hung in the air like a solemn verdict.
A few nearby believers exchanged glances of agreement, while others grew silent, measuring their own lives against the example before them.
As Excel walked through the hall, the gentle echo of her footsteps faded among the chairs and pillars.
Some eyes followed with admiration.
Others followed with envy.
Jealous glances quietly formed in corners. Low rumors were attempted in hushed conversations.
But each one faded as quickly as it appeared.
None survived long.
For something about her life carried a quiet fire—one that exposed shadows the moment they tried to gather.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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