My soldier boyfriend said God wanted him to be a pastor. I met him through an old school friend I had lost contact with after SHS,
My soldier boyfriend said God wanted him to be a pastor. I met him through an old school friend I had lost contact with after SHS, and that friend was his colleague at the Takoradi Naval base. This was back in 2014. They were both fresh into military service and I didn’t like him one bit. There was no specific reason for it, I just didn’t like him. But as life would have it, my friend kept speaking well of him, and he was consistent with his calls and the way he presented himself, so I thought, since I’m single, let me see what will come of it. I accepted him, and around that same time, I gained admission to a nurses’ training school up north.
During vacations when I came back home for clinicals, he would be around if work brought him to Accra, or I would travel to his end in Takoradi after my clinicals. When I came back from school, I would be working in my brother’s shop, and if he was also around in Accra after his official duties, he would come around to help me, we would sit in the store, we would talk and laugh. Even the customers were gushing over us.
Out of the blue, one day he broke up with me. “The Lord is calling me to become a pastor and I want to follow the Lord’s voice,” he said, “so it means that you and I are over.” But if you want to become a pastor, we could still be together and do the Lord’s work….
The sudden breakup left me standing in the middle of my brother’s shop, staring at my phone in absolute disbelief. Just days ago, we were sitting right here, laughing with customers and planning our future. Now, with one sentence, he was wiping away years of consistency, long-distance calls, and the bond we had built while I was away at nursing school.
“If you want to become a pastor, why does that mean we are over?” I asked him, my voice trembling but trying to remain steady. “Plenty of pastors have wives. We could do the Lord’s work together.”
He just shook his head, looking genuinely torn but stubborn. “No,” he insisted. “The Lord told me I need to walk this path alone for now. I need to focus entirely on my calling without any distractions.”
I was heartbroken, but pride and hurt took over. I didn’t beg. If God allegedly told him to leave me, who was I to argue with his version of God? We parted ways, and I threw myself entirely into my final year of nursing training, determined to forget the soldier who had marched into my life only to abruptly march out.
The Plot Twist
Three years passed. I graduated, started working as a full-time nurse, and slowly healed. I rarely thought about Takoradi or the naval base anymore.
Then, on a busy Tuesday afternoon at the clinic, my phone rang. It was a number I hadn’t saved, but knew by heart.
It was him.
My heart did a familiar flutter, followed quickly by a wave of annoyance. I answered coldly. “Hello?”
“Hey,” his voice sounded different—heavier, less assured than the confident soldier I once knew. “I’m in Accra. Can we please meet? Just for an hour. I owe you an explanation.”
Curiosity got the better of me. We met at a quiet eatery near the hospital. When he walked in, he wasn’t wearing his naval uniform, nor was he wearing the sharp suit of a pastor. He looked tired.
“I’m sorry,” he started, not even waiting to sit down properly. “I lied to you three years ago. God didn’t tell me to break up with you.”
I stared at him, my spoon suspended mid-air. “What?”
“I got scared,” he confessed, looking down at his hands. “We were getting serious, and you were about to finish nursing school. Around that same time, my deployment schedule got chaotic, and I panicked. I felt like I wasn’t ready to be the man you needed, and instead of just telling you I was overwhelmed and scared of commitment, I used the ‘pastor’ excuse because I knew you respect God. I knew you wouldn’t argue with a divine calling.”
The Present Day
I sat back in my chair, a mix of anger and absolute relief washing over me. For three years, I had questioned my own worth, wondering why a divine plan would deliberately exclude me. Hearing that it was just the classic case of a man getting cold feet was oddly liberating.
“Are you even a pastor now?” I asked, a slight smirk playing on my lips.
“No,” he muttered, looking embarrassed. “I’m still at the naval base. But I’ve realized these past three years that losing you was the biggest mistake of my life. I’ve missed our talks in the store. I’ve missed you. I want to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
I looked at him—the man I initially didn’t like, whom I grew to love, who broke my heart, and who was now sitting before me completely stripped of his armor.
“I’m a nurse now,” I said softly, adjusting my uniform. “I fix people for a living, but I don’t fix relationships that people willingly break. I forgive you for lying, truly. But the girl who used to wait for you to come back from Takoradi is gone. You wanted to walk your path alone, and you’ve done that. Now, I’m walking mine.”
I stood up, paid for my own drink, and walked out into the Accra sunshine, feeling lighter than I had in years. Sometimes, when people tell you “God has a plan,” the plan is simply to clear them out of your way so you can finally see your own value.