Be My VAL

Musings of a hopeless romantic 🤧

"I write this from a place of uncertain excitement. Sounds like a paradox; how do you get excited about uncertainty, or uncertain about excitement? Well, for me, it's more like a combination of both, and yet, I cannot explain.

Valentine's day was a few days ago and it was just a normal Saturday. After my morning routine — reading from my Soul Fuel devotional and Morgan Housel's The Art of Spending Money, I dressed up for training. I jogged some three thousand metres before going to the field. Training was exciting at the start, but I did not play the match. Something about the captain "knowing what he's doing" by not putting me in the game. Whew! A special Valentine's day present for me. Fair enough for someone who doesn't have a Val.

I don't think much of Valentine's day. Or maybe I do. I read about the martyred St. Valentine, who healed his captor's daughter's blind eye... I also wonder if November babies are conceived on Valentine's day 🥲.

But on this day, I was only getting a heartbreak — no appearance in the match. I was hurt, but not deeply. I had only attended training twice throughout the week. Fair enough for me to miss the match. Or maybe it's because I had braids on? I honestly can't tell.

I returned home and was having a regular Saturday — boring and exhausting — when my love called.

Mom doesn't call me on Valentine's day. I wasn't expecting a call from her. At least, not a Valentine's day wish 🤧😂. Well, she called, and I answered; we talked; I heard her voice, and a part of my broken heart was mended. But not entirely just yet.

The day swept past like any regular Saturday. David and I just existed in time and space. I did little work while David did his. I also doom scrolled — something I'm learning to do less and less as the days and hours of my existence count down.

So, in essence, I did not have a Val on Valentine's day, even though I did not ask for one.

Sunday, 15th February 2026.

The day after Valentine's day. It's amazing that today is Sunday. Everyone is gonna come for Valentine's day Thanksgiving. Married couples would be expressing their gratitude for their spouses, and the unmarried boys will hold the hand of the lady who crashed in their beds, and walk to church. After all, Valentine is for lovers, not just married people right? Isn't that the new normal?

On this special Sunday, it happens to be Cultural Sunday in my church, Jesus Power Parish (JPP) of the Redeemed Christian Church of God. Everybody is dressed in a cultural attire of some shape or form; except me of course. I'm wearing a light blue jean and a reddish t-shirt with a black long sleeve inside. I'm also just wearing slide-on footwear — easy peezy!

And then, I saw her. I had forgotten about the girl that was supposed to be my Val because I was too busy the week before to tell her, "be my Val." Or maybe not. Because we have never spoken to each other before today. But last week, she led the song ministration and it was amazing. Like always, I made an audio recording of that ministration and played it in loop after service. I fell in love with her voice last week, and that was almost confirmation that she is the one (don't ask me "which one").

Today, she is also leading different sessions of song ministrations. My eyes cannot leave her, but even more than that, my ears linger, leaning into her melodious tone. At some point, I am no longer focusing on the worship (bad of me), I was watching her, as though she is performing.

She keeps returning to the stage (altar) to sing (alongside other beautiful singers), and I keep recording for later: this time, not only to be blessed by the ministration, but also to listen to her.

The number of times she comes up is the number of confirmations I have. Like the prophet Elisha said, "strike the ground." And she strikes the ground — more than three times. An infinitesimal indication of my conviction — she could be the one. The one? Am I not going too far already?

After service, I think about walking up to her, but I stay where I am. The pastor had just spoken against "toasting" and I don't want to be that guy — even if that isn't what this is. And what's worse? She's sitting at the front, near the place he's standing — dead zone.

17th February, 2026 — Tuesday!

What's that thing they say about fate — "if it's meant to be it will be". Maybe it's fate; it most definitely isn't. I don't like the level of uncertainty this is leaning towards. How am I already giving a stranger a significant column of my journal? Scratch that: she has become the only thing I write about in my journal lately. 🥶😪

I saw Song girl today. I don't know her name. Maybe I'll call her Ruiseñor. It's Spanish for Nightingale; reflecting her softness and naturally effortless beautiful voice.

It's Digging Deep. Faith and I came early to arrange and clean the chairs before the program begins. We are singing praise and worship when Ruiseñor steps in. I don't notice that it's her. She's wearing a black face cap and her braided hair in a ponytail. And she's putting on a black skirt with a tank top that has blue and pink and grey horizontal lines. (This is the same top I'll see her wearing when I stalked her on the church's Instagram page, but she was wearing a black trouser in the pictures — it was the same day that JPP members went to school to evangelize the matriculated students). Suddenly I cannot concentrate on the prayer. I ask God for help to focus, only then, could I focus.

After church, I had every intention of walking up to her, but I kept finding reasons not to. First, the chairs needed stacking. Then, Faith was waiting. My timid self is very creative when it wants to avoid something.

I have a recording of her ministration of Nathaniel Bassey's Resurrection and Life from Sunday, 8th February. It would interest you to know that I'm listening to Ruiseñor's voice as I write this. Somehow, it makes the memories more graphical.

Sunday, February 22.

I am late for Workers' Anointing Service. The usher gets me a seat and guess who is sitting in the row beside me? Song girl. I begin to wish I had written a letter and sealed it in an envelope to pass to her. I steal exactly three glances at her.

I wasn't looking when I found you. But here you are Ruiseñor, sitting right beside me. Please notice me so I can whisper to you how beautiful your voice is and set myself free from this shackle.

She did not minister today. After service, she was caught up with the other choir members — talking, laughing. There was no opening, so I just left.

28th February, 2026

I think this is enough stalking for a lifetime. It is beginning to feel invasive. Oh no, it doesn't just feel. It is invasive for her, and unhealthy for me. I have done more research on Song Girl than I have done on my column for this month. But before I stop, I just want to say I saw another picture of her on the church's IG page and that one is really beautiful. It was at their El ROI program on Friday. I attended of course; not because of her, however. But she was there, and how I wished for her to sing. (God is teaching me that this is a distraction — I am being distracted from being blessed by other people who are ministering because of a growing fascination for Song Girl. This fascination will eventually morph into obsession and then she eventually takes the place of God. Because if not her, I will not be blessed by any other. And so I have repositioned my mind and Abba is helping to reposition my heart to be nourished by his Word alone).

2nd March, 2026

Yesterday after service, I finally spoke to Ruiseñor. It wasn't anything close to a conversation. It was more like someone sent on an errand to deliver a message. My heart skipped a lot of beats before I could finally walk to her and ask, "Excuse me, please what's your name?" And when she replied that her name is Precious, I wanted to say more but the words did not come. And so I said, "I have something for you," as I flipped through the pages of my notepad to get the sticky note I had written in. It was a short note about how beautiful her voice is and how I've stalked her and the nickname I gave her. The only other thing I could say was "you have a very nice voice." And she smiled and said how grateful she was. I didn't wait for her to read it. I don't think I was supposed to do that. I don't know what she thinks about it though.

Communion service was in the evening of yesterday. It was a blessed one. Ruiseñor ministered, and I have a recording.

Today, I listened to all of the audios I recorded from last year around May until yesterday. I listened to our Bible study session about giving with daddy Oladokun; how much I've missed that man.

The past week has been about thinking and stalking Ruiseñor and looking for the best way to approach her and tell her how much her voice has been a blessing and a curse to me. A blessing because it lifts my spirit, and a curse because I am distracted by the melody and softness it carries. Of course I'm not gonna tell her about the "curse" that isn't actually a curse. 🤧

What is the lesson I have learned from this adventure with Precious — Song Girl? It's something in line with Timothy Keller's Counterfeit Gods (although I haven't read the book): that sometimes, even the things that bless us spiritually and physically can be hindrances and distractions from a holistic experience with YHWH.

And sometimes, we tend to label something with "God told/showed me" when it's just us getting overly interested and eventually becoming obsessed with that thing in the long run.

So what is the resolution? It's simple—Matthew 6:33.

PS: my mind writes real life events like fiction. I'm not delulu 🥶😅

Until I write you again (soon)… remain in wonder.