STUMBLING TOWARD GRACE

 

STUMBLING TOWARD GRACE

The Unintentional Journey of Ikechukwu Frank

BY.

IKECHUKWU FRANK.

Introduction.

From shame to shining, from pain to purpose, this is the raw, redemptive journey of a broken boy turned bold believer. "It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed. Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

Chapter 1: 

Born Outside the Blessing – The Weight of a Broken Beginning.

The sun shone brightly over the sleepy village of Ozu Abam in Arochukwu L.G.A, Abia State, on a Saturday afternoon—February 17, 1979. 

The skies bore witness to my first cry as I entered a world that already seemed too heavy for my tiny shoulders. I was born not into celebration, but complication—outside the covenant of marriage, wrapped not in the warmth of a family’s blessing, but in the cold silence of societal shame.

My mother bore me in a union the elders never approved of. I came into this world without the comfort of a father’s arms or the cradle of a united home. Instead, I was cradled by poverty, cradled by rejection, and raised beneath the torn roof of uncertainty. 

My grandmother, a woman of steel and sacrifice, took me into her worn but willing hands. Though poor in material things, she was rich in resilience. We lived in a small, mud-walled house where eating rice was not a meal—it was a memory. Rice was reserved for rare days, perhaps once in a month or at Christmas, and even then, in small measures.

At less than ten years old, I trekked over 20 kilometers barefoot, navigating bush paths, rugged terrains, and muddy fields just to reach our farmland. 

And then I trekked back again—this time, with heavy loads of cassava or firewood balanced on my small head. While other children played in the evening dust, I toiled under the weight of survival. Sometimes, my legs trembled under the burden, but I pressed on because I knew we had to eat.

Adage has it: “He who has not tasted bitterness does not value sweetness.” That was my life—I came to cherish light because I was born into darkness.

Despite everything, I loved my grandmother deeply. She was not just my guardian; she was my teacher, my disciplinarian, my mentor. Yet, her decisions bore consequences. She did not allow my mother to marry my father, and this refusal shaped the fractured foundation of my early life. Still, I did not harbor resentment. I saw the wrinkles on her face and the calluses on her palms as evidence of sacrifice. Love, I learned, does not always come in the packaging we expect—but it is still love.

She enrolled me in Ozu Abam Primary School, .

Education became my escape, a path toward something greater. I clung to it with all the energy I could muster, believing one day the narrative would change.

And then came the day that changed the course of my journey. My mother returned from Lagos. She had now settled with another man—a man we would later call “stepfather.

” She had come to take me and my two elder sisters away from the rural village to the bustling city. I was both excited and anxious. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew it would be different.

We packed our few belongings—mostly worn clothes and a mat—and journeyed with her to Lagos. 

The weight of a broken beginning is not just in the lack of money or the absence of a father. It’s in the silent questions you ask yourself at night: Am I wanted? Do I matter? Will I ever rise above this? These questions haunted my early years, but I discovered something powerful in that pain—it birthed passion. It stirred purpose. It planted a seed of divine longing..

Looking back now, I realize that I was never outside God's plan, even though I was born outside man's blessing. The world may have seen me as a mistake, a product of sin or shame—but heaven saw me as a miracle in motion.

To be born outside the blessing is to begin a race with a limp, but it doesn’t mean you cannot finish strong. It means the odds are against you, but your God is for you. And if God be for you, who can be against you?

Today, I wear the scars of my beginning not with shame but with honor. They are my testimony. My roots may be broken, but my branches now bear fruit. 

My story is not one of bitterness, but of breakthrough. My grandmother never lived to see the full story unfold, but her prayers, discipline, and sacrifices laid the very foundation I now stand on.

Never allow your past to define your future. You may be born outside the blessing of man, but you are born within the mercy of God. And in His mercy, every broken beginning can become a blessed becoming.

Chapter 2: 

Wandering Without a Why – The Curse of a Purposeless Life.

The year was 1983 when I first stepped into the bustling city of Lagos. I was just a young boy, full of curiosity but unaware that life would soon test every fiber of my being. My welcome address was the cramped interior of a shop apartment in Coker, Lagos. That tiny space was shared by my mother, my stepfather, my four sisters, and me. We were packed together like sardines in a tin, sleeping shoulder to shoulder. My mother sold cooked rice at the front of the shop to make ends meet. The aroma of fried onions and boiling rice often filled the air, but it rarely translated to full stomachs for us.

Despite the hardship, my mother enrolled me in Umoru Memorial Primary School, Coker. Every day after school, I was sent out to hawk different goods. While other children played or read their books, I was under the scorching sun, calling out to passersby to buy what I carried. The real weight, however, wasn’t what I carried on my head—it was what I carried in my heart.

My stepfather was a man with fists for correction and no mercy in his tone. His beatings were frequent and ferocious, breaking more than my bones—he almost broke my spirit. In a world where I should have found protection and guidance, I instead found pain and betrayal.

After completing Primary Two, I dropped out of school. My stepfather took advantage of the situation. He placed the head of a sewing machine in my hands and dragged me from Coker to Surulere, searching for customers who needed their clothes patched. We often worked without food, and hunger became a familiar companion. 

When my mother could no longer bear the abuse I endured under my stepfather, she sent me to live with a brother from their church. I had hoped things would change, but instead, I walked from the frying pan into the fire. The man’s elder sister turned me into a house slave. While her children went to school, I hawked from morning till night. If it wasn't yam today, it was red oil the next, then groundnuts or cornmeal. My back ached, my feet burned, and my soul wept.

Still, God had not forgotten me. The brother who took me in eventually enrolled me in an evening lesson. I saved every coin I could find and finally sat for the Common Entrance Examination in 1994. That glimmer of hope was enough to reignite a faint spark of purpose within me.

When my stepfather finally left my mother, she claimed it was because she only gave birth to girls and not a boy for him. I returned to her and pleaded to be enrolled in secondary school. She agreed—on the condition that I would help her sell garri after school. Even though my peers and girls mocked me, I agreed. Eventually, she enrolled me in Awori College, Ojo. I was among the best students, yet I had to drop out after JSS 2 because we couldn’t afford school fees.

Four years passed, and the hunger to return to school consumed me. I took the bold step to register myself at Agboju Grammar School. But I made a costly mistake—I chose the science class instead of the arts. Within two months, Further Mathematics and Chemistry became my nightmares. I was overwhelmed and defeated. I quit, disillusioned and ashamed.

Without education, without direction, and without mentorship, I drifted. I began looking for gangs to join—not because I wanted to harm, but because I craved a sense of belonging, of purpose. But even in my lowest moment, God stepped in. My mother’s fervent prayers and the divine hand of God shielded me from falling into the wrong company.

When you don’t know why you’re alive, it becomes easy to accept anything life throws at you—abuse, rejection, hardship—without resistance. Without a sense of destiny, I became a leaf in the wind, blown by every circumstance.

But I thank God that He is the Master Potter, able to reshape broken vessels. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end.” (Jeremiah 29:11, KJV).Looking back, I understand that my pain had a purpose. My suffering built empathy in me. My struggles taught me resilience. My wandering years prepared me for the day I would find my why—and then begin to help others find theirs.

There are many today still wandering without a why—young men and women lost in the jungle of survival, trapped in cycles of poverty, abuse, addiction, and confusion. Their stories may not mirror mine exactly, but their hearts beat with the same emptiness. They wake up, go through the motions of the day, and fall asleep wondering if there’s more to life than just surviving.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord: and he delighteth in his way.” (Psalm 37:23, KJV). But to walk in ordered steps, one must first surrender to the One who gives purpose.

To the one reading this chapter who feels lost or stuck, I say this: Your present confusion is not your final destination. Life may have handed you pain, but God can give you purpose. Don’t let the absence of money or support convince you that you are meant to live aimlessly. 

My journey from purposeless wandering to purposeful living wasn’t instant—it was layered with failure, tears, disappointment, and shame. But in all of it, God's unseen hand was shaping me.

Chapter 3: 

Ministry without Wisdom – The Zeal That Wounds.

I didn’t always dream of preaching behind a pulpit or shepherding a flock. My love story with words began in a small corner of Agboju Grammar School. Though I eventually dropped out, I found solace and wonder in reading. I devoured the works of Sidney Sheldon, Nick Carter, James Hadley Chase, and Mills & Boon. It was not unusual for me to read a 480-page novel in a single day. That hunger for words gave birth to my passion for writing. I started penning my first book, though it remained unfinished until 2023.

In 1996, my life took a divine turn. I encountered Christ at Love Aflame Church, Naval Gate, Okokomaiko, Lagos. The fire of salvation ignited a joy so deep, I practically lived in the church—attending services from Monday to Sunday and joining over three departments. I had zeal, raw and unfiltered, but I lacked wisdom.

One evening, a young lady walked into the church and sat right beside me. After the service, my friend introduced her as his sister who had just relocated from Kano. To my surprise, she was the same girl who had been seated next to me. We connected instantly. Despite my poverty, she loved me genuinely. However, her brother disapproved of our relationship. One day, tensions escalated, and he insulted me bitterly. I lost my temper and slapped him—right there in the church.

The consequence was swift and painful. The girl left me. I felt rejected, humiliated, and lost. That was when my zeal, unchecked and wounded, took a wrong turn. I walked away from the church and began chasing women.

I met a woman who became the mother of my three children. It was my first time engaging in carnal intimacy, and I was overwhelmed with emotion and desire. I left my mother's house and moved with her to Agbara, where we rented a single room and lived together without any marital rites. For a time, it felt like freedom. But when passion is mistaken for purpose, destruction lurks in the shadows.

After the birth of our three children, things began to crumble. She became unfaithful, seeking other men. That marked the end of our relationship.

By then, I had ventured into business and was managing three shops and paying six workers. Outwardly, I looked like a success story. But inside, my spirit was bleeding. I remarried and relocated with my wife to Asaba, Delta State. It was there that I encountered God a second time—but this time, I surrendered everything.

I enrolled at the Redeemed Christian Bible College (RCBC) Main Campus. Soon, I was transferred to Katsina Province, and then further to Jigawa by the Province leadership. When I arrived, the Zonal Pastor took me to the Corpers’ Lodge. Within a month, I gained favor among the youth. They didn’t want me to leave. But the Zonal Pastor posted me to Gwaram Local Government Area instead.

Gwaram was a land of desolation—no church building, no members, no instruments, no comfort. They rented me a single room, placed a student-size mattress inside, and told me, “Prove your ministry.”

For four days, I prayed, fasted, and cried to God. Miraculously, that one room became an Area Headquarters. Within a short time, four parishes were birthed, and an Area Pastor’s Lodge with three bedrooms was constructed.

But even in the midst of revival, temptation crept in. Due to heavy levies and financial demands from senior pastors, I began falsifying church records. My heart knew it was wrong, but I justified it with the pressure of performance and expectations. I risked my family’s comfort by keeping us in an unsafe building, all so members could worship in a seemingly “worthy” place.

On September 1st, 2016, I was transferred to RCCG The Lord’s House, Ringim. Exhausted from my previous assignment, I climbed the pulpit and told the congregation plainly, “I am here to rest. I have only one year with you. Please, do not disturb me.”

Even the local chapter of the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN) asked me to be their Secretary, and I refused. Eventually, after much persuasion, I accepted. God began to use me mightily once more—we revived the church and started a Christian school.

But beneath the surface of ministry success, there was spiritual emptiness. For three straight months, I did not fast even a single day. My prayer altar became cold, and I masked it with activities.

“Having a form of godliness, but denying the power thereof: from such turn away.”

— 2 Timothy 3:5 (KJV)

Ministry without wisdom is like a loaded gun in the hands of a child. My zeal was sincere, but my foundation was fragile. I learned—through heartbreaks, mistakes, and divine redirection—that enthusiasm without direction can be dangerous.

God, in His mercy, never gave up on me. He allowed me to fall just enough to recognize my need for Him. Ministry is not about the crowd, the titles, or the buildings—it is about souls, obedience, and intimacy with God.

If you’re reading this and you're full of passion but lacking wisdom, I urge you to slow down. Zeal is not evil—but it must be guided by knowledge, humility, and prayer.

“Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding.”

— Proverbs 4:7 (KJV)

Ministry without wisdom wounds—both the minister and the people he is called to serve. But when zeal is tempered with knowledge and fire is balanced with reverence, God’s glory is revealed.

Chapter 4: 

The Cost of Carelessness – A Spinal Cord Injury That Changed Everything.

There are moments in life when a single choice can alter our entire destiny. For me, that moment came wrapped in a veil of spiritual carelessness. When I was transferred to RCCG The Lord’s House in Ringim because of the excellent work I had done in my former parish, I chose to abandon a habit that had shielded me from countless dangers—fasting. In my previous parish, fasting was part of my daily routine. It was my shield and sword. The power of consecration and intimacy with God delivered me from many near-death experiences. But in Ringim, I decided to rest from fasting for 90 days. It was a decision I would regret for the rest of my life.

Here are six unforgettable moments when God preserved my life:

After my final professional exam, my car somersaulted three times. I came out without a scratch.

One day, while carrying my wife and three children on a motorcycle, we fell on the expressway. Miraculously, no vehicle was behind us. God saved us.

At 2 a.m., during a heavy rain, my son and I were returning from a vigil. A massive trailer nearly ran us over, but God helped me steer into the bush just in time.

After a church building inspection, we had an accident—two nearly died. I walked out unharmed.

I once unknowingly entered a kidnapper’s vehicle but escaped miraculously.

On a return trip from Buji with my Senior Pastor and Church Growth Officer, the Lord preserved us from a terrible road mishap.

But on December 19th, 2016, all that changed.

Because I had neglected fasting, I became vulnerable. That day, I narrowly escaped three minor accidents. But Satan was determined. After a pastor’s meeting and remittance, my car developed a fault. I handed it over to a mechanic. I only needed to cross the road to board a bus home. Suddenly, a one-way reckless driver appeared from nowhere. He struck me violently, flinging me into the air and slamming me to the ground. Bystanders rushed me into their vehicle without calling for medical help. The galloping of the vehicle worsened my condition, severely injuring my spinal cord.

Since that day, I have lived dependent on a 24-hour support system. For the past eight years, I have been unable to do anything by myself.

My son abandoned me.

My daughters treat me with contempt.

My wife remains, but only in body—not in heart. She is afraid of what people will say if she leaves, yet every day with her feels like torment.

The province I served faithfully also turned its back on me.

But in all this, Jesus has never left me.

“He who neglects the watchtower invites the thief.”

“A stitch in time saves nine.”

“When the hedge is broken, the serpent will bite.”

I share this not for pity, but to warn others: never grow careless in your walk with God. Spiritual slackness is an invitation to calamity. Let my scars speak louder than words. Let my pain preach a message stronger than any sermon.

Even in this suffering, I still declare: Jesus is Lord.

Chapter 5: 

The Mercy That Found Me – Grace After the fall.

There was a season in my life when all hope seemed lost. After enduring years of hardship, pain, and rejection, I came to a point where only God's intervention could change my story. But in His time, mercy found me.

While serving in a forgotten corner of Jigawa, God stirred the heart of a member of the RCCG Central Mission Board. She insisted to the Head of Department that they must not return to Lagos without meeting Pastor Frank. They obeyed. When they came, they brought with them bundles of gifts, and even the Dove Media team. They called our beloved Mother-in-Israel, Mummy G.O., who instructed them to bring me and my family to the Redemption Camp.

Since then, Mummy G.O. has cared for my family like her own. She provided us a three-bedroom flat, bought me a power wheelchair, and awarded scholarships to both of my daughters—one now at Redeemer’s University in Ede, and the other at Redeemer’s High School in Camp.

God's mercy didn't stop there. On my 46th birthday—February 17—I published and launched three books:

THE BETRAYER’S SPIRIT

IF I KNEW THEN

OUT OF PRISON

This same year, I purchased two plots of land, registered my company PIKFRANK NIG. LIMITED, and founded The Stream of Life Orphanage Home. My wife secured a great job, and God blessed us with a baby boy. Above all, I have never had to beg anyone for anything.

“To God be all the glory.

“When mercy speaks, protocols are suspended.”

“The darkest night often precedes the brightest dawn.”

Conclusion.

From the dust of rejection, I rose; from the ashes of affliction, I emerged. My journey was never planned—it was stumbled into, beaten into shape by trials, and softened by mercy. What was once pain became purpose. What was disgrace became