Men Also Cry – Part 3

Dear God,

Without meaning to overemphasize this topic, can I discuss my best part of this story with you? Please don’t laugh at me, I know I have wahala. Its okay, I just want to share the lessons I gathered from this story. People have argued, analyzed, philosophized (and over-interpreted, if You ask me) it. But, Father, I want to pick out the points that touched my spirit the most.

When the thunder stopped rumbling, when the courtrooms went silent, when the gossipers finally found new headlines, Lamby was left alone, with himself. And my Father, You know this already: the hardest person to sit with after betrayal is your own mind. Nights dragged like a stubborn generator, mornings came like uninvited guests. He told his friend once, “When you lose everything, even your thoughts can turn against you.”

Lord, I felt that. There are days when my own mind behaves like a Nollywood producer on energy drinks. Running wild, exaggerating scenes, adding soundtrack I didn’t ask for. The human mind can create award-winning horror movies, but Father, who sent it?

Yet, in all this chaos, Lamby didn’t drown.
He didn’t collapse under the “Why Me?” ministry.
In the ashes, a small, stubborn light in him refused to die.

Instead of building back with bricks, money, and contracts, he built with purpose. He took his pain and turned it into a seed (an academy for boys with dreams but no cheerleaders). He said, “If I can’t pass my name to the children I raised, maybe I can pass my lessons to children who need them.”

Father, what manner of man is this? A champion, not because he lifted trophies, but because he lifts people.
Lesson One: You can rise from any ashes. Quitting is not in the syllabus of destiny.

At his academy in Cape Coast (yes, I have become a committed disciple; I even know their training schedules), he became a father again, this time by calling, not biology. I remember his words: “Fatherhood is a heart-call.”

Every morning, he stood on that pitch, watching young boys chase balls and possibilities. And when they fell, he didn’t shout. He said, “Don’t cry. Even legends fall. What matters is how you rise.”

Ah, Father, see wisdom.
Lesson Two: Pain should not always make us bitter; sometimes it can make us better.

And then You sent Nana.
A woman with laughter soft enough to rebuild ruins, and strength quiet enough to calm storms. She didn’t try to erase his past; she simply helped him face it.

He said, “She makes me forget what broke me.” That one sentence alone is enough to make angels blush. She became mother to their new children and stepmother to his wounds. She did not arrive to compete with his past; she arrived to restore his future.

Father, I love that woman already. She’s my kind of woman: soft voice, firm backbone, gentle spirit, clear purpose.
In the same house where betrayal nearly killed him, Nana created a home that smelled like peace—where children’s laughter mingled with the aroma of jollof and hope.

Lesson Three: The right person doesn’t come to replace anyone; they come to reveal what’s still possible.

And Father, let’s be honest: an average man would have hated all women after what he faced. But not him. He didn’t pour the sins of one woman on another. He opened his heart again.

One afternoon, he told his friend, “I used to think my story was a tragedy. Now I see it’s a testimony.”

“How?”

He smiled. “Because what I lost taught me what can never be taken—my faith, my dignity, and my ability to forgive.”

Chai! Forgiveness.
Lord, you see, to be honest with you…that word “forgiveness” is where I always start vibrating like a faulty fan… because forgiveness is a heavyweight assignment. I don’t know about others, but I struggle with it.
He didn’t forgive because they deserved it. He forgave because he deserved peace.

He said, “Bitterness is a heavy luggage. If you want to go far, you must travel light.” God!

Lesson Four: Forgiveness is not approval of wrongdoing; it is freedom from self-prison. (Ifee, know that and know peace)

And when he regained his home, the same home he had been thrown out of with one hour’s notice, he didn’t rush in. He said, “Let me cleanse it first. Too many ghosts.”

He repainted the walls and his spirit at the same time. And when his little daughter asked, “Daddy, is this your house?” he smiled and said, “It’s our home now.”

Father, humility looks good on that man.
He didn’t gloat. Didn’t rub victory in anyone’s face. Often when we win over people or situation……we gloat! We directly or indirectly scorn and parade our victory like a crooked crown. But see his humility is accepting victory. It could have been worse. The other party justice or not could have won.

Lesson Five: When you win, be kind. When you lose, be gracious. Humanity first.

He now tells his story without venom:
To young men: “Don’t mistake beauty for goodness. Choose peace, not performance.”
To women: “Don’t destroy a good man just because life has made you angry. A man’s heart is not a battlefield.”
To friends: “Trust is a currency; betrayal is a debt you can never repay.”
To everyone: “When love ends, let dignity remain.”

Father, these are words to frame on our walls.
Not everyone who leaves is an enemy, and not everyone who stays is a friend. Sometimes You close a door loudly so we stop knocking and start walking.

Today, when Lamby speaks of his ex-wife, he carries no venom, only quiet sadness and a small prayer. “I wish her peace,” he says. “She was looking for something. I pray she finds it.” And he is open to reach out to them especially the children.

Father, even I said “Hian!”
And as for that Nana, God bless her. Which Nigerian woman will allow you to still check on your ex or the children she bore with your friends? If you try it with a Warri woman, you will see anyhow…. she will block them, block the network, block even you! But see this couple, aligned in what matters: Humanity first. (For them, it was not about who was wrong or right…it was about…” What is right!”) And that is the greatest victory, to lose everything yet find yourself whole.

When asked what kept him from breaking completely, he said,
“Grace. Just grace. The kind that finds you in your lowest place and still calls you worthy.”

Father, that one touched something deep in me. Grace picks up people that shame tries to bury.

Sometimes, when I sit quietly and think of his story, I realize: Pain didn’t define him; it refined him. His life is proof that You, Lord, may permit storms, but You always draw the rainbow.

And yes, Father, my love for this man’s wisdom is showing. And I accept it.

So, to anyone who has been betrayed, broken, mocked, abandoned, lied to, or used, let Lamby’s life remind us:
You can lose your house, your name, your strength, your trust…But if You don’t lose God, you will rise again.

Because joy may not come the morning you expect… but it comes. Always.
And when it comes, it will find you wiser, softer, lighter.

As for me, Lord, my heart has found its home in You.
It won’t chase applause or validation (even though I like them, let’s not lie).
But it will beat in gratitude, for every betrayal that birthed wisdom…
For every manipulation You overturned…
For every ending that became a beginning…
For every dark night that produced a brighter dawn.

Thank You.

Make my heart soft, Lord.
Soft enough to forgive.
Strong enough to endure.
Wise enough to see beyond pain.
And humble enough to walk the thorns that lead to Your peace.

This is Your daughter, Lord, with pockets full of lessons and gratitude, and I am checking in.