When a man miscarries destiny through circumstantial lapses, the world often responds with execration. But in the divine economy, failure is not fatal—it is formative. A man who failed and capitulated is not the same as the man who failed yet cleaved to the Cross. The latter grows in consecration, not condemnation. He refuses to blaspheme like Job’s wife advised; instead, he kneels deeper into the secret place. Failure, for him, is not a tombstone but a womb of transfiguration.
Prophet TB Joshua, a pneumatologically-endowed vessel, once declared: “Each time you fail, don’t see it as rejection. See it as redirection.” This is not motivational rhetoric—it is a kairotic recalibration. Every apostolic figure in history experienced a crucible of contradiction before ascending into their assignment. Even the Logos Himself was acquainted with grief before His enthronement.
Bishop David Abioye’s voice once thundered, “The righteous may fall seven times, but rising is guaranteed if he refuses to give up.” That is no mere proverb—it is a rhema. The fallen David who composes psalms in caves, and the disrobed Joseph in Potiphar’s prison—both were not casualties, but catalysts in divine providence.
Failure, in God’s curriculum, is a sanctified pruning. It mortifies the carnal and resurrects the spiritual. Archbishop Benson Idahosa, a patriarch of apostolic audacity, once proclaimed: “If you have never failed before, then you are not qualified to speak about faith. Faith is for people who have seen fire and still walk through it.” Idahosa’s ministry emerged from reproach, ridicule, and ecclesiastical rejection. Yet from that furnace, he produced a reformation.
Sam Adeyemi, a seasoned voice in prophetic leadership, once said: “Failure is not the opposite of success. It is part of success.” In another teaching, he warned, “Don’t let success get to your head, and don’t let failure get to your heart.” These are not clichés—they are mantles. Sam Adeyemi himself testified of how failure in business and ministry redirected him to a season of isolation, where he heard clearly the vision that birthed Daystar Christian Centre. His breakdown became his breakthrough.
Bishop David Oyedepo, apostolic architect of the Living Faith mandate, asserts: “God never wastes pain; every tear is a seed for future glory.” What the flesh interprets as delay, the Spirit translates as divine incubation. Oyedepo’s early oppositions were not satanic triumphs—they were preparatory tests of kingdom stewardship.
As one who has traversed the valley of obscurity, I speak not from theory but from travail. In failure, my identity was forged. In silence, my voice was anointed. Chris Oyakhilome encapsulates this sacred paradox: “Don’t curse your dry season. That’s where God builds your roots.” The theology of dryness teaches depth. What is hidden underground is often what sustains the fruit above.
Let every youth—apostolic, civic, or academic—engrave this eschatological truth upon their heart: Failure is not the antithesis of destiny; it is the threshing floor of divine formation. He who fails and still pursues God becomes heaven’s envoy. The Book of Remembrance in Malachi is not reserved for the flawless—but for the faithful.
In Holy Writ, Moses fled into Midian not as a fugitive, but as an unrefined deliverer. Peter wept bitterly after his denial, yet became the rock of Pentecost. Judas, however, misinterpreted his failure and became a casualty of eternal regret. The difference is not in the error—but in the posture.
Even Nigeria, this prophetic territory groaning under socio-political travail, must see failure not as divine repudiation but as redemptive intermission. Our economic contractions, our leadership miscarriages, our democratic malfunctions—these are not eschatological judgments but prophetic pauses. If we respond with repentance and supplication, a national resurrection is still possible.
Prophet TB Joshua once concluded, “There is no real success without a trace of failure, for the strength of gold is proven in the fire.” God is not intimidated by our ashes—He specializes in beauty from brokenness.
Let the intercessors rise. Let the nation travail. Let the man who failed but never gave up rise. For heaven does not crown the flawless, but the faithful. And in the celestial registry of overcomers, scars are badges of honour.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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