The cry of the masses reverberates across continents—from the bustling streets of Kogi to the silent corners of refugee camps in Kuwait. In hushed hospital wards, in insurrection and war-ravaged homes, in broken marriages and abandoned dreams, one sentiment resounds: many are no longer happy with their lives. A heavy cloud has settled over this generation, and beneath it lies a silent war—an end-time battle not just for survival, but for the soul.
Hope, for many, has become a fragile thing. Faith in God is waning. Suicide is the last thought of a confused soul. Infact, the pews are thinning in some churches, not because people don’t want to believe anymore, but because they are bruised believers—bleeding silently, unheard and unattended. They are men and women who once danced with destiny, now stranded on dry ground. They are children of promise exiled in emotional Babylon, whose psalms have grown silent. But even in this vast wilderness, there is a Voice—gentle but firm, piercing through the winds of despair, saying, “I am here. Talk to Me.”
This is not mere poetry—it is prophecy.
A significant turning is at hand. A divine pivot, not orchestrated by elections or economies, but by the eternal hand of the Father who never forgets. He says, “You are not lost. Neither are you forgotten.” Heaven has not gone deaf, and your tears are not unrecorded. What has felt like delay is divine preparation. What looked like scattering is sacred shaping. This is not just restoration—it is redemptive re-creation.
But there is one thing many do not know: God did not only create man to worship and work—He also created government. Yes, the idea of leadership and governance came from Him. He positioned men over men not to exploit, but to extend His care, His justice, His order. Government is supposed to be God’s hand on earth—to serve, not to enslave. To heal, not to harm. To give direction, not destruction.
Sadly, that divine intention has been hijacked by a microscopic few. They sit at the top, not as stewards but as emperors. They eat from the communal pot alone, leaving crumbs for the crowd. They’ve turned public trust into private treasure, and the voice of the people into a whisper drowned by greed.
Go to the developed nations—even just a few minutes of prayer and Bible study in their parliaments or schools, and you’ll find light. You’ll find clarity. You’ll see structure. You’ll feel direction. Because even if their theology is not perfect, they respect the idea that leadership is responsibility before it is authority.
But in countries like ours—Nigeria and many others—the ground is hard. Even prayer feels like an uphill task. It’s not that God is not there, it’s that our leaders are not in alignment. How can God speak when the ears of those He placed over us are deaf to justice, to truth, to compassion? How can the rain fall when the clouds are full of corruption?
Many Nigerians no longer cry just for bread, but for dignity. For fairness. For a system that works. They pray, not only for heaven, but for healing on earth. And yet, their prayers bounce like echoes in an empty hall. Why? Because the custodians of our nation’s destiny are asleep at the gate.
Yet, the Voice still speaks: “Do not lose heart.”
In the barrenness of your current location, life is hidden. In the pain you carry, purpose is buried. The ground may look dry, but the seed of God’s word is planted within you. You are not where you are by accident. This land—this moment—is your Bethlehem, where something divine is being born.
Think of Joseph in Egypt—sold, misunderstood, and forgotten. Yet, in that foreign land, God made him a prince. Or Ruth, the Moabitess, whose story began with death and displacement but ended in the lineage of royalty. God does not waste journeys. He gathers them. He weaves them. He uses them.
There are many today who feel too broken to believe again. They scroll through sermons with numb fingers, pray prayers that feel unanswered, and attend services that barely touch their pain. But listen: God’s silence is not His absence. Heaven is not indifferent. The waiting room of faith is not a punishment but a preparation.
Apostle Ayo Babalola once thundered, “When men run out of answers, it is time to kneel.” And Prophet TB Joshua echoed, “Your situation is not beyond God. It is in His hands. Trust the process.” We must return to this confidence—that God is still writing, still speaking, still present.
Yes, we are in the end times. The signs are loud: wars, betrayal, deception, moral decay. But the greater sign is that God has not abandoned His promise. He is still gathering. Still restoring. Still reaching across borders—both national and emotional—to heal, deliver, and set free.
Even now, angels are being dispatched to forgotten families. Forgotten dreams are being revisited in heaven’s blueprint. Marriages you gave up on are being rewritten. That child you buried spiritually? Heaven is calling their name again.
Don’t let your disappointment become your doctrine. Don’t let pain become your prophet. And don’t let this present wilderness erase your eternal worth. You are still in the plan. You are still on the map of mercy. You are still God’s investment in the earth.
Just as Prophet Isaiah declared, “Can a mother forget the baby at her breast? Though she may forget, I will not forget you” (Isaiah 49:15). You are on the palms of God. The wounds you carry are not wasted; they are watering your future harvest.
You are not alone.
Across every continent, believers are awakening—not just to the reality of suffering, but to the revelation of God’s relentless love. A revival is stirring, not in stadiums first, but in silent places. In living rooms, in prisons, in classrooms, and kitchens. In the hearts of forgotten prophets and broken mothers. God is gathering the scattered. He is restoring what was stolen. He is answering prayers long prayed. And yes, He is still speaking.
“Talk to Me,” He says—not as a judge, but as a Father. Not to scold, but to restore. This is the season of divine turning. Of sacred reversals. Of redemptive reunions.
So, where are you now?
In a strange land? In a place of shame? In doubt? Don’t despair. The land you stand on, no matter how dry, is fertile. There is a seed inside you. And soon—very soon—there will be an abundant return.
Because you are not forgotten.
And you are not too far for God to reach. Simply dont give up on life. Many intelligient people are in the cemetary. May you not take your own life or surrender to untimely death but strive to achieve victory in Jesus name. Amen. I invite you to visits: Latter Glory Kingdom Assembly, Idah, Kogi State.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah – Igalamela/Odolu LGA, Kogi state.
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