How MuchGloryDriver

12 Aug 2 min read

The Landlord Who Prayed With Us Every Morning

Every morning at 5am, before the roosters, before the traffic, before anyone on our street had opened their eyes — you'd hear him. "BIND every evil spirit assigned to this compound!" "CAST OUT every generational curse over these families!" "The enemy has NO POWER here!" That was our landlord. We called him Baba Prayer. My mother said he was "covered." The whole street respected him. You don't mess with a man who talks to God like that before sunrise. Then rent season came. Two weeks. That's all the notice he gave us. Sixty percent increase. No meeting, no letter, no warning — just a number, and a deadline. My father went to him. Reminded him: eight years in that house. Eight years, never once late, never once short. Surely that counted for something. Baba Prayer looked at him and said the Lord had "laid it on his heart" to expand the ministry. The increase would fund a new church building. He said it the way you'd announce good news. We couldn't raise that kind of money in two weeks. So we packed. And on moving day — I will never forget this — he stood at the gate with his hands raised and prayed for our "journey mercies." Prayed that God would bless us abundantly in our next home. Told us, with a straight face, that "givers never lack." We gave, alright. Eight years of rent, on time, every time. He just collected. My mother still goes to his church. Says the prayers work, so what he does with our money isn't her business. I stopped going a long time ago. Some people don't need a horn or a costume to rob you. They just need a Bible, a loud voice at 5am, and neighbors too polite to ask where the money actually goes.