He was raised in a strict Christian family with high standards, the kind that don't accept fiddles to pure moral behaviour. Grey was the first of three children, and a graduate of the University of Port City, the very one his younger brother had applied to, while his younger sister was in her Junior secondary class three, preparing for her Junior West African Examination (JWAE).
Grey was a fair, healthy twenty-five-year-old with small brown eyes, black hair, a lean muscular build, and a beard.
"Thank you for the illumination of Your word. Guide my path that I may know Thy precepts. Keep me safe from harm."
His prayers had shortened with each passing day since the dawn of reality. He rose with a sober face, not for this day being a Sunday, but for the next-he would begin his mad walk through the busy streets of Port City, job hunting under the glaring hot sun and sweat-soaked suit with the angry face of a persistent, worrisome landlord screaming in his mind, "I'm not running a charity here. Pay your rent."
He undressed, had his bath, walked to his cloth hanger, picked out a lace material he donned on. He didn't care so much for his looks these days, that was the least of his concerns-a miracle was all he needed.
Grey walked over to his table to find his Bible study manual. And in his search, a leaflet slid from the table to the floor-his eyes followed it. The search for the manual ceased, he picked up the fiery coloured leaflet reading the contents:
The Fiery Serpent Church
No. 34 Beryl Avenue, Port City, Rivers, Nigeria.
Such an unusual name for a Nigerian Church, he thought. Grey spotted the red faded serpent on a cross with the reading:
Numbers 21:8
And the Lord said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: and it shall come to pass, that every one that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live.
Have you been bitten by the reality of life? Worship with us today at the Fiery Serpent Church.
Grey jerked his head to recollect how he had gotten this, then it clicked. On the joyous day of his convocation, a lady (he couldn't vividly picture with the day's celebration) passed several of these to him and his colleagues. Grey stared at it wondering, not so far from my place. At least he would miss the tiring festival fated to end by two in the afternoon, he thought, for he was a devoted Anglican.
He picked up his Bible still clutching the leaflet, walked out the door, closed his burglary with the usual small padlock, then left through the gate.
He lived in a student's environment with a 'C' shaped two-story building-Grey's room was on the first floor. Thankfully, his normal customers who asked if there was any progress with his job-seeking were all closed and wouldn't be open until that evening, he made it smoothly to the road.
He waved down a taxi going to Beryl Avenue, he got in, and moments later, he was out facing a huge white structure seated inside a fenced environment with flashy cars on the inside, sweat sprang on the back of his neck. Grey's jaw dropped.
Something I wouldn't regret today, he thought. He wiped his face, then the back of his neck before acknowledging the blazing sun.
Grey came from a middle-class family, the kind content enough to escape the financial cruelty of each passing day, but never privileged to be around the wealthy class.
"I would be sure to make friends today," he said to himself.
Grey walked past the armed security at the gate, and a few others spotted around the compound with policemen by certain engine running bulletproof vehicles-into the church.
Behind sliding glass doors, the chilled air welcomed Grey before the ushers did. The white-painted auditorium was brightly lit and packed with people in great fashion attire. He looked to the altar-a man in white robe addressed the congregation before a glass pulpit sitting on a red rug with a large poster of the fiery serpent behind him. The auditorium was filled, an usher vacated his seat for Grey, and he sat-catching the words of the Pastor.
"There's life between the cracks. In a field of fire, we are the blooming roses. In a dry and thirsty land, we are the ocean. We are calm, undistorted bright rays in the midst of darkening storms," the pastor said, then went into the verse for that day.
Grey took notes, marked verses called from the Bible, did a brief research on his own, and closed his Bible when the pastor began to summarize.
"We must pray. A prayerless soul is a Christless soul. Prayer is the lisping of the believing infant. The shout of the fighting believer, the requiem of the dying saint falling asleep in Jesus. It is the breath, the watchword, the comfort, the strength, the honour of a Christian," the pastor said, then gazed from side to side.
A pin drop could be heard from any corner of the auditorium.
"You have been bitten by life?" the pastor went on to ask. "Look to the fiery serpent who is Jesus. He won't just let you live again, but every area struggling in your life would breathe. Pen down that request now in prayer. Pen it down."
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