This particular pride

Greetings guys! 🙌

People say that pride goes before a fall.
I used to counter this statement until I had a push and fell for it some days ago.

I moved into a new apartment on Friday last week; it was the same compound where I've lived for a year, and I decided to move into a better part of the building. My pattern of living has been one man's squad; I do associate with neighbors, but I have a very good limit to avoid 'see finish' ( too much familiarity).

On that Friday, after packing in, I went to the market, bought food items, and prepared a very delicious soup in large quantities that would serve me for two to three days. The only preservative means is to warm the soup every day because electricity comes at the mercy of the distribution company over here, unlike some states like Akwa Ibom, where they use electricity as sunlight in the daytime. Those people are in heaven!

Saturday came, I warmed the soup in the morning before leaving for work, and I was arrested all through the day by a busy work routine. I closed very late at night, around 11:00 p.m.
When I went to warm my soup in that night, I found out that my gas had run out. Jeeez!
By that time, gas stations had closed, and there was no way to fill the gas cylinder.

What about the roadside vendors? They've closed too.

I regretted not hearingkening to the advice of "always get two gas cylinders, fill them, even if it's just 1kg each, and keep the one you're not using... so as to prevent the troubles of running helters-kelter when gas finishes at an odd hour."

The only option left for me to prevent my soup from getting soured is to borrow gas from my neighbors.

Haaa! They haven't borrowed something like that from me before; I can't be the one to initiate that.

If I go and borrow this gas from them, they'll start thinking irrelevant things.

I pondered and locked up. My pride came out very well, and I could feel my shoulder being raised.

"If you don't borrow this gas from them, that means you are ready to sacrifice the freshly cooked soup. Come on!"

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"How much is the soup? You can prepare another one tomorrow; do not go and lower your standard to borrow the gas."

My instinct in its twins form began to battle each other, and I just let them be.

Then, a good idea came, which is to:
put on the generator,
put on the bread toaster and
Use the heat to warm the soup.

I went to my generator, only to meet a dry thank.

Mehn, I just got tired and allowed everything to be in the hands of God. That night, I slept with the hope of electricity coming in the night, so I would plug in the bread toaster and use the heat to warm my soup, but electricity didn't come that night.

I slept and woke up very early in the morning, began to dress for church, and went to check the food. I saw that there were signs of sourness already. But I stitched my mind in order not to take that disappointing mindset to church.

Before I left for church, I prayed for God to reserve my soup for me because I was going to serve Him. Did He answer my prayer? Read on.

Through out the service in church, all my mind was centered on the soup, and all my prayer requests were channeled there. I was sure that God answered me because He answers prayers.

Upon returning after church, what greeted me immediately as I entered the house was the smell of soured food.

I just got weak.

I stood on the spot, glancing at the pot of soup and calculating the waste caused by pride.
"No, I must revive it!" I concluded and brought out my tools I used in rescuing soured soup.

_{Cut!🎬 cut!🎬 cut!🎬}

The sourness intimidated my reviving abilities; I was handicapped, and I had to pour away the soup.

Pride!!!

Thanks for reading.