I Married a Pastor and Walked Into a Living Hell

I was the class teacher for his son. Each morning, he would drop the child off at school and return to pick him up when the day ended. He frequently inquired about his child's progress in school activities, and I would update him.

Before long, we became conversational partners and exchanged phone numbers. That’s when I began to learn more about his life.

“I’m a pastor,” he shared with me. “I’ve been married for five years and have two kids, but I’m currently going through a divorce.”

In our subsequent conversations, he disclosed that he had caught his wife cheating and, in a fit of rage, had physically assaulted her. He was willing to reconcile, but she was determined to leave him, ultimately filing for divorce.

I felt sympathy for him. He was calm and caring towards his children, and he seemed incapable of causing harm to anyone. I trusted him.

One day, I attended his church and was impressed by its organization—energetic, spirit-filled, and with powerful preaching. My respect for him grew.

Eventually, he proposed marriage to me. I wasn’t surprised, given the circumstances leading up to the proposal. I asked for some time to think it over.

“A divorcee with two kids. A victim of a bad marriage. A pastor and a good man.” That’s how I assessed the situation. I accepted his proposal.

However, there was a hurdle; my parents disapproved of the idea. They said, “You’re only 27. You shouldn’t marry a man with two kids. He’s not even fully divorced yet!”

Honestly, I didn’t see that as an issue. I loved children, and the fact that he was a pastor was a bonus. I believed his anointing would ensure he treated me well as a wife, as I had observed him for some time.

Eventually, my parents relented but warned me, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

We had a traditional wedding since he hadn’t finalized his divorce. My mother didn’t attend the ceremony, nor did his parents, but we proceeded regardless.

Three months after our marriage, he finalized his divorce. His ex-wife gained custody of the children, so they moved in with her as we began our journey to start our own family.

After the divorce, church attendance began to decline. Each Sunday, fewer people showed up.

Around the same time, my husband fell ill. With prayers and medical care, he recovered. The day after his discharge, he held a meeting with the church elders.

After that meeting, my husband changed. He started giving me cold stares and hurling insults at the slightest provocation. He refused to eat my food and stopped sharing a bedroom with me.

Whenever I asked questions, I was met with insults. He often called me a demon or bad luck. I was determined to find out what had transpired at that meeting.

One of the elders told me, “At the meeting, Brother James said he’s been receiving visions from the Lord, and according to those visions, you’re the reason the church isn’t growing and you have devilish intentions to harm the pastor.”

Brother James had been the spiritual leader of the church since its inception, and people believed everything he said came to pass.

“Maybe there’s a spirit after me that I’m unaware of,” I thought. So, I went to see Brother James.

He told me, “You’ve brought a dark cloud into the pastor’s life. Everything is going wrong for him because of you.” “How do we fix this?” I asked. “We need to pray about it,” he replied.

I was instructed to fast for a week, but nothing changed afterward. My husband’s behavior worsened. He became easily triggered, and one morning, he hit me. I ended up with swollen eyes and sore lips, unable to leave the house for a week.

This pattern continued. He would lash out over the smallest things. One day, when his kids came for a holiday, the youngest slipped and scraped his knee. When my husband returned, I explained what had happened, and his immediate reaction was to slap me. As I held my cheek trying to clarify, another slap landed on my face, blurring my left eye.

I was in distress but felt I had no one to confide in, not even my parents. Brother James became my confidant. He would pray with me and advise me to fast, and I always complied.

One night, after a severe argument with my husband, I felt my life was in danger and fled from home. I sought refuge at Brother James’ house. As usual, we prayed, and he suggested I stay there overnight so we could see the pastor the next morning.

I slept in his living room. Around 2 a.m., I felt a hand on my thigh, creeping up into my pants. I woke up to find Brother James kneeling beside the couch, attempting to assault me.

Having been beaten the night before, I was weak, but I summoned the little strength I had left to resist him. He was strong, but I fought back. I started shouting, which frightened him.

I managed to escape his grasp and ran out of his house, but I had nowhere to go. I ended up sleeping on the church premises that night.

Morning came, and I was alive, but for how long? That day, I resolved never to endure such treatment and humiliation again. All I wanted was to return to my parents and apologize. I had been in hell for two years, but I knew they would welcome me back.

I walked home, gathered a few belongings, and headed to my parents’ house. They listened to my story, became furious, and told me never to return.

This led to a conflict between my parents and my husband. He denied ever hitting me and accused me of being a witch and bad luck. My mother responded, “I’m glad you recognize she’s a witch. We’re taking her away so you can have your freedom. We’ll return the drink you brought to ask for her hand in marriage.”

That was the end of it.

The following Sunday, he announced in church that God had delivered the congregation from the devil’s grasp, claiming I was the devil and that since we were no longer married, God would restore everything they had lost. Brother James added, “I started having visions about her the very day she entered our lives. She’s a serpent planted by the devil among us. Now that the serpent is gone, let’s praise the Most High.”

A week later, he brought the drink along with some church elders to annul our marriage. Brother James was there too. After everything, I said, “James, if you truly worship the same God we all know, have the courage to tell the pastor what you did to me the night I ran to you.”

Their expressions changed instantly. I could tell they had questions, but none dared to ask. I knew James would lie to them, but his conscience couldn’t be deceived.

Just when I thought things might improve, I discovered I was pregnant.

Today, I have a child a beautiful boy who calls me mom and knows no other father. He is mine and mine alone because I never informed my ex-husband about the pregnancy.

-Mercy  
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