23/04/2026
Let me tell you about my friend Victy. If you met her two years ago, you’d call her “the reliable one.” Church cleanup? Victy. 5am prayer chain? Victy. Babysit last minute? Victy. Bake 200 cupcakes for youth day? Somehow… Victy.
She’s 24, loves Jesus deeply, and works as a junior admin at a logistics firm here in Port Harcourt. But Victy had a quiet problem: she didn’t know how to say no. Not because she was weak. but because she thought “no” was un-Christian.
It started small. Her fellowship group would text: “Victy, can you lead worship? Sister Joy is tired.” Even when Victy had worked a 12-hour shift and her throat was sore, she’d say yes. Then her cousin: “Come help me sort my shop this Saturday.” Saturday was the only day Victy set aside for her quiet time and fasting. Still, she went. Then her boss: “Can you stay late? We need these reports.” She stayed. Every time.
At first people praised her. “Victy is so selfless.” “She’s a true servant.” And she liked that. But slowly, something shifted.
She stopped hearing God in her quiet time because she wasn’t having quiet time. She’d fall asleep during personal devotions, too exhausted to open her Bible. She’d snap at her younger sister, then feel guilty and serve more to “make up for it.” The worship she led started feeling dry. she was pouring from an empty cup.
The breaking point came on a Thursday. She had promised God she’d fast and pray that day. She needed direction about a career move. But by 9am, three things hit. Her pastor’s wife called, “Victy, we need you to decorate the church for a surprise visit tonight.” Her friend Boma texted, “I’m depressed, can you come over and just sit with me?” And her boss dropped a file, “This has to be submitted before 5.”
She said yes to all three. By 10pm, she was in her room, curtains still up, Bible unopened, stomach full because she broke the fast at noon with Boma’s noodles. She stared at the ceiling and whispered, “God, where are You?”
And in that moment, clear as day, she heard in her spirit: “I’m here. But you’re not. Victy, you can’t meet Me if you never stop for Me.”
That night she cried. Not the pretty kind. The snotty, angry, exhausted kind. She realized she had made people her god. Their approval, their emergencies, their expectations. They sat on the throne her quiet time was supposed to occupy.
The next morning she did something terrifying: she said no.
Pastor’s wife called again about an urgent errand. Victy’s hands shook, but she said, “Ma, I love you, and I’m honored you trust me. But I can’t today. I need to keep my time with God this morning. I can come after 2pm.” Silence. Then: “Okay… thank you for being honest, Victy.”
Boma called to vent for the third time that week. Victy said, “Sis, I love you. I’ll pray with you now on the phone for 10 minutes, but I can’t come over today. I’m rebuilding my time with God. Can we meet tomorrow instead?”
To her shock, the world didn’t end.
She started small. She blocked 6am–7am on her phone as “Meeting with My Father.” No calls, no texts. She told her unit head, “I won’t take on extra tasks that clash with my Wednesday Bible study anymore.” She even told her mum, “Mummy, I can’t wash all the plates every night if I’m working late. Let’s make a roster.”
People adjusted. Some got upset. One friend said, “You’ve changed. You’re not humble again.” That hurt. But Victy had read Proverbs 4:23, Guard your heart, for it determines the course of your life. She realized: if she didn’t guard her time, her heart would always be drained.
Three months later, I saw a different Victy. Her skin looked the same, but her spirit… lighter. She told me, “I didn’t know ‘no’ could be holy. Jesus said no. He withdrew to lonely places to pray. He didn’t heal everyone in every town. He left crowds to be with the Father. If He had boundaries, why was I living like I was more spiritual than Him?”
Now Victy still serves. Fiercely. But she serves from overflow, not emptiness. She leads worship twice a month, not every week. She mentors two younger girls, but she has a mentor too. She says yes on purpose, after prayer, not from panic.
Last Sunday, a new girl in church hugged her, crying: “Sister Victy, I’m so tired. Everyone needs me.” Victy smiled, held her hand, and said the words that saved her own life:
“Sis, you are not the Holy Spirit. You’re not omnipresent. The best gift you can give people is a Victy who has been with Jesus first. So let’s learn to say no, so our yes can mean something.”
What Victy learned about the beauty of boundaries:
Boundaries aren’t walls, they’re doors with locks. You decide who enters and when, so your altar doesn’t become a train station.
Saying no to good things protects your yes to God things. Even Jesus didn’t say yes to every request. Luke 5:16.
Guilt is not the Holy Spirit. If you feel condemned for resting, that’s not God. Romans 8:1.
Your spiritual growth is your responsibility. No one can have quiet time for you. Not your pastor, not your best friend.
People respect what you respect. When Victy honored her time with God, others started honoring it too.
Sister, if you see yourself in Victy’s old shoes, always tired, always available, secretly resentful, spiritually dry. Maybe it’s time to practice the holy word: No.
Because the most beautiful thing about boundaries is this: they make room for God to be God in your life, instead of you trying to be God in everyone else’s.
And Victy? She’s finally learning that she’s a daughter before she’s a servant. And that’s the most freeing truth of all.
© Mimi Oroma Ordu
