St_Lupez

What happened today in the theatre… My hands don’t even feel like mine as I type this. She didn’t come in on a stretcher. She walked in. Slow… unsteady… like every step cost her strength. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her lips were dry. A 39-week pregnant woman. Almost at the finish line. She held her belly tightly and said in a trembling voice: “My baby hasn’t moved since morning… I feel very weak… something is not right…” Something about the way she said it… It didn’t sound ordinary. It sounded like fear. Deep fear. We checked her immediately. Bl00d pressure… dangérously low. Pulse… unstable. Then we checked the baby. The heartbeat… Dropping. Fading. Struggling. At that moment, the air in the room changed. Everyone knew. This was no longer a “simple complaint.” This was a race against déãth. Before we could even move her properly, she suddenly grabbed her chest. Her eyes widened. “I feel… dizzy…” And then She c0llapsed. Right there. Her body hit the floor. Lifeless. No response. No pulse. Silence. Then chaos. “CALL THE CRASH TEAM NOW!” Everything moved at once. Oxygen. IV lines. Hands pressing on her chest. “Come back! Stay with us!” But she wasn’t responding. And the baby… The heartbeat was slipping away. We didn’t have time. We rushed her to the theatre. Her body still. Her eyes closed. It felt like we were already losing her. The anaesthetist shouted: “We cannot wait any longer!” The surgeon didn’t hesitate. “Start.” The incision was made. Fast. Precise. Urgent. Seconds felt like hours. Then… A baby girl was delivered. But the room went quiet. Too quiet. No cry. No movement. Just silence. The kind of silence that makes your heart sink. We worked on her immediately. Suction. Stimulation. Oxygen. “Come on… please…” Nothing. Another try. Still nothing. You could feel the fear in the room. Then A faint sound. So weak… you almost miss it. Then another. A cry. Small… fragile… but alive. The room exhaled. But only for a second. Because the mother… Was still gone. Her body lay there. Unmoving. Unresponsive. We continued CPR. Calling her name again and again. Begging without saying the words. Prayer in our mouth and heart “Please… don’t leave your baby…” Minutes passed. Heavy. Painful minutes. Then A tiny movement. Her fingers. Just once. Everyone froze. “Call her again!” We did. Again and again. Then slowly… Her eyelids fluttered. Like someone fighting their way back from somewhere far away. Then… She opened her eyes. Weak. Confused. Lost. But alive. And the first thing she said… Barely above a whisper: “My baby… is she okay?” That question broke something in all of us. We brought the baby close. The tiny cry filled the room. And tears… Tears rolled freely. From her. From us. Because just minutes ago… We thought we had lost both of them. Today, the labour ward became a place of fear… Of silence… Of desperate prayers whispered in hearts… And mercy answered. Two lives stood at the edge. And somehow… Both came back. To every mother reading this: Please don’t ignore your body. Please don’t stay silent when something feels wrong. And even when everything looks like it’s slipping away… Hold on. Because sometimes… At the very last second… Life returns. Today, a mother lived. Her baby lived. And we witnessed something we will never forget. A miracle… that refused to be late. Cc: Preshcute utonwa

Born Methodist. Raised Methodist until we got a female pastor, so then my parents stopped going for a long time. Became Lutheran in high school. Was a Lutheran for 8 years married Lutheran, kids baptized Lutheran. But then we got a female pastor and I went back to my parents' church, which was now orthodox Wesleyan Methodist (GMC). Great orthodox holiness pastor, and the reports from the sermons got my family to start going again. But then I started missing the high sacramentology of the Lutherans, so I decided to become the best of both worlds, Anglican. But there were no Anglican churches anywhere nearby, so I hung out with the conservative Presbyterians awhile while I discerned becoming an Anglican priest and planting a Church. Then as I was confronted with things like prayer to saints and Purgatory I was convinced, but I saw inconsistencies when anglicans would do some things based on evidence, but reject similar evidence for things that sound too Papist. Then one day I met a catholic priest who said all the things I was thinking but didn't want to admit, and now I'm Catholic.

Yes you are right. Chaplet is the normal name for the beads, as there are different types of chaplets depending on the devotion. It is commonly called rosary because the Rosary is the most common devotion prayed with a chaplet.

Without culture, there is no identity. Without identity, there is no legacy. Proud to present my first of many films in Igbo, written and produced by me. IJU ESE is coming to YouTube on Good Friday, 3 April 2026.

Last Sunday, as I was going to church, I walked past an elderly woman. She was trying to hurry so she wouldn’t be late. I told her, “Mama, we still have 15 minutes before Mass.” She calmed down and said, “Thank you, my son.” That moment reminded me of something that happened years ago in my village—the day our church was dedicated. I was on my way to church that day, running because I had been assigned to serve Mass. Ahead of me, I saw an elderly woman struggling to run. I ran past her and greeted her. Not long after, I heard a sharp scream. I turned back and saw her on the ground, struggling. I quickly ran to her and helped her up. I stopped a bike, and we took her to a nearby clinic. She had minor injuries on her legs—but you know, no injury is really small for elderly people. The bishop was coming to our parish that Sunday, and I think that was why she was rushing. I stayed with her for a while before leaving. By the time I got to the church, Mass had already started. I missed serving and arrived late… but deep down, I felt fulfilled.

The Catholic Church is the origin of the church, it’s still the seat of the church. This is not to relegate any sect or say they’re less Christians but it’s important to know the Catholic Church is the foundation.

I taught at a Pentecostal church primary school in 2017. I am a Catholic, but I often joined them in their services. Whenever the pastor and his wife were preaching, they would talk about how their denomination was the best and how Catholics only worship using chaplets and also worship Mary. Other teachers became angry and stopped attending their services. I didn’t mind—I never stopped participating in any of their activities. After school, I would go into their chapel, mop it, and set up the chairs for the evening service. Slowly, the pastor and his wife started noticing what I was doing. Before long, I realized they had stopped saying negative things about other denominations. They began coming closer to me, and eventually, we became close. It has been nine years, and the pastor still calls me regularly. He is currently working in Kaduna State. Your denomination doesn’t define you—your character does.

I'm hearing this for the first time. Maybe it is a custom in your parish or diocese but not a universal practice in the Catholic Church. When it comes to the proper disposal of worn-out sacramentals, the Church outlines different options. First, combustible religious items can be reverently burned and their ashes buried. Second, other non-combustible religious items can simply be buried in a good place. The other option is to return the old sacramental to your parish Church. Most parishes accept worn-out sacramentals and ensure that they are properly and reverently disposed, often in a sacrarium. Maybe this last option is what your parish does every 29th of June, the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul. If your parish is named after Saints Peter and Paul, then, that choice of date makes better sense.

So touching 🤍🥹

May the Body of Christ bring healing and restoration to all that is broken within you. Amen 🙏.

What did you say again about swag?

Frame 4 proudly cooked in Ghana 😍

I love your accent on the Père. It's beautiful and also on the 'saint' of the Saint Esprit. Beautiful. Well-done for the wonderful effort. Just a tiny mistake on the Saint Esprit and not Saint Espritus 🙏🙏. You are amazing. 9/10 in my books 🥇

Make the sign of the cross with me in 4 languages 🇫🇷🇨🇴🇳🇬🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 How did I do ? 🤭 ps - how many languages can you do ? 📸 : My mum @frmarcellinus did I nail the French?

This is a little girl from a village we serve in rural Malawi, and her morning is no different from thousands of others. Every morning, before she walks to school, this is her job. She climbs down into a muddy pit and fills containers with water her family will drink, cook with, and wash with. In her school uniform. Before class. I see this across the villages I serve. Young girls who should be studying are instead carrying water. Some miss school entirely just to make sure their family has enough for the day. Not because they don't want to learn. Because water comes first. Today is World Water Day, and I want you to understand something: this suffering is completely, easily solvable. One borehole well. $5,500. Drilled in a single day. Clean water for a village for the next 75 years. No more pits. No more muddy water. No more little girls in school uniforms standing in holes in the ground before class. Together we have teamed with Water of Mercy to do this 14 times here in rural Malawi, and I have watched with my own eyes what happens the moment clean water arrives in a village. The transformation is immediate. It is real. And it lasts. Two of my villages are waiting right now. Bundi Village: 350 people with no safe water source, sharing a muddy stream with livestock. Zakariya Village: 450 people walking 2,112 steps one way to reach water, or kneeling in a swamp. $5,500 funds one well completely. $50 brings us closer. Both projects are almost funded and your donation will make a huge difference. Please help us make sure no little girl has to do this tomorrow. Can't donate right now? A share is just as powerful. Bundi Village waterofmercy.com/products/bundi… Zakariya Village waterofmercy.com/products/zakar… #DivineMercy #WaterOfMercy #CleanWater #Malawi #Catholic #WaterIsLife #WorldWaterDay

I’ve noticed a pattern lately - some people seem to use the Catholic Church as content for engagement on the social media. Whenever their numbers drop, they suddenly have an opinion about the Church, and in most cases, the opinions are controversial. Faith is not a tool for mere impressions.

Theres this unspoken peace anytime i step into a catholic church. Catholicism >>>

This will give you the answer

To think before this show, I was driving Uber and barely had $500 to my name… to now being a pivotal character on the number 1 show in the world… there’s no words to explain how great God is. All it takes is one. Grateful forever. #BeautyInBlack

I went for the 6:30 a.m. Mass this morning—I’m a Catholic. I was sitting behind a couple at the back. I realized they were husband and wife when one of their children called the man “Daddy.” He didn’t even respond. The child kept tapping him to get his attention, but he ignored him. They came with four children, and the wife was struggling to handle all of them alone. The husband didn’t seem to care. During the Gospel reading, the wife stood up but had to sit down occasionally because the reading was long. Her husband looked at her and said, “Stand up and listen to the Gospel.” She quickly stood up again, still trying to manage the children. During Holy Communion, he went to the altar, received Communion, and walked back to his seat confidently. He also made a donation of ₦300,000 for the cathedraticum, and everyone applauded him. I looked at the wife, and she didn’t look happy at all. It made me wonder—how can you leave your partner alone in church to take care of four children without even assisting her? She was doing everything by herself, sweating throughout the Mass. Aren’t those children your responsibility too, even in church?