We were taught the value of sacrifice, and my husband and I genuinely found joy in the rhythm of church life—being present, worshipping together, praying together. But over time, it became tedious for me. We were on the clock constantly. Living about 30 kilometres away from church—Ghanaian kilometres, with traffic and potholes—only compounded the strain. The late nights—or early dawns, depending on how you look at it—didn’t help either.

Not every dangerous spiritual environment begins with bad intentions. Some begin quietly—through subtle shifts, sincere devotion, and human error.

I was fully ignorant of the fact that there is always a battle going on. I’m not talking about the physical unrest, killings and hunger...