Taiwo AKINLAMI

Fasting Season: How to Safeguard and Preserve the Religious Rights of Our Precious Children

Children here means anyone below 18 years.

I grew up in Ado-Ekiti. My mum was Muslim and observed Ramadan faithfully. From as early as I could tell my right from my left, she encouraged us to wake up and eat the early meal with her, but she never imposed fasting on us.

We often gave the impression we were joining her, yet, like many children, we quietly found our way around it at school. Even though I attended a Muslim primary school (AUD Pry School, Ado-Ekiti), food vendors still brought food to school throughout the 30-day period. Later, in Catholic secondary schools in Ado-Ekiti, we had Lenten talks, but caterers still served food during the 40 days of Lent. We were taught the meaning, but we were not forced.

That is significant. In all my childhood, “being forced to fast” was not part of the abuse I suffered. It reinforces a point that matters today: faith formation does not require coercion and coercion is where religion can become a cover for harm.

1. The issue
As Christian and Muslim communities enter Lent and Ramadan, a safeguarding question arises: should children fast and if so, at what age and under what conditions without harm or rights violations?

2. The safeguarding principle
Religious formation must never compromise health, development, dignity, education, or emotional safety. Where fasting (or any observance) creates harm or serious risk malnutrition, dehydration, sleep deprivation, fear, intimidation, humiliation, or punishment, it becomes a safeguarding concern.

3. Legal protection in schools (Nigeria)
Section 38(2) of the 1999 Constitution (as amended) provides:
“No person attending any place of education shall be required to receive religious instruction or to take part in or attend any religious ceremony or observance if such instruction, ceremony or observance relates to a religion other than his own, or religion not approved by his parent or guardian.”

4. A practical child-rights answer
Children should not be forced to fast. If a child participates at all, it must be voluntary, age-appropriate, health-informed, flexible, non-punitive, and never linked to sleep deprivation.

5. What age-appropriate practice can look like
Shorter/partial fasts; non-food fasts for younger children; a health-first rule (eat/drink when unwell, dizzy, hungry, during exams/sports); and no fasting for very young children, focus on meaning, prayer, charity, and empathy.

Conclusion

Fasting season should never become a season of harm. Authentic faith protects the vulnerable; it does not burden them beyond their capacity. If a religious exercise compromises health, dignity, rest, education, or emotional security, it has crossed the line. Safeguard the child first, then teach, model, and persuade.

Parents, educators and leaders: review your practices this season, no coercion, no punishment, no harm!

Read the full reflection via the link below

👇👇👇

childreninfobank.com/fasting-season-how-to-safegua…

Do have an INSPIRED rest of the week with the family.

#ChildSafeguarding #ReligiousRights #Parenting

2 days ago | [YT] | 21

Taiwo AKINLAMI

No!

The first time I remember saying no to injustice, I was about eleven. I refused the oppression of my Primary 5 teacher at A.U.D., Oke-Ila, Ado-Ekiti, Ekiti State. My primary school teachers tormented my forming soul; one of them had nicknamed me “devil” in Primary 3. But that day, I found my courage and fought back, of course, with words.

I do not remember exactly what I said, but they were sharp enough to make my teacher, a fair-complexioned woman cry in front of me like a baby. She could not strike me with her cane. I was hauled to the headmaster’s office, yet I felt no remorse. Deep inside, I felt a clean, steady satisfaction: there was something in the smallness of me that could reject ill treatment and force the school to pay attention. I do not remember the punishment, but it did not matter. I had spoken, crude by today’s standards, perhaps, but it became my testimony to myself: the rebellion required to survive hard times already lived in me.

My next refusal of oppression came at fifteen, and it earned me a place in my school’s black book at Saint Joseph’s College, Ondo. I punched a classmate, one who took pleasure in bullying me on the nose, and he bled. I had simply grown tired of it. He had pushed me too far, and my response shocked him. Yes, the principal, Reverend Father Adegoke, entered my name in the black book. But that was the price of peace, and I did not regret paying it. Who needs a clean record if the cost is daily torment?

By eighteen, my response to oppression had matured. This time, the oppressor was a soldier who invaded our home, No. 1, Okedasa Street, Ondo and seized my father’s torchlight. A punch was impossible, whether by fist or by word; it could have been suicidal. I would have been striking an unknown gunman. So I did what I could: I put pen to paper. My protest was published in The Punch on June 10, 1988, under the title “Soldier Molest Us.” That was my tactical, my strategic punch.

Later came the words of Professor I. O. Smith, when I and others were expelled from Lagos State University: no individual, he said, could fight an institution like Lagos State University and win. He was wrong.

I read law at Lagos State University under the thin protection of an interlocutory injunction, my matriculation number branded with the stigma of “Temp” before it each time I wrote an exam. My place in the university hung by the thread of that injunction, yet I still participated fully in the Students’ Union, so fully that I became known as a thorn in the flesh of the school.

I have also stood beside countless others to demand justice. We have not only won resoundingly; we have shamed oppression.

For me, “no” is a weapon. Many people underestimate what it costs to say it and what it means to plant your feet and stay there, even if it takes everything in you.

You do not say “no” because victory is guaranteed. You say it because it must be said. You say it for what it is worth: the victory of the human spirit when it rejects man’s inhumanity to man, regardless of the form it takes or the person behind it.

In my private and public life, I am a “no” man. I may not always say it, but when it matters, you can not only count on it; you can bank on it.

What about you?

#MinistryofClarity

4 days ago | [YT] | 11

Taiwo AKINLAMI

Tieri and the Parable of the Waffle Box
How What Children See Shapes What They Become and Do

This is my #50PlusDad Reflection for this week, a message to parents, and a lesson I learned from watching my son.

As a #50PlusDad, raising my first child in my twilight, I pay attention to a lot of things. I draw lessons daily from my interactions with him, and that is what I am doing again today.

The waffle lesson
My son loves waffles. It’s one of the meals on his breakfast menu, and he loves it so much. There’s a way he normally eats it: we toast two slices, put syrup on it, and he enjoys it, usually by holding the two slices together and biting into it.
But one morning, after I toasted his waffles and put the syrup, he said he wanted me to cut it into pieces and give him a fork to eat it.

We had never done that before.
As I tried to ask why, because he had always eaten it the same way, he pointed me to the waffle box. On the box was a picture showing waffles eaten by cutting them into pieces, with a fork picking up a square piece that had been cut away. That was where he saw it. And he said that was how he wanted to eat his waffles.

I kept the box by the dining table. The waffles were already in the freezer, and I was about to throw the box away. But as long as the box stayed there, he insisted that was how he wanted to eat his waffles. When I removed the box, he went back to the way he used to eat them. If I had kept the box there long enough, that would likely have become his new habit of eating waffles.

That told me something.
Jacob’s story: what was placed before them
It reminded me of Jacob’s story, when he wanted the flock to produce a particular kind of offspring. Scripture records that Jacob took fresh branches, peeled them so white streaks appeared, and then placed the peeled branches in the watering troughs where the flocks came to drink, so the branches were directly in front of them at the moment they mated. And the flocks bore young that were streaked, speckled, and spotted (Genesis 30:37–39).

Whether you read that account primarily as Jacob’s strategy or as God’s providence in Jacob’s increase, the picture is still striking: what was set before them mattered.
The message: images matter

This is the metaphor for me, and it is a big one: the picture my son saw affected what he wanted to do.

So here is the question for parents: what images are we placing before our children, through what they read, what they see, what they watch, and what they listen to?

Jesus said, “The eye is the lamp of the body.” If the eye is healthy, the whole body is full of light; if the eye is unhealthy, the whole body is full of darkness (Matthew 6:22–23).

And Scripture is equally clear about the ear gate: “Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the word of God” (Romans 10:17).

What our children repeatedly see and hear is not neutral. It trains them. That is why the Bible speaks about maturity as the ability to discern: “Those who by reason of use have their senses trained to discern both good and evil” (Hebrews 5:14).

Erwin McManus said, “What informs you forms you.” There is no neutral zone. What informs you forms you.

The waffle box sat there like a small, harmless picture. But it shaped a decision. It influenced behavior. And it reminded me that what we call “just entertainment” is often not “just” anything.

Ben Carson has long argued that every human being has a photographic brain, that once we record, the challenge is not with recording; even when we don’t recall, it is permanently recorded. And that we don’t recall does not mean it doesn’t govern our lives. That we don’t remember does not mean it’s not there.

Some things enter the subconscious and become a program, forming reflexes. And reflexes matter. The best goalkeepers in the world are known for their skills and their reflexes. In many ways, reflex is a major part of skill.
That is why Scripture says maturity comes when the senses are trained, trained, by reason of use (Hebrews 5:14).

Entertainment shapes culture more than law
There is another line that hits hard, often attributed to Andrew Fletcher: “Give me the music of the land; it doesn’t matter who makes the laws.”

The point is simple: culture shapes behavior, and media is a major carrier of culture.
So what do our children see? What do they hear? What do they watch? What are they being formed daily, repeatedly, quietly?

The charge
In this age and time, we must pay attention. We must intentionally expose our children to things of value, things that help them do the right thing, reject the wrong thing, model the right thing, and live right.

Because right living begins with right believing, and right believing begins with the right information entering through the eye gate and the ear gate.

That is my #50PlusDad reflection for this week and do have an INSPIRED week.

5 days ago | [YT] | 17

Taiwo AKINLAMI

Celebrate, Remember, Inspire!
Please join us this Sunday as we celebrate the Second Annual African Diaspora – Black History Month celebrations .

Theme: One Root, Many Stories
Honoring our shared heritage, resilience, and contributions.

✨ Because they fought — progress was made.
✨ Because they sacrificed — space was created.
✨ Because they endured — we have opportunity.

🎤 Distinguished Speakers:

Rep. Latyna M. Humphrey– Ohio State Representative Ibrahima Sow– Chair, Ohio New African Immigrants Commission

Taiwo Akinlami – CEO, Power Parenting Company

Abdirizak Ahmed – President, Somali American Political Action Committee

Deba Uwadiae– CEO, New American Magazine

Sophia Pierrelus – Founder, New American Cultural Center

📅 Date: Sunday, February 15, 2026
⏰ Time: 2:00 – 4:30 PM
📍 Location: Zoom / Google Meet
Video call link: meet.google.com/eyv-dhgs-mht

💫 Don’t miss this opportunity to honor heritage, celebrate achievements, and connect with the community.

1 week ago | [YT] | 16

Taiwo AKINLAMI

The Car Seat Sermon: Tieri’s Prayer, Acknowledging the Source, Honouring the Channel
#50PlusDad Reflections

Tieri came home from daycare with a new obsession: an island his teacher had described so vividly it sounded like a promise. In the car, he kept repeating it: “Daddy, I want to go. I want to see it.” He described it like someone who had already been there.

His mum, calm and practical, said, “Maybe for your 5th birthday. Pray for Daddy. Pray for Mommy. Pray that we will be able to take you.”

That conversation lasted minutes.

We got home. I unbuckled him to lift him out of his car seat, and there he was: small hands folded, eyes shut, face set with a seriousness that belonged to an elder.

“Tieri, we’re home.”

No response.

“Tieri, we’re home.”

Still nothing.

I touched him gently. He opened his eyes just enough to answer, almost offended that I would interrupt something so important:

“Daddy, I’m praying. Mommy said I should pray to God. I’m praying that on my 5th birthday you will take me to the island.”

I said, “Amen.” And I meant it.

That moment preached to me.

Children do not struggle with belief the way adults do. They do not negotiate faith into exhaustion. They simply trust, especially when what we teach them is not theory, but practice.

And this is the heart of it: this was not Tieri’s first time hearing the word “pray.” In our home, prayer is not an emergency ritual. It is a relationship. We want him to know, early that Daddy and Mommy are not his source. We are channels. God is the Source.

That distinction matters. It reshapes a child’s confidence. It builds an inner life that does not collapse when circumstances change. It teaches a child where help ultimately comes from, and where gratitude ultimately returns.

I think of George Müller, the man known for caring for orphans and teaching them to pray, not by recitation alone, but by bringing God into daily needs and watching answers arrive. He trained children to look beyond the human hand that served the meal, to the God who provided it.

I also remember a story shared around my wedding: a young boy struggling in school, found praying on his own. When asked why, he replied with a child’s unanswerable logic: “Because you and Mommy pray when you need help, and God answers. So I’m praying too.”

That is what Tieri did in the car seat: he treated God as real, near, and involved. No performance. No noise. Just communion.

And that matters too: the posture of his prayer matched the posture he sees. In our family, we don’t shout at God as though He is absent or deaf. We speak to Him as Father, because prayer is communication, not theatre.

One definition has stayed with me, from my sister, Melony Ishola: prayer is “putting in a word for yourself in the heavenlies.” Not begging like an orphan. Not panicking like a powerless person. Putting in a word, confident that Heaven listens.

As a father writing this, I use the language of Father, but I mean the work of parents, because children first learn what authority, love, safety, and consistency feel like through the home we build together.

Parenting has taught me a sobering truth: before a child can explain theology, a child can already interpret God through us. The earliest “sermon” a child hears is not from a pulpit; it is from presence, tone, patience, truthfulness, and restraint. If the first authority in a child’s life is harsh, absent, unpredictable, or unsafe, then trust becomes complicated, faith becomes work. But where a child experiences steady love, truthful speech, fair correction, and reliable care, the word Father becomes less frightening and more believable.

That is why we take prayer seriously, not as noise, not as performance, but as relationship. We want Tieri to know that Mommy and Daddy are not his source; we are channels. God is the Source. We serve; He supplies. We guide; He governs.

Christy Essien-Igbokwe captured the weight of this in “Seun Rere,” speaking with a child’s clarity: “You parents, you are my God on the earth.” And that is exactly the point: children often meet “God” first through the way we show up. So, we must represent Him with integrity, not as tyrants, not as absent rulers, not as unstable moods, but as parents whose love is firm, whose word can be trusted, and whose authority is exercised for the child’s good.

So, Tieri’s prayer is more than a cute story. It is a mirror, a warning, and a direction.

Teach them to pray, not as a slogan, but as a way of living.

Teach them that parents are helpers, not gods.

Teach them that God is present in the ordinary.

And then live in such a way that “Father” becomes a word they can trust, both on earth and in heaven.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

1 week ago | [YT] | 32

Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 168
Between Dominion and Authority: Which Do Parents Have Over Children, and for What Purpose?

Parents are powerful, but not all power is the same.
There is a dangerous line between authority that protects and forms, and dominion that controls, suppresses, or damages. Many parenting conflicts today are not about love, but about misunderstanding what kind of power adults truly have over children and why.

In this episode, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami tackles one of the most misunderstood questions in parenting and child safeguarding:

Do parents own children, or are they entrusted with them?

This conversation challenges cultural norms, religious misinterpretations, and generational habits that confuse control with care. It reframes parental authority as responsibility with limits, not domination without accountability, calling parents back to purpose, restraint, and child-centred leadership.

If you are a parent, educator, faith leader, or policymaker, this episode will confront you and clarify you.

📅 Friday, 6th February, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST
🔔 Subscribe & set your reminder:
bit.ly/TaiwoAkinlamiYouTubeChannel

#TAINMINUTES #ParentingAuthority #ChildSafeguarding #RaisingChildren #ParentalResponsibility

2 weeks ago | [YT] | 11

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#50PlusDad Reflections

How I Teach My 4-Year-Old Values: Values Are Caught Before They Are Taught

Last Saturday, at the immersion of Cohort 5 of the LegacyNow® Leadership Project, a question surfaced that has stayed with me: How do we teach our children values?

As a 50-plus dad, I answered from lived experience, especially from how I am raising my four-year-old son. And this is where I have landed: values cannot be discussed in isolation.

Values are not techniques or a parenting “style.” Values are commitment to universal principles, God’s moral order, by which human life is governed. They become the compass that shapes how we live, how we choose, and how we lead.

But here is the key: the aim of communicating values is not merely to produce “good behaviour.” The deeper aim is to raise a child who is conscious of the dignity of the human person.

When a child is conscious of dignity, discipline stops being punishment and becomes identity. Certain behaviours become beneath them, not because someone is watching, but because they know who they are. There are places they will not go, words they will not use, and choices they will not make, simply because their sense of self has been formed.

This is why we begin with a fundamental principle: whatever values we want our children to embrace, we must exemplify them. Our children are either beneficiaries or casualties of our examples. Upon that foundation, we build six anchors through which values can take root.

First: Identity, he is made in the image and likeness of God.

This is where worth begins. Before I tell him what to do, I establish who he is. I want him to know he is not an accident, not disposable, not inferior, and not defined by emotion or noise. He is of worth. But identity is not only communicated; it is demonstrated. It begins with how we treat our child, how we listen, how we instruct, how we direct, how we preserve dignity in our tone and approach. A child is a full human being. There is a respect that his individuality deserves. We cannot say, “You are made in God’s image,” and treat him as though he is not valuable. Values are better demonstrated than communicated; the way we treat him helps him understand how valued he truly is.

Second: Judgment, he has the power to think.

As he grows more conversational, we enter seasons of reasoning together. He asks questions, and I do not shut them down simply because I am the father. I want him to exercise his capacity for judgment. I want him to know he can think. So we reason: “Why do you think that happened?” “What do you think is right?” “If you do this, what might happen?” I am training him to understand that his mind is not decoration; it is a tool for discernment.

Third: Choice, he has the power to choose.

When I need him to make a decision, I often present alternatives: “Would you like this or that?” “Would you rather do this first or that first?” I guide him, but I allow him to choose. And then I do the next thing: I explain the implications of his choice. He is learning that choice is never empty; choice carries consequences. Sometimes, after he hears the implications, he says by himself, “Okay, Daddy… I want to change my choice.” That is not disobedience; that is maturity forming.

Fourth: Consequences, choices come with responsibility.

This is where values become real. When he chooses, we talk about benefits and costs, pros and cons, not with fear, but with clarity. “If you do that, this is what it leads to.” “If you don’t do that, this is what happens.” I want him to see life as a moral system, not a random event. Over time, he begins to judge matters by himself: “Daddy, this is the reason this won’t work.” That is values developing, internally.

Fifth: Leadership, leadership is now, because responsibility is now.

I tell him, in practical ways, that leadership is not something you wait for. Leadership is now. I teach him that leadership is the ability to correspond to responsibility. So he handles small responsibilities: when he finishes eating, he takes his plate to the sink; when he finishes playing, he returns his toys to where they belong. When he returns from daycare, he keeps his clothes, shoes, and school bag in their designated places. He learns order. He learns follow-through. He learns that responsibility is not punishment; it is dignity expressed in action.

Sixth: Wisdom for restraint, not everything permissible is beneficial.

I also teach him restraint: treats are treats, not daily meals. So when he asks for snacks, I may say, “No problem, but you have not taken your lunch. Take your lunch first, then you can have your snack.” If we go out and he asks for a particular food, I may say, “Yes, you had it yesterday. You cannot have it today, because that is a treat, something we do once in a while, not what we do every day.” In these small moments, values enter the bloodstream of daily life.

This is how values are inculcated, not by long lectures, but by lived order, repeated clarity, and consistent example. And I can see it working. My son reasons. He reflects. He explains his “why” more and more. That, to me, is values at work.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

2 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 19

Taiwo AKINLAMI

TAINMINUTES | EPISODE 167
Neither Technology nor Advocacy Raises Children: Assessing a 21st-Century Parenting Principle That Works

Technology is powerful. Advocacy is important. But neither can replace the daily, deliberate work of parenting. In a time when many adults outsource formation to devices, schools, movements, or policies, children are growing up informed but not always formed.

In this episode, Mr. Taiwo Akinlami confronts a hard truth of modern parenting. Tools do not raise children. Campaigns do not raise children. Parents do. He examines why access to technology and exposure to advocacy, without grounded parental leadership, often produces confusion rather than character. The conversation re-centers responsibility on primary and secondary parents, calling for presence, clarity, values, and consistent guidance in a noisy, fast-moving world.

📅 Friday, 30th January, 2026
🕗 8:00 PM WAT | 2:00 PM EST

🔔 Subscribe & set your reminder:
bit.ly/TaiwoAkinlamiYouTubeChannel

#TAINMINUTES #Parenting #RaisingChildren #21stCenturyParenting #ChildFormation #Leadership #Education #Family #Values

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 7

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#50plusdad Reflections

Fela, Atiku, Davido: Priceless Lessons on Fatherhood, Legacy, Restraint, and Change

Last week felt like an unofficial “Fathers’ Week” in Nigeria, not by decree, but by the sheer volume of public conversations that touched fatherhood, legacy, family name, and what children do with the worlds they inherit. As a #50plusdad raising a son in my own twilight seasons, I watched three stories and extracted one composite lesson: fatherhood is not only biological; it is cultural, reputational, and generational.

The first story was political. A son of a major national political figure, former Vice President Atiku Abubakar, publicly aligned himself with the ruling party, a choice many interpreted as standing with the incumbent camp against his father’s political interests. The public reaction was predictable: questions about loyalty, ambition, independence, and whether a son’s political distance is a commentary on a father’s viability. In our culture, symbolism is read into everything, especially when it plays out inside a family.

Yet what held my attention was not the son’s decision; it was the father’s response. Atiku described his son’s move as a personal choice and refused to turn it into a family war. That restraint is fatherhood in public: absorbing what could embarrass and still choosing dignity. It is one thing to be disagreed with; it is another to be disagreed with publicly by one’s own. In moments like that, the temptation is to retaliate, disown, or weaponize affection. But fatherhood, at its mature end, is often the discipline of refusing to destroy what we did not create. We did not create human will; we only steward influence. Scripture says, “Train up a child in the way he should go…” (Proverbs 22:6). Training is not coercion; it is formation. And formation still leaves room for agency.

The second story was personal, but it became public by force. Davido’s father, Dr. Adedeji Adeleke, spoke about a paternity allegation that had trailed the family, stating that DNA tests showed Davido was not the child’s father. I watched that moment less as a father “defending a son” and more as a patriarch defending a family name, because reputations do not separate neatly in public discourse. When a child is called out, the household is dragged into the courtroom of opinion, and fathers, by the nature of position, often become the first line of institutional response.

What struck me most was how avoidable many public storms are, especially when there has been some level of contact to begin with. In Dr. Adeleke’s statement, he did not argue that there was no prior relationship; rather, he focused on the fact that the paternity claim was tested and disproved. That detail matters, because it quietly points to a lesson without turning the moment into a moral trial.

Public figures attract opportunists, yes, and allegations can arise even where there was no intimacy. But when there has been a liaison, however brief, the door opens wider to needless controversy. A moment of indiscretion can become a prolonged reputational tax: attention, energy, emotional bandwidth, public trust, and the dignity of everyone involved. Scripture’s warning is therefore practical, not preachy: “A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches” (Proverbs 22:1). A name is not only a label; it is a legacy container.

Nobody is perfect, and this is not written from a place of judgment. It is written as a reminder, especially to young people that self-governance is protective. Restraint is not punishment; it is preservation. When we live casually, we make our future more expensive than it needs to be. When we live wisely, we reduce the needless battles our parents, spouses, and children may one day have to fight in our name.

The third story was cultural: the online flare-up that followed a comment credited to Wizkid, an audacious comparison that placed his relevance above Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s. What interested me was not the claim itself (people will always talk), but the family’s mixed responses and the lesson hidden inside them.

Two members of Fela’s family chose restraint. They disagreed without becoming disagreeable. They corrected the tone without turning the moment into an exchange of insults. That is not weakness; it is emotional government, the quiet strength of knowing that not every provocation deserves a reply, and not every reply deserves a stage.

Another member of the family, Seun Kuti, took a more combative route and entered the arena. I acknowledge his right to do so. Everyone has a right to defend their father’s name, and in our clime, silence is sometimes interpreted as consent. Yet even when that right exists, wisdom still asks a harder question: is this the best use of voice and energy? There is a difference between defending legacy and feeding noise; between correction and escalation. Not every barking dog deserves a stone; if we stop to throw at every dog, we may never reach our destination, says Churchill.

Because greatness is not established by debate. Greatness is established by facts, impact, innovation, endurance, and the capacity to shape a generation. Time eventually sifts both hype and heritage. Nobody holds the crown forever, whether in music, sport, politics, or any other human empire. The same history that crowned champions has also replaced them. Muhammad Ali was a giant, and yet boxing moved on. Pelé was a legend, and football produced other legends. Their replacements did not diminish their greatness; they proved the continuity of the human story.

That is why I resist the fear that someone else’s rising automatically means someone else’s fall. A pioneer lays a foundation; others build on it. That building does not cancel the pioneer; it confirms him. Scripture puts the principle on record: “One generation shall praise thy works to another, and shall declare thy mighty acts.” (Psalm 145:4). Continuity is not competition; it is calling.

And for fathers, biological fathers and “industry fathers”, this is not only a cultural lesson; it is a fatherhood lesson. The prayer is not that our children should remain beneath us forever; the prayer is that they should go farther, with better tools and deeper reach. The glory of the former can be real, and yet the latter can be greater, without disrespect, without insecurity, without panic.

So the better posture is this: let greatness speak for itself. Let legacy be defended by substance, not by shouting. And when provoked, let response be governed by wisdom, not by the need to win a moment, but by the commitment to preserve dignity.

These three stories, political independence, family name under scrutiny, and cultural legacy under debate, converge into one sobering reflection for anyone raising children today, we do not only raise children; we raise interpreters. Children interpret what we do, what we tolerate, what we celebrate, and what we hide. And those interpretations become their adult choices.

This is why fatherhood cannot be reduced to provision alone. Provision without values is simply funding a future we may not like. Provision without relationship is building a house where affection does not live. Scripture places the weight where it belongs: “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it… Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord.” (Psalm 127:1–3). Heritage is not merely inheritance; it is identity handed over.

In our own homes, what we most need, especially as we grow older is the humility to accept that fatherhood is never finished; it only changes form. When sons choose differently, we can respond with bitterness or with maturity. When public storms rise, we can defend truth without becoming rabble-rousers. When culture debates legacy, we can disagree without becoming disagreeable. In all of it, we can remember that children may not repeat our instructions, but they often repeat our patterns.

So my #50plusdad reflection is simple: fatherhood is stewardship. The goal is not control; the goal is formation. The goal is not to “win” every family conflict; the goal is to preserve relationship, character, and name. And the hope is that what we deposit, values, restraint, faith, and love, will outlive the noise of any season.

If we hold that line, then even when children make choices we would not make, we still have room to bless, to guide, to correct, and to keep the door open because the end of fatherhood is not dominance; it is legacy with dignity.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

#Fatherhood #Legacy #Parenting #Values #Character #Faith #Leadership #Nigeria #Felakuti #Davido #Atiku

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 10

Taiwo AKINLAMI

#HomilyfromthePew

Jesus Knew All Men, Yet Gave Himself to None
…A reflection on trust, betrayal, and unshakable peace

“Before Judas, there was Brutus. Before Brutus, there was Lucifer.” That sequence has stayed with me because it exposes a sobering pattern: the deepest wounds often come from the closest circles.

Lucifer was described as privileged in proximity, yet he plotted rebellion. Brutus stood near Caesar and oversaw his demise. Judas walked with Jesus and still betrayed Him. Across history and across lives, one truth repeats itself: betrayal is rarely a stranger’s work. It is often an inside job.

A picture helps me hold this truth with clarity.

Water is the fish’s closest ally, its natural environment, its covering, its constant companion. Yet water can also become the fish’s deadliest instrument. The water does not need to change its identity to become dangerous; it only needs to change its temperature. Too hot, too cold, and the fish is no longer swimming, it is on a board.

That is how proximity works. The closer people are, the more they know. The more they know, the more precise the harm can be if loyalty breaks. Not because everyone close will betray, but because closeness increases capacity, capacity to help, and capacity to hurt.

This is where the scripture that shaped my thinking becomes relevant, and it deserves to be quoted accurately:

“But Jesus did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men, and had no need that anyone should testify of man, for He knew what was in man.”
(John 2:24–25, NKJV)

Some read that and assume it means: do not trust anyone, never open up, keep everyone at arm’s length. That is not what it means to me. If it meant that, Jesus would not have lived the way He lived, He gathered people, mentored them, sent them, prayed with them, ate with them, entrusted assignments to them, and loved them.

So what does it mean to “know all men” and “commit Himself to none”?

To me, it means this: relate fully, love genuinely, serve faithfully, yet refuse to hand the custody of your peace and destiny to human hands. It means people can be included without becoming the foundation. People can be trusted appropriately without becoming the final security. People can be loved deeply without being made the source of stability.

This mindset is not cynicism. It is spiritual clarity.

I learned something similar by observing how “kings” move.

Early in life, I spent time around a prominent figure and watched how power thinks, how leaders organize their lives, plan, strategize, choose allies, and build circles. One lesson stood out: a wise leader is not naïve about the possibility of rebellion. It is not paranoia; it is realism. Rebellion is not always expected, but it is always considered. The best leaders do not live in fear of betrayal; they simply do not build their entire stability on the assumption that betrayal is impossible.

That is the posture I find in John 2:24–25.

It does not cancel trust. It disciplines trust. It does not destroy relationships. It orders relationships.

Because in real life, betrayal comes in many forms.

A spouse can betray a spouse. A friend can betray a friend. A child can betray a parent. A brother can betray a brother. A sister can betray a sister. Even those bound by blood can break faith. There is a Yoruba proverb that captures this soberly:

“Ẹni ọ̀rẹ́ dà kò máa fi ṣe ìbínú; ẹni àbíni bí ń dà ni.”
Meaning: One who is betrayed by a friend should not despair, because even one’s own blood can betray.

If betrayal is possible across every human relationship, then a life anchored on human consistency alone will always be vulnerable. Not because humans are worthless, but because humans are human, limited, complex, influenced, tempted, pressured, sometimes fearful, sometimes selfish, sometimes confused.

This is where the second part of the lesson becomes personal: it is possible to be betrayed and yet refuse to live “betrayed.” Two things can happen after betrayal.

If betrayal destroys a person, those coming behind may study the story and learn. But if betrayal does not destroy a person, the person can pick up the lesson without losing the soul. That is my focus.

“Knowing all men” means expecting enough complexity in human nature that when disappointment comes, it does not collapse the inner world. It means understanding ahead of time that people may turn, sometimes without warning, sometimes for reasons that will never fully make sense. And when it happens, the goal is not to become cold, suspicious, and hardened. The goal is to become wiser, clearer, and more anchored.

This is why I find comfort in how Jesus structured His circles. He had the multitude. He had the twelve. He had the three. He had the one. He shared at different depths, with different responsibilities, without confusing access with ownership. Even then, He still faced betrayal. That alone teaches me that doing everything “right” does not eliminate the risk of being hurt. It only helps us respond rightly when it happens.

So I do not want betrayal to define my existence.

I do not want betrayal to make me cancel humanity.

I do not want betrayal to make me vow: “never again.”
Never trust again. Never love again. Never marry again. Never have friends again. Never open up again.

That response is understandable, but it can quietly turn pain into a lifelong prison.

For me, the point of “He knew all men and committed Himself to none” is that my peace, joy, stability, identity, and destiny are not handed over to people as if people are God. People matter. People help. People can be destiny partners. But people are not destiny owners.

So I will relate. I will love. I will build community. I will choose friends. I will commit to those I should commit to spouse, children, covenant relationships, trusted collaborators. But I will do so with a clear inner boundary:

✅I will not surrender my peace to their approval.
✅I will not surrender my stability to their loyalty.
✅I will not surrender my purpose to their changing moods.
✅I will not surrender my joy to their behavior.

If betrayal happens, I will review. I will learn. I will refine my discernment. I will adjust access where needed. I will not pretend nothing happened. But I will also refuse bitterness as a lifestyle.

That is the “immortality” of this scripture to me: the ability to live fully among people while remaining internally governed by God.

To know all men is to understand that human nature is complex.

To give oneself to none is to understand that divine anchoring is non-negotiable.

So the prayer that rises from this reflection is simple:

Lord, help us to know people truly, love people wisely, and trust You finally, so that when betrayal comes, it teaches us, but it does not own us.

Do have an INSPIRED week ahead with the family.

#MinistryofClarity

3 weeks ago | [YT] | 12