A Former Church Worker Reveals the Quiet 30-Day Practice That Helped Her Feel God Again — After Years of Singing on Sundays and Feeling Nothing

Let me describe a Sunday to you. Tell me if it sounds like yours.

You wake up. You get the children ready, or you get yourself ready. You drive to church the way you always do.

You walk in. The worship is already going. You find your seat.

And you start to sing.

You know all the words. You don't even have to look at the screen. Your hands lift at the right moment. Your eyes close at the right moment.

And inside?

Nothing.

Not sadness. Not conviction. Not joy. Not the thing you used to feel — the thing that used to make you weep in this exact spot, years ago, when the music hit a certain note.

Just… nothing.

You look around. The woman beside you has her hands up, tears on her face. The man in front is on his knees. And you stand there, mouthing words, performing a closeness to God you have not actually felt in months. Maybe years.

What is wrong with me?

And the worst part is not the emptiness. The worst part is that nobody knows. Not your husband. Not your pastor. Not your closest friend. You smile. You serve. You say "God is good" when people ask. And you carry this secret coldness all by yourself.

If any of that landed — if you felt a small flinch of that's me as you read it — then please, drop everything you are doing right now and read every word that follows.

Because I am about to share with you the quiet practice that brought me back to God — after I had given up on ever feeling Him again.

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It is not a conference. It is not a new church. It is not a 21-day fast that leaves you hungry and still empty. It is not another podcast, another devotional app, another women's retreat that gives you a three-day high before you crash back into the same dryness.

It is something quieter than all of that. Something older. And it works precisely because it asks nothing of you that you cannot give in your current, exhausted state.

But before I explain it, you should know who I am.

Hi. My name is Tomi.

And the first thing you should know about me is that I am not a pastor. I am not a theologian. I am not a "woman of God" with a ministry and a platform and a podcast. I have no title in front of my name.

I am just a woman who sat in church for almost four years, feeling absolutely nothing, convinced God had quietly left the building and forgotten to tell me.

How a woman who did everything right ended up spiritually empty

I was, by every visible measure, on fire for God.

I joined the choir at seventeen. By my mid-twenties I was leading a women's small group. I co-ordinated the prayer chain. I cooked for new mothers. I was at every vigil, every workers' meeting, every programme. I had verses taped to my bathroom mirror.

And then — slowly, without any single dramatic moment — the fire went out.

There was no scandal. No big sin. No fight with the church. I did not decide to go cold. It happened the way a candle goes out when you stop paying attention to it.

One year I was reading my Bible at 5am with tears in my eyes. A few years later I realised I hadn't opened it in seven months — and I no longer knew how to start again.

I kept showing up. I kept singing. I kept saying "God is good." But my prayers had become words I threw at the ceiling. My worship had become a performance in a play whose meaning I had forgotten.

And it began to cost me.

I snapped at my family more. I felt like a fraud every time I encouraged another woman in faith. I scrolled past Bible verses online and felt the same nothing I felt in church. Worst of all, I started to wonder if my children were being raised by a mother handing them a God she could no longer find herself.

The breaking point came on an ordinary Tuesday. A younger sister from church called me, crying, asking me to pray with her. And as I prayed those familiar, fluent, beautiful words down the phone — I realised I did not believe a single one of them anymore. I hung up and sat on my kitchen floor and thought:

"I have become a liar in the house of God. And I cannot tell one single person."

A while later, I finally said something — not to my pastor, but to an older woman I trusted, a retired teacher in our church I'll call Mama Elijah. I expected her to rebuke me. To tell me to fast. To suggest deliverance. To look at me with disappointment.

Instead she said something I will never forget:

"My daughter, you have not fallen. You have drifted. And nobody ever taught you the difference. A fall, you climb out of. A drift, you have to retrace."

She was right. I had spent years assuming my coldness meant I was in sin, or under attack — because those were the only two explanations my church had ever given me for a dry heart. So I had tried to fix it that way. Let me tell you everything I tried:

I tried reading my Bible more. It felt like homework. I read words and felt nothing and felt worse for feeling nothing.

I tried praying longer. Longer prayers in the same dry voice just produced more dryness.

I tried more church. More services did not fix a heart that had stopped receiving.

I went to a women's conference. I cried for three days — mostly out of envy that everyone around me could feel what I couldn't — and I was numb again within a week of getting home.

I tried fasting. I got hungry. I felt holy for a few days. Nothing about God felt any closer.

I downloaded every devotional app there is. They gave me more information about God. They gave me zero connection to Him.

Every single one failed. Because every single one assumed I had fallen — when what I had actually done was drift. And as Mama Elijah said: a drift has to be retraced.

So she helped me retrace it. Over several weeks, she walked me through a slow, gentle, deliberate way back — not a revival, not a deliverance, just a quiet return. We started not with discipline, but with honesty. Not with doing more, but with uncovering what had buried the fire in the first place.

I was deeply skeptical. It seemed almost too gentle. Too simple. No drama, no fireworks, no altar. How could something this quiet undo four years of cold?

For the first few days, I felt nothing change, and the old doubt whispered that this too would fail.

Then, somewhere in the second week — on an ordinary morning, doing one of the small honest practices she had given me — I felt it.

Not a thunderclap. Not goosebumps. Just a small, warm, unmistakable sense that I was not talking to the ceiling. That Someone was there. That He had, in fact, been there the whole time — I had simply buried the part of me that could feel Him.

I wept at my kitchen table. The first real tears I had cried before God in years.

My husband noticed before I said anything. A few weeks in, he stopped me in the kitchen one evening and said:

"You've been different lately. Lighter. You were singing this morning — like, actually singing. What happened?"

I had not even realised he had watched me go cold all those years. He had. He just never knew how to ask.

And I was not the only one. Mama Elijah had quietly walked two other women in our church through the same return. One had been a pastor's wife performing faith publicly for a decade while dying privately. Another was a young professional who hadn't felt God since university. Both of them came back the same quiet way I did.

That is when I knew this was not just my story. It was a path — one that almost nobody in our churches is taught.

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So I wrote it all down

After Mama Elijah passed, I could not bear for what she gave me to be lost. And I kept meeting women — in church car parks, in WhatsApp groups, in quiet corners after services — carrying the exact coldness I had carried. Too ashamed to say it out loud. Just like me.

I could not sit with each of them at a kitchen table the way Mama Elijah sat with me. So I did the next best thing.

I took the entire path — every step, every honest practice, every prayer, the whole 30-day retracing — and I put it into one simple guide that any tired, cold, drifted Christian woman can walk through privately, in her own home, in twenty minutes a day, without anyone ever knowing she needed it.

I called it after the very thing Mama Elijah gave me. The quiet return.

Introducing
When God Feels Far Away
Finding Your Way Home — A 30-Day Quiet Return for the Christian Who Has Gone Cold

Inside this guide, you'll discover:

• The one diagnostic that shows you exactly what buried your fire — most women cry doing this in the first 30 minutes, because they finally see, in writing, what happened to them. Pg. 4
• The "drift, not fall" truth that frees you from years of false shame — why you are not backslidden, not under attack, and not weak. Pg. 9
• The three short honest prayers that work when you have forgotten how to pray — none of them require you to feel anything first. Pg. 18
• The one-verse practice for the woman whose mind cannot handle a whole chapter right now — fifteen minutes, one verse, real connection. Pg. 27
• The Sabbath hour almost no modern Christian woman knows how to keep — and how it quietly rebuilds what conferences never could. Pg. 35
• How to find your purpose again in this exact season — not the platform you chased in your twenties, but the real, small calling for now. Pg. 44
• The simple weekly rhythm that keeps you from ever going cold this way again — so this is not just another high that fades by Christmas. Pg. 52

And the best part? You don't need to stand at an altar in front of anyone, you don't need to confess this to a pastor you're not sure you trust, and you don't need to fast until you collapse. It is the same quiet path that brought me home — and has now quietly brought other women home too.

This launch price is held for the first readers only. When the spots are gone, it returns to ₦19,800.

Yes — Begin My Quiet Return Instant access · read privately on any device

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I'll be waiting for you on Day 1.
— Sister Tomi