LIVING LIKE IT’S PAID FOR

I was lodged in a prestigious hotel in Lagos. You know the kind — marble-tiled floors, tall glass windows that stretch from the ceiling to the floor, soft jazz humming somewhere in the background, and a faint scent of citrus or lemongrass that makes you want to stand straighter and walk slower. The kind of hotel that reminds you life could be this soft.

My host had gone all out. I was genuinely impressed that they’d make such arrangements just for me. I felt seen. Honored. I smiled as a porter wheeled my bag in and was shown to a room that screamed luxury and rest. My host had mentioned that the next day was a full retreat for his organization and that they likely wouldn’t be able to check in on me till late in the evening. I said it was totally fine. Truth be told, I had rest to catch up with and documents to work on, and what better place to settle down and write than a quiet, lush hotel room in the heart of Lagos?

I didn’t know my peace would be so short-lived.

The first call from the reception came mid-morning.

“Hello ma’am. Are you staying on or checking out today?”

“I’m staying,” I replied, assuming that would be the end of it.

“Okay, please the payment for today’s stay…”

I paused. I wasn’t exactly sure of how payment was handled, but I explained that my host had made the booking and would be back in the evening to sort it. It seemed to suffice.

But barely two hours later, the intercom rang again.

“Ma, sorry to disturb you again. Is there any way your host can make the payment remotely?”

I repeated what I had said earlier and added that I would try to reach out to him. I was slightly uneasy now. I didn’t want to disturb him because I remembered the retreat and how packed his day would be.

An hour later, another call.

“Sorry ma, it’s just that I need to finalize my shift report, and we usually don’t let this drag on…”

This time, there was an edge in her voice. She was polite, but I could hear the undertones. My heart began to race. I looked around the room. I still had so much to work on, but my mind was spiraling.

I considered paying the room rate and asking for a refund later, but one glance at the rate card nearly gave me chest pain. I sighed. I tried calling. No answer. I sent a text. No response.

A few minutes later, another call came, and I couldn’t pick. I didn’t have the strength to explain anything again. I was tired of justifying my presence in a room that had been fully arranged for me. I started feeling like I didn’t belong there. Like I was an imposter. I was so consumed by the fear of being embarrassed or asked to leave that I couldn’t even concentrate anymore.

I had planned to go to the poolside that evening. Just take a stroll, soak in some fresh air, stretch my legs. But now? I didn’t want to move an inch. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I didn’t even play music or laugh loudly during a phone call. I tiptoed around the room like someone hiding from the IRS.

I felt trapped in luxury. Held hostage by imagined embarrassment. Haunted by a bill I had incurred unknowingly and couldn’t pay, but which now ruled my entire behaviour.

Then finally, my phone rang. It was my host.

“Hey! Hope you’re enjoying the evening? Have you had dinner?”

I said no.

“Why? You didn’t order anything from the restaurant?”

“I… I didn’t think it was appropriate to,” I mumbled.

“Why?”

“Because the reception kept calling about today’s payment and I hadn’t heard from you…”

He burst into laughter.

“I paid it already after I saw your text. Sorry, I was facilitating a session and forgot to call you back. You mean you’ve been hiding when you’re no longer owing? Come on!”

His words landed like a punch in my chest.

The debt had been paid.

That last call from the reception? The one I refused to pick? It was probably the call to tell me that the bill had been settled. That I could breathe again. That I was free to step out, order food, turn on music, even laugh out loud.

But I had been too afraid. Too debt-aware. Too trauma-soaked to pick it.

And isn’t that how we often live?

Hiding in guilt. Cowering in shame. Avoiding calls from life’s “receptions,” thinking we’re still owing. We act like debtors when heaven already stamped our bill: PAID IN FULL.

We tiptoe around God’s blessings. We don’t pray bold prayers. We don’t walk in rooms confidently. We self-sabotage. We self-limit. We self-hide.

But God is saying:

“I already paid it. You’re not owing. You’re not on borrowed grace. You’re not surviving on probation. You are Mine. Move freely. Place orders boldly. Laugh out loud. Sleep well. Live fully.”

See, your contract begins with SURELY -

“Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows... He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed.”
— Isaiah 53:4–5