Archbishop G E Kpiebaya Foundation

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The Secret PlaceMy dear brothers and sisters, let these words sink into your heart: your worth isn’t found in the spotli...
06/09/2025

The Secret Place

My dear brothers and sisters, let these words sink into your heart: your worth isn’t found in the spotlight, in the likes, or in the world’s applause. It’s not about how loud your name echoes in a crowd. Your true strength, your deepest beauty, is born in the secret place—where it’s just you and God, raw and real.

In that quiet, hidden space, where no one else can see, you meet Him. You pour out your heart—your fears, your dreams, your broken pieces. In prayer, in worship, in tears that only He catches, you find a fire that lights up your soul. What you do in that sacred silence matters more than anything you could ever show the world. Those moments, when it’s just you and Him, shape your eternity.

Jesus knew this. He didn’t run after fame or chase the crowd’s approval. The Bible says, “Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16, NIV). Before He raised the dead, before He healed broken hearts, before He faced the cross, He went to the secret place. Alone with His Father, He found the strength to shake the world. And when He stepped out, heaven moved with Him.

Young hearts, listen closely: the secret place isn’t just a quiet corner—it’s a heart laid bare before God. It’s where you choose Him over everything else. David sang, “He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1, KJV). To dwell is to stay, to linger, to let your soul be wrapped in God’s love, day after day.

The world is screaming for your attention. Social media, noise, and distractions pull at you, begging you to trade your peace for their chaos. But hear me: if you lose your secret place, you lose your anchor, your fire, your home. Samson let his secret slip, and his strength crumbled (Judges 16:20). But Daniel? He clung to his secret place, praying three times a day, even when it meant facing lions. And God made empires bow before him (Daniel 6:10).

What is this secret place? It’s where you fall to your knees before your Father. It’s where you open your Bible and let His words breathe life into your weary soul. It’s where you cry, where you laugh, where you lay down your sins and your dreams at the feet of a God who sees every tear and loves you through it all.

And oh, the promise He gives: “Your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you openly” (Matthew 6:6, NIV). That reward isn’t fleeting fame—it’s a heart so full of His love that it spills over, a courage so deep it faces any storm, a purpose so strong it can’t be shaken.

So, my precious friend, don’t let the world steal your secret place. Guard it like a treasure. Fight for it with all you’ve got. Make an altar in your heart—maybe it’s a quiet spot in your room, a walk under the stars, or a whispered prayer in the dark. Go there. Cry out like David, surrender like Paul, seek Him like Jesus did.

When you rise from that secret place, you’ll carry a fire no darkness can touch, a love no pain can break, and a strength no trial can crush. You’ll know who you are because you’ve sat with the One who made you. Return to your secret place today, beloved. Let it be the heartbeat of your life, where you find the God who’s waiting to meet you there.

08/08/2025

In 1999, I was in Form Two at the famous Pope John’s Secondary and Minor Seminary in Koforidua. I came home for holidays during Lent, a solemn season for us Catholics, marked by fasting (especially on Fridays) and going for confession.

As many of you know, I was raised by my father’s younger brother, the then Metropolitan Archbishop of Tamale. Yes, I was the bishop’s son. Not just that, I was his favourite son, much to the chagrin of my siblings and cousins.

Now, back to the story.

On Ash Wednesday, it was tradition that everyone living or working at the bishop’s residence, the *House of Reflection* went for confession. Afterward, the bishop would celebrate mass in his private chapel, with me as the altar boy, reader, and choir master.

That particular year, we all lined up early in the morning for confession. I was third in line. But somehow, I moved to sixth, then tenth… and then quietly disappeared into my room.

The bishop, my father, waited. He waited for his favourite son to come and confess his sins. But I never came.

The truth? I had broken my virginity. Worse still, I had gotten into a fight over a girl at Aburi Girls with a classmate, Emmanuel Prempeh. How could I confess these sins to my own father, a man who was the embodiment of moral discipline?

Hmmmm...

When he realized I wasn’t coming, he quietly continued with mass. I could hear the singing. That’s when I crept out of hiding and joined the mass, pretending nothing had happened, all the while crafting a convincing excuse in my head.

After supper that evening, he handed me a Bible verse to read in my room: Isaiah 1:18.

Then, silence.

Two days passed before he brought it up. Calmly, gently, like a true shepherd seeking his lost sheep, he spoke about my mysterious disappearance on Ash Wednesday and tied it beautifully into the verse he had given me:

"Come now, let us reason together," says the Lord. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow..."

In effect, my Old Man still wanted me to go for confession. He suggested I see Rev. Fr. Bazaanaah. But instead, I went to SS. Peter and Paul Parish and confessed to a different priest, one who, interestingly, is now also a bishop.

Sometime later, we were having a quiet father-and-son conversation.

I asked him, "If Satan were to genuinely go back to God and ask for forgiveness, would God accept him? Would He restore Lucifer to his former glory? Would there be great jubilation in heaven over the repentance of Satan?"

He paused, looked at me intently, and smiled.

“Vincent...”

To be continued.

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