Let me tell you about my phone.
Not just any phone—that phone.
The one you treat like an egg because it has seen things.
High waters. Deep seas. Multiple falls that should have ended its life. This phone has history.
At some point last year, the screen finally said,
“You know what? I’ve tried. I’m done.”
And I changed the screen.
Now we all know what that means.
Once you change your screen, you should start preparing emotionally… financially… spiritually… for a new phone because the countdown has begun. But alas, here we are—still managing destiny.
A few nights ago, my husband said something that sounded simple:
“Let’s start switching off our phones at night.”
Simple for him.
Not simple for my phone.
Because my phone has two very interesting characteristics:
- Once you switch it off, it may decide not to charge.
- Switching it back on can feel like waiting for exam results.
You press… and wait… holding your breath… wondering if this is the end.
Morning came.
Time for my walk.
I picked up the phone to switch it on.
Nothing.
I pressed again.
Nothing.
I pressed like someone whose entire business lives inside that phone.
Still… nothing.
At that moment, panic knocked.
Because what do you mean my office is not opening?
What do you mean my life is buffering?
Now I had a decision to make:
Do I cancel my walk…
Or do I carry my confusion and keep moving?
I chose to walk.
(We will not waste good calorie-burning opportunities in this economy.)
So I carried the phone, the power bank, the charger cord—everything—and stepped out.
Still pressing. Still hoping. Still negotiating with the phone like:
“Please… let’s not do this today.”
Then suddenly, something appeared:
Fastboot.
Excuse me?
Fast-what?
Who invited you?
This is not what I ordered.
At this point, I’m walking, praying, praising, pressing, negotiating, rebuking—everything at once.
“Lord, this phone will work.”
“This fastboot will go away.”
“We are not buying a new phone today.”
Faith was active. Very active.
Then came the turning point.
A quiet nudge:
Calm down. Look properly.
So I stopped.
Removed the pouch.
Looked closely.
Pressed again.
And that’s when I saw it.
All along…
I had been pressing the volume button.
Not the power button.
…
Let’s just pause there.
Because there is a special kind of pain
when you realize the problem is… you.
I just stood there like—
“Lois… are you alright?”
And just like that, everything made sense.
The phone wasn’t the problem.
My effort wasn’t the problem.
My persistence wasn’t even the problem.
I was simply pressing the wrong button.
And immediately, the lesson dropped.
How many times in life do we do this?
We are trying.
We are praying.
We are showing up.
We are consistent.
But nothing is responding.
Nothing is opening.
Nothing is shifting.
Could it be…
That we are pressing the wrong button?
We say we are knocking on heaven’s door…
But are we knocking the way God asked us to?
We say we are connected…
But are we switched on?
(Yes—because a phone plugged into power but switched off is not really receiving anything.)
We say we are doing everything… But is it the right thing?
Because effort alone is not enough.
Sincerity alone is not enough.
Even consistency, in the wrong direction, will still produce frustration.
Sometimes the answer is not:
“Try harder.”
Sometimes the answer is:
“Look again.”
Look at what you’re doing. Look at how you’re doing it. Look at where God has placed you. Look at what He has actually said—not what you assumed.
Because one small adjustment… One correct alignment… One right “button”… Can change everything.
So today, I ask you gently:
Are you pressing the right button?
