I didn’t go to Heaven’s Gate Prayer Retreat looking for romance. If anything, I was running from it. After my third failed relationship in two years, I decided what I needed was spiritual growth, not another dating profile. My best friend, Njeri, had been praising this annual retreat for years, three days of prayer, meditation, fellowship, and disconnection from technology. “It’ll centre you,” she promised. “Help you hear God’s voice.”
What she failed to mention was that God’s voice might be drowned out by the distracting presence of Samuel Kiarie.
I noticed him during the opening service. Tall, with broad shoulders and a jawline that could cut glass, he sat three rows ahead, singing with genuine enthusiasm. Unlike the polished, carefully cultivated spirituality I was used to seeing at my Nairobi church, where designer clothes and strategic seating often seemed more important than actual worship, his devotion appeared authentic.
“Who’s that?” I whispered to Njeri.
“Samuel? He’s one of the youth leaders. Brilliant guy, theology degree, works for an NGO, leads the men’s Bible study. And before you ask, yes, he’s single.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I protested.
Her knowing smile said she didn’t believe me for a second.
After the service, we gathered in small groups for introduction exercises. Of course, Samuel was in mine. Up close, I noticed his eyes, warm brown with flecks of gold that caught the light when he laughed. And he laughed often, a deep rumble that seemed to start from his core.
“Rebecca, right?” he said when we were paired for a getting-to-know-you activity. “I’m Samuel. What brings you to the retreat?”
I gave him my practiced answer: “Seeking spiritual renewal. Wanting to deepen my relationship with God.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Those are the official reasons we all give. But there’s usually something specific that pushes us to Heaven’s Gate. For me, it was my father’s illness last year. Made me question a lot of things.”
His honesty caught me off guard. “A string of bad relationships,” I admitted. “I thought maybe I needed to focus more on my spiritual life before trying again with dating.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You’re hiding from Cupid at Heaven’s Gate. Bold strategy.”
The retreat schedule was packed, morning prayers at sunrise, Bible study sessions, community service in the afternoon, and evening worship. Yet somehow, Samuel and I kept finding ourselves in the same spaces. He’d save me a seat at breakfast. I’d end up paired with him during group activities. We’d both volunteer for the same service project.
By the second day, people had noticed. Njeri nudged me after lunch. “Sister girl, you do realise everyone can see what’s happening between you and Samuel, right?”
“Nothing’s happening,” I insisted, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrayed me.
“Mmhmm. That’s why you’ve spent the entire morning discussing Scripture in the garden instead of joining the women’s prayer circle?”
It was true. What had started as a casual conversation about Psalms had evolved into three hours of talking about everything, our families, his close-knit, mine complicated. Our work his fulfilling, mine increasingly not. Our failed relationships, his few but significant, my repeated pattern of choosing emotionally unavailable men.
There was an ease between us that I hadn’t felt with anyone in years. When our hands brushed as we reached for the same water bottle, the electricity that shot through me was decidedly not spiritual.
That evening, during worship, I found myself distracted, watching Samuel raise his hands in prayer, his face serene in the glow of candles. As if sensing my gaze, he opened his eyes and caught me staring. Instead of looking away, embarrassed, he held my gaze and smiled softly.
After the service, he asked if I wanted to take a walk.
The retreat centre had beautiful grounds, manicured gardens giving way to wilder forest paths. As we walked under a canopy of stars, our conversation flowed from theology to childhood memories to our favourite music. When he took my hand to help me over a fallen log, neither of us let go.
We stopped at a lookout point that offered a view of the valley below, lights twinkling in the distance.
“I didn’t expect to meet someone like you here,” he said quietly.
“Someone who trips over prayer mats and falls asleep during morning devotionals?” I joked.
He laughed. “Someone who asks real questions. Who doesn’t pretend to have it all figured out? Who makes me laugh and think at the same time.”
The night air was cool, but I felt warmth spreading through me. “I didn’t come here looking for this,” I admitted.
“Neither did I.” His voice was low, his eyes reflecting starlight. “But sometimes God has different plans than the ones we make.”
When he leaned in to kiss me, I didn’t stop him. As his lips met mine, a small voice in my head whispered that this wasn’t exactly what Heaven’s Gate brochure had in mind for “spiritual connection.” But I silenced it, losing myself in the moment.
The kiss was everything a first kiss should be, tentative then confident, sweet but with an undercurrent of something deeper. When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless.
“That was…” he started.
“Not very holy,” I finished, and we both laughed.
“I disagree,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I think there’s something sacred in connection. In finding someone who sees you.”
We stayed out talking until the sky began to lighten with pre-dawn grey. By the time we sneaked back to our respective dormitories, we had exchanged numbers, social media accounts, and promises to meet in Nairobi the following weekend.
The final day of the retreat passed in a blur of secretive glances and brief touches. During the closing ceremony, when we were asked to share what we’d gained from the experience, I spoke vaguely about “unexpected insights” while Samuel talked about “divine timing.”
Njeri rolled her eyes so hard I feared they might get stuck.
Back in Nairobi, Samuel and I fell into an intense relationship that seemed blessed by divine orchestration. He was everything I’d prayed for: attentive, spiritually grounded, intellectually stimulating, and physically… well, the chemistry that wasn’t holy at Heaven’s Gate remained decidedly unholy in the city.
For three months, we were inseparable. He introduced me to his family. I brought him to work events. We attended church together, joined the same Bible study, and spent countless hours discussing our future. I found myself thinking of white dresses and flower arrangements.
Then came the shift, so subtle at first I barely noticed. Cancelled plans. Delayed responses to texts. A distracted air during our dates. When I asked if everything was okay, he would squeeze my hand and assure me nothing had changed.
But something had.
Four months into our relationship, Samuel asked to meet at our usual café. I knew before he spoke what was coming; there’s a specific expression men wear when they’re about to break your heart. I’d seen it enough times to recognise it instantly.
“I’ve been praying about us,” he began, staring into his coffee cup.
I almost laughed at the predictability. The “I’ve been praying” preface was the Christian version of “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“And God told you to break up with me?” I couldn’t keep the edge from my voice.
He winced. “It sounds terrible when you put it like that. But Rebecca, I’ve been feeling… a calling. A direction.”
“What kind of direction?”
“I think I’m being led to focus completely on ministry right now. To put relationships aside and devote myself to God’s work.”
I waited for more, some acknowledgement of what we’d shared, some regret about its ending. When none came, I asked, “And this divine revelation happened to coincide with Natalie’s return from her mission trip?”
Natalie was the worship leader at his church, a willowy woman with an angelic voice who had been in Tanzania for the past six months. The same Natalie, whose photos he’d recently started liking on Instagram.
“This has nothing to do with Natalie,” he said, but his eyes slid away from mine.
“Samuel, please don’t use God to soften a breakup. If you’re not interested anymore, if you’ve met someone else, just say that.”
“It’s not that simple,” he insisted. “I genuinely feel called to focus on my spiritual journey right now. Maybe someday, if God wills it, our paths will cross again.”
I’d heard enough. Standing up, I said, “If you see God, tell Him I think His timing could use some work,” and walked out.
Three weeks later, I saw them together at a worship concert, Samuel and Natalie, his arm around her waist as they swayed to the music. So much for his spiritual solitude.
I still believe in divine timing and spiritual connection. I still hope to meet someone whose faith aligns with mine. But next time, I’ll look for a man who doesn’t need a prayer retreat to find honesty and who doesn’t invoke God’s name when he means, “I’m just not brave enough to tell you the truth.”
As for Heaven’s Gate Prayer Retreat, I haven’t sworn it off entirely. I might go back someday. But if I do, I’ll remember that the holiest thing we can offer each other isn’t grand spiritual pronouncements or divinely attributed decisions. It’s a simple human truth, offered with kindness and courage, even when that truth is that the chemistry between us, holy or not, isn’t enough.
Check out:
Let Us Prey – The Billionaire’s Club In My Church
Now You See Them, Now You Don’t—His Marriage Ended Unexpectedly
He Was A Saint In Public. Everybody Loved Him Because She Covered Up His Sins
