Creforge

5 days ago

WELCOME TO JUNE! 2Co 9:8 (AMPC) And God is able to make all grace (every favor and earthly blessing) come to you in abundance, so that you may always and under all circumstances and whatever the need be self-sufficient [possessing enough to require no aid or support and furnished in abundance for every good work and charitable donation]. As you step into the month of June, God will cause all GRACE to abound to you. In every area of your life, GRACE (God’s power of ease) will be at work in your life. So you will not labour in vain, nor bring forth for trouble! This month, every favour (from God, men, angels, systems and institutions) and earthly blessing will gravitate towards you in abundance - there shall be no shortage, no lack, no deficiency, and no need left unattended in your life. Irrespective of the circumstances or your needs, this month you will be self-sufficient! Your hands will be sufficient for you! God will bless the work of your hands so graciously and lavishly that you will not require aid or support from others, nor will you look up to others to eat, survive, or meet your basic needs. Rather, God will turn YOU into a source of blessing, support, and charitable donations to others. It is a blessed month for you and all yours, in Jesus’ holy name. Amen! #newmonthblessings #tvanigeria

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. WELCOME TO JUNE!
2Co 9:8 (AMPC) And God is able to make all grace (every favor and earthly blessing) come to you in abundance, so that you may always and under all circumstances and whatever the need be self-sufficient [possessing enough to require no aid or support and furnished in abundance for every good work and charitable donation].

As you step into the month of June, God will cause all GRACE to abound to you.
In every area of your life, GRACE (God’s power of ease) will be at work in your life.
So you will not labour in vain, nor bring forth for trouble!

This month, every favour (from God, men, angels, systems and institutions) and earthly blessing will gravitate towards you in abundance - there shall be no shortage, no lack, no deficiency, and no need left unattended in your life.

Irrespective of the circumstances or your needs, this month you will be self-sufficient!
Your hands will be sufficient for you!

God will bless the work of your hands so graciously and lavishly that you will not require aid or support from others, nor will you look up to others to eat, survive, or meet your basic needs.

Rather, God will turn YOU into a source of blessing, support, and charitable donations to others.

It is a blessed month for you and all yours, in Jesus’ holy name.
Amen!

#newmonthblessings
#tvanigeria

creforge retweeted

9 days ago

FOR ALL OUR LOST CHILDREN, AND FOR THE ONES WHO HAVE LOST THE JOY OF CHILDHOOD This one is for all the lost children: the ones swallowed by forest and silence, the ones whose names their mothers still cry into the hollow throat of midnight, waiting for an echo that never returns. This one is for Chibok, for Kagara, for Zamfara, for Kwara, for Ogbomoso, for every village that woke one morning to find its future missing, to find small sandals left behind in the dust like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence nobody wanted to finish. Somewhere in the belly of a forest a child who should be laughing is learning the grammar of terror instead the language of cold ground for a mattress, of hunger that gnaws like a patient animal, of hands bound where hands should be raised in a classroom, of nights so dark they have swallowed every star she ever wished upon. She remembers her mother's voice. She holds it like a coal in her chest to keep from freezing. She does not know if anyone is coming. She does not know if anyone remembers. She is nine. She is twelve. She is fifteen. She is every age that terror does not discriminate against. And the mothers, God, the mothers. There is a particular madness that lives in the body of a woman whose child has been taken. It is not grief alone. Grief has a shape. Grief has a season. This is something older and more savage: a howling that starts in the womb and finds no exit, a hunger that no food can answer, a reaching that meets only air. She still sets a place at the table. She still folds the little uniform. She still listens for footsteps that sound like her child's footsteps in every stranger passing on the road. The fathers sit in silence with broken hands men who could not protect what they loved most, carrying that failure like a stone in the ribcage, heavy as the country that abandoned them. And where are the ones we elected? Where are the ones who stood at podiums and beat their chests and said our children, our future? They are in Abuja. They are in their cold, humming offices while the forest burns. They are at dinners with clean napkins and imported wine and easy laughter, while a child in a camp in the north is deciding which pain is worse the hunger, the cold, or the not-knowing. They issue statements. They constitute committees. They inaugurate task forces that never find a single child. They produce reports that no one reads, that gather dust beside the photographs of the missing that no one distributes. This is the governance of ghosts, a state that shows up only in your suffering, that taxes your poverty, that counts your dead and calls it a census. This is the death of innocence, not in one single moment, not in one dramatic falling, but in the slow, daily erosion of what a child is owed by the world that summoned her into being. It is in the school with no roof where rain falls on exercise books and washes away arithmetic and alphabets. It is in the hospital with no drugs where a mother watches fever take her son while the governor commissions another road to nowhere. It is in the child hawking water at a junction in the sun, barefoot on boiling asphalt, who should be conjugating verbs, who should be learning that the square root of sixteen is four, who should know the unbothered joy of an afternoon with nothing to do but exist. It is in the ten million children out of school, uncounted, uncared for, drifting through a nation that has decided their futures are acceptable losses. Misery, your name is Nigeria! Not because her soil is cursed, not because her people are less, but because those entrusted with her have chosen again and again and again to feast on what should feed the young, to build estates in Dubai on the hunger of children, to fly their daughters abroad for school on budgets that could have built a thousand classrooms in the dust. Nigeria, a land where hope goes to die where the bright student wins a scholarship and does not come back, because why would you return to a fire when you have finally found open air? Where the child who dares to dream is told, gently and then roughly, that dreaming is a luxury this country cannot afford her. Where generation after generation buries its best years in the shallow grave of survival, never quite living, only enduring - and calling it a life. But. But. I have seen the children who remain, and they are not defeated. Not entirely. Not finally. I have seen the girl in the tattered uniform sitting under a tree with a borrowed textbook, reading with a hunger so fierce it frightens me. She is not waiting for the government. She is not waiting to be saved. She is building her rescue one sentence at a time. I have seen the boy who walks six kilometres to school every morning in rubber slippers, who arrives late and sits in front and asks the question nobody else dares to ask, because something in him knows that curiosity is the one thing they cannot tax, cannot kidnap, cannot bury in a committee report. I have seen the mothers who refuse to stop looking, who march with placards even when the cameras leave, who speak their children's names at every microphone, every gathering, every moment of silence that threatens to become permanent. They will not let the silence win. They will not let this country turn their children into footnotes. So we are still here. Broken in places, yes. Scarred, absolutely. But here. We will not give this government the satisfaction of our total surrender. We will not let them convince us that the death of our children's futures is the natural order of things, that poverty is destiny, that suffering is culture, that this is simply how it is, has always been, will always be. No! We name the missing children. We say their names like prayers: not because prayer alone will find them, but because naming is resistance, because to be named is to be real, and the powerful count on us forgetting, count on exhaustion doing what policy refuses to do. We will not forget. We will teach our children, despite everything, that they are owed dignity, not by luck, not as charity, but as the first and final right of every human being who draws breath on God's green earth. We will build the schools ourselves if we must. We will tend the sick ourselves if we must. We will remember the taken until the taken are returned. And when this country finally becomes what it has always had the capacity to be, when the children can simply be children, laughing in the rain, careless with their joy the way children are meant to be, we will stand in that future and we will say: we held on. We held on. For all the lost children, we held on. Happy Children's Day, Nigeria. May we become worthy of them. © Adeyinka J. Adeleke Ibadan, Nigeria 27/05/2026 #ChildrensDay #HappyChildrensDay #BringBackOurChildren

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. FOR ALL OUR LOST CHILDREN, AND FOR THE ONES WHO HAVE LOST THE JOY OF CHILDHOOD
This one is for all the lost children:
the ones swallowed by forest and silence,
the ones whose names their mothers still cry
into the hollow throat of midnight,
waiting for an echo that never returns.

This one is for Chibok, for Kagara, for Zamfara,
for Kwara, for Ogbomoso,
for every village that woke one morning
to find its future missing,
to find small sandals left behind in the dust
like punctuation marks at the end of a sentence
nobody wanted to finish.

Somewhere in the belly of a forest
a child who should be laughing
is learning the grammar of terror instead
the language of cold ground for a mattress,
of hunger that gnaws like a patient animal,
of hands bound where hands should be raised in a classroom,
of nights so dark they have swallowed
every star she ever wished upon.
She remembers her mother's voice.
She holds it like a coal in her chest
to keep from freezing.
She does not know if anyone is coming.
She does not know if anyone remembers.
She is nine. She is twelve. She is fifteen.
She is every age that terror does not discriminate against.

And the mothers,
God, the mothers.
There is a particular madness
that lives in the body of a woman
whose child has been taken.
It is not grief alone.
Grief has a shape. Grief has a season.
This is something older and more savage:
a howling that starts in the womb
and finds no exit,
a hunger that no food can answer,
a reaching that meets only air.
She still sets a place at the table.
She still folds the little uniform.
She still listens for footsteps
that sound like her child's footsteps
in every stranger passing on the road.

The fathers sit in silence with broken hands
men who could not protect what they loved most,
carrying that failure like a stone in the ribcage,
heavy as the country that abandoned them.

And where are the ones we elected?
Where are the ones who stood at podiums
and beat their chests and said our children, our future?
They are in Abuja.
They are in their cold, humming offices
while the forest burns.
They are at dinners with clean napkins
and imported wine and easy laughter,
while a child in a camp in the north
is deciding which pain is worse
the hunger, the cold, or the not-knowing.

They issue statements.
They constitute committees.
They inaugurate task forces
that never find a single child.
They produce reports
that no one reads,
that gather dust
beside the photographs of the missing
that no one distributes.

This is the governance of ghosts,
a state that shows up only in your suffering,
that taxes your poverty,
that counts your dead
and calls it a census.

This is the death of innocence,
not in one single moment,
not in one dramatic falling,
but in the slow, daily erosion
of what a child is owed by the world
that summoned her into being.

It is in the school with no roof
where rain falls on exercise books
and washes away arithmetic and alphabets.
It is in the hospital with no drugs
where a mother watches fever take her son
while the governor commissions another road
to nowhere.
It is in the child hawking water
at a junction in the sun,
barefoot on boiling asphalt,
who should be conjugating verbs,
who should be learning that the square root of sixteen is four,
who should know the unbothered joy
of an afternoon with nothing to do
but exist.

It is in the ten million children
out of school, uncounted, uncared for,
drifting through a nation
that has decided their futures
are acceptable losses.

Misery, your name is Nigeria!
Not because her soil is cursed,
not because her people are less,
but because those entrusted with her
have chosen again and again and again
to feast on what should feed the young,
to build estates in Dubai
on the hunger of children,
to fly their daughters abroad for school
on budgets that could have built
a thousand classrooms in the dust.

Nigeria, a land where hope goes to die
where the bright student wins a scholarship
and does not come back,
because why would you return to a fire
when you have finally found open air?
Where the child who dares to dream
is told, gently and then roughly,
that dreaming is a luxury
this country cannot afford her.
Where generation after generation
buries its best years
in the shallow grave of survival,
never quite living,
only enduring -
and calling it a life.

But.
But.
I have seen the children who remain,
and they are not defeated.
Not entirely. Not finally.
I have seen the girl in the tattered uniform
sitting under a tree with a borrowed textbook,
reading with a hunger so fierce
it frightens me.
She is not waiting for the government.
She is not waiting to be saved.
She is building her rescue
one sentence at a time.

I have seen the boy who walks six kilometres to school
every morning in rubber slippers,
who arrives late and sits in front
and asks the question nobody else dares to ask,
because something in him knows
that curiosity is the one thing
they cannot tax, cannot kidnap,
cannot bury in a committee report.

I have seen the mothers who refuse to stop looking,
who march with placards even when the cameras leave,
who speak their children's names
at every microphone, every gathering,
every moment of silence that threatens to become permanent.
They will not let the silence win.
They will not let this country
turn their children into footnotes.

So we are still here.
Broken in places, yes.
Scarred, absolutely.
But here.
We will not give this government
the satisfaction of our total surrender.
We will not let them convince us
that the death of our children's futures
is the natural order of things,
that poverty is destiny,
that suffering is culture,
that this is simply how it is,
has always been,
will always be.
No!

We name the missing children.
We say their names like prayers:
not because prayer alone will find them,
but because naming is resistance,
because to be named is to be real,
and the powerful count on us forgetting,
count on exhaustion doing
what policy refuses to do.

We will not forget.
We will teach our children, despite everything,
that they are owed dignity,
not by luck, not as charity,
but as the first and final right
of every human being who draws breath
on God's green earth.
We will build the schools ourselves if we must.
We will tend the sick ourselves if we must.
We will remember the taken
until the taken are returned.

And when this country finally becomes
what it has always had the capacity to be,
when the children can simply be children,
laughing in the rain,
careless with their joy
the way children are meant to be,
we will stand in that future
and we will say:
we held on.
We held on.
For all the lost children,
we held on.

Happy Children's Day, Nigeria.
May we become worthy of them.

© Adeyinka J. Adeleke
Ibadan, Nigeria
27/05/2026

#ChildrensDay
#HappyChildrensDay
#BringBackOurChildren

creforge retweeted

17 days ago

This is 42! Thankful for the journey. Grateful for the present. Hopeful for the future. Confident in the Pilot. Resting in His love. Assured of the destination. Happy Birthday, young man! Happy Birthday!

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. This is 42!
Thankful for the journey.
Grateful for the present.
Hopeful for the future.
Confident in the Pilot.
Resting in His love.
Assured of the destination.
Happy Birthday, young man!
Happy Birthday! https://t.co/rERkQX2dgV

410

creforge retweeted

2 months ago

This month, may God be good to you and life kind to you. May the Almighty give you rest on every side, so that there shall be no adversary or evil occurrence, and may all go well with you, in Jesus' holy name. Amen! Happy New Month!

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. This month, may God be good to you and life kind to you. May the Almighty give you rest on every side, so that there shall be no adversary or evil occurrence, and may all go well with you, in Jesus' holy name.
Amen!
Happy New Month! https://t.co/6Ha2b5rhcD

Who to follow

Homo Spiritus. Global Citizen. Bible Scholar. Lead Pastor @tvanigeria. Building @creforge. Host #AskPastorYinka. Badminton and Tennis enthusiast.

VDT Communications Ltd.

@vdtcomms

Enterprise-grade internet connectivity for companies and small businesses. Services include: VPN, Metrofibre, Internet, DLC & more. [email protected]

Mr Jay

@BabalolaJames1

I'm passionate about teaching people how to code, helping them develop a successful career in it | I believe in Africa

creforge retweeted

2 months ago

Dear Child of God, if you don't learn to travail in prayer, you will toil fruitlessly in life. Pray o!

2 months ago

Life knocked you down? Good. Now, get up again. Falling isn’t failure. Staying down is. #MondayMotivation #DontStayDown #RiseAgain #KeepGoing

creforge's tweet photo. Life knocked you down?
Good. Now, get up again.
Falling isn’t failure.
Staying down is.
#MondayMotivation
#DontStayDown
#RiseAgain
#KeepGoing https://t.co/3t2gQPnxd9

3 months ago

@RevYinkaAdeleke This is amazing, coming from the Creative Ancestor @RevYinkaAdeleke himself. Thanks, Boss.

creforge retweeted

3 months ago

Great work from the creative minds at @creforge. Proud of you, guys.

3 months ago

Bold taste. No compromise. No guilt. With Coca-Cola Zero, you don’t have to choose between flavour and discipline - you get both in every sip. Because real satisfaction isn’t about cutting back… It’s about levelling up. Great taste. Zero sugar. Maximum attitude. #CokeZero

creforge's tweet photo. Bold taste.
No compromise.
No guilt.

With Coca-Cola Zero, you don’t have to choose between flavour and discipline - you get both in every sip.

Because real satisfaction isn’t about cutting back…
It’s about levelling up.

Great taste. Zero sugar. Maximum attitude.
#CokeZero https://t.co/Ww8WdqfST5

3 months ago

Because one day you will look back and realise that the life you’re proud of today was built week by week, choice by choice, moment by moment. So don’t waste this one. Make every moment count. #mondaymotivation #creforge

3 months ago

⚠️ Read this if you’re serious about changing your life this week. It’s a new week. Not just another set of days to survive, but another chance to become who you’re meant to be. Most people are waiting for a big moment to change their lives.

creforge's tweet photo. ⚠️ Read this if you’re serious about changing your life this week.

It’s a new week. Not just another set of days to survive, but another chance to become who you’re meant to be.

Most people are waiting for a big moment to change their lives. https://t.co/N2bN8KLi8Y

3 months ago

This week is not about rushing. It’s about being intentional. Build better habits. Protect your focus. Invest your energy where it truly matters.

creforge retweeted

3 months ago

Not every "open door" is opened by God. Let me say it again: that it is an open door does not mean that it was opened by God! There are open doors that you come across in the corridor of destiny that were opened by Satan and strategically positioned with the sole aim of...

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. Not every "open door" is opened by God.
Let me say it again: that it is an open door does not mean that it was opened by God!

There are open doors that you come across in the corridor of destiny that were opened by Satan and strategically positioned with the sole aim of... https://t.co/X1NAznnPU4

creforge retweeted

3 months ago

Kindness is attractive. Be kind!

creforge retweeted

over 3 years ago

Efforts without direction will always lead to frustration. I pray that the Almighty God will guide your steps every day of your life, and make your efforts count (Psa 32:8); that you will NOT labour in vain not bring forth for trouble (Isa 65:23), in Jesus' name. Amen!

RevYinkaAdeleke's tweet photo. Efforts without direction will always lead to frustration.

I pray that the Almighty God will guide your steps every day of your life, and make your efforts count (Psa 32:8); that you will NOT labour in vain not bring forth for trouble (Isa 65:23), in Jesus' name.
Amen! https://t.co/Z7Qo8AM079

5 months ago

Before the noise, find clarity. Before the grind, create structure. Because what you build right will last longer than what you build fast. Welcome to your morning. Welcome to 2026. #intentionalliving #newbeginnings #creforge

5 months ago

“Whenever a man wakes up, that is his morning.” 2026 isn’t about speed. It’s about direction. This new year is not a race to move fast - it’s a call to wake up, reset, and build strong foundations for what’s ahead. Before the hustle, plant the roots...

creforge's tweet photo. “Whenever a man wakes up, that is his morning.”
2026 isn’t about speed. It’s about direction.
This new year is not a race to move fast - it’s a call to wake up, reset, and build strong foundations for what’s ahead.
Before the hustle, plant the roots... https://t.co/Oz0WnBaIK5

creforge retweeted

GeniusThinking

@GeniusGTX

5 months ago

3. The Best Revenge "The best revenge is not to be like your enemy." If you react to anger with anger, they have won. They have dragged you down to their level. Don't let someone else's bad behavior lower your standards.

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creforge retweeted