Fajama wiggled and squirmed. He could hardly wait. Today was a special day. He rolled up his mat and ran outside. Glimmers of sunlight peeked through palm trees around his village in Liberia, West Africa. Hot water bubbled in a pot hanging over a small fire. A parrot squawked from a nearby coconut tree.

Just across the road, several boys chased a chicken. Through the grass and around a stack of wood, they tumbled over each other trying to reach the chicken. It scurried under the pile of logs. The boys scuffled. “You made me lose it!” one hollered. They wrestled and tumbled. Suddenly one of them looked up. “Hey, Fajama!”

“Togar!” Fajama ran across the road. “Did you hear about tonight? Missionary David is coming to Bomi Hills!”

“Oh, yeah?” Togar looked at the other boys and stood taller. “What's so great about that?”

Fajama smiled. “I went last week. Did you hear that story about Moses?”

“Yeah,” Togar scowled. “B-O-R-I-N-G.” He yawned. The other boys chanted. “Fajama . . . Fajama . . . we need you tonight. You know . . . the soccer game.”

Fajama's shoulders slumped. Kicking the dirt, he remembered the goals he had scored in their last game. All the kids called him a hero for days. He loved to play soccer. But deep inside something greater bubbled up. I love to go to church, Fajama thought.

He looked at his friends. How can I explain my feelings to them? His stomach twisted into a knot.

Before Fajama could say a word, a thumping sound echoed through the jungle. Barump. Kabong. Kaboom. Barump. The market people were coming!

The boys ran toward the sound, leaving Fajama standing alone. His mind was in a jumble. What should I do tonight?

He saw women marching across a narrow log over the river. They carried huge bunches of bananas on their heads. Men and boys followed. They balanced bundles of brooms and stacks of wicker chairs. A tall skinny man sauntered behind the group beating the drum tied to his waist.

Fajama covered his ears. The sound of the drum banged in his head. What should I do about the soccer game tonight?

Following the chattering group of people, he stumbled toward the village center. He saw his mother choosing bags of rice and stacks of collard greens. He helped her carry the food to their hut.

“I'm cooking beef soup for dinner,” Mother said. Fajama's mouth watered. It was his favorite meal.

Then his father entered the hut. “Fajama, are you still going with me to Bomi Hills?”

“Umm . . .” Fajama stopped to think about the soccer game.

“We have to leave soon.” His father looked toward the sky. “It's a two-hour walk, you know.”

“Soup won't be done for another hour,” Mother called.

“Pa,” Fajama pleaded, “can't we wait for it?” His stomach growled.

“Sorry, Son. We must get going,” he replied. “If you want to go with me, please wash up.”

Trying to ignore his hunger, Fajama scampered toward the river. On the way back to his home, he saw his friends gathering for the soccer game.

“Come on,” Togar called. “We're ready to start.”

“No, I'll see you tomorrow. I'm going to church.” Fajama heard giggles. His face burned, but he kept walking.

Father waited by the hut. He grasped Fajama's hand, and they headed down the path through the jungle. Under the giant leaves, the sunlight dimmed. Fajama climbed over lumpy roots and stumbled through tangles of grass.

After they walked about an hour, thunder rumbled high in the clouds. Drops of rain pattered on the banana tree leaves. Fajama felt his dad's arm on his shoulder. Sounds echoed through the jungle. An animal screeched. Fajama felt something slither over his foot. He shivered.

On and on they walked. Fajama's legs ached. His heart pounded. Will we ever get to church?

After a while, Fajama heard a faint song drifting through the trees. He and his father climbed a hill and when they reached the top, Fajama saw a speck of light below them.

“Hurry!” his father said. “We're almost there.” They skipped down the path, reaching the lighted building just before a gush of rain poured from the sky.

Inside, a warm feeling surrounded Fajama. Rows of people swayed to the music. In the corner, a man beat the rhythm on a tall drum.

The words of the song swirled around Fajama's ears and plunged deep into his heart. “Lord, I want to be a Christian in my heart.” He felt like crying and jumping at the same time. Fajama forgot about his hungry stomach. He never even thought about the soccer game.

Nothing else compared to the joy he felt as he sang, “Lord, I want to be like Jesus in my heart, in my heart.”