ATUJANI'S FIRST DAY IN CHURCH

 

 

In a small, remote village in Northern Africa, where the sound of children’s laughter mingled with the rhythmic beat of talking drums and the gentle lowing of cattle, lived a young boy named Atujani. The village, like many others, was steeped in tradition,  revolving around the ways of the ancestors. From the break of dawn till the fall of dusk, Atujani and his family worked tirelessly in the fields, tilling the red earth that had sustained their community for generations.

His family worshipped the gods of their forebears, the unseen protectors of their land and harvest. Shrines adorned with calabashes, cowries, and the occasional offering of livestock dotted the village landscape, a testament to the spiritual ties that bound its people. Atujani, however, had always felt an unshakable emptiness within him.

When he was just a boy, Atujani had heard whispers about Christianity. Traders from distant towns spoke of a man named Jesus, who loved all people equally and forgave even the worst of sins. The thought fascinated him. Who was this man who could offer such love and mercy? He wanted to know more, but his curiosity quickly drew scorn from those around him.

“Don’t betray the ancestors,” his father warned sternly, his voice heavy with disappointment. “The gods have been good to us. Without them, we are nothing.”

The villagers weren’t kinder. Some called him "a dreamer,” while others whispered behind his back that he was cursed. Children who once played by his side now kept their distance, and even some Christians in the village—people who could have guided him—seemed more interested in condemning his background than sharing their faith. They would say, “A boy like him, with his history, can never follow Christ. Let him be.”

Hurt by the rejection and consumed by shame, Atujani buried his longing. “Maybe I’m not worthy of this Jesus,” he told himself. For years, he lived in silence, carrying a burden of confusion and loneliness. He went through the motions of life—helping his family on the farm, participating in rituals, —but inside, he felt like a vacuum.

 

One day, while selling millet at the bustling village market, Atujani met Brother Kofi, a traveling evangelist. Unlike others, Brother Kofi didn’t preach to Atujani from a distance or look at him with suspicion. He walked up to him with a broad smile and asked, “Young man, how are you doing? How is your family?”

Atujani, caught off guard by the kindness in his voice, hesitated before responding. They began to talk—first about millet, then about life, and finally about faith. Brother Kofi didn’t rush to quote scriptures or condemn Atujani’s background. Instead, he listened. For hours, Atujani poured out his heart, sharing his doubts, his fears, and the coldness he had encountered from others.

Brother Kofi placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, “Atujani, Jesus isn’t looking for perfect people. He loves you as you are, right here, right now. He’s been waiting for you all this time.”

Those words touched something deep inside Atujani, but he was still hesitant. Before they parted ways, Brother Kofi extended an invitation. “Come to my birthday celebration next week. There will be food, movies and lots of fun. I would be honored if you joined us.”

 

Atujani wasn’t sure why he accepted the invitation, but something inside him compelled him to go. When the day arrived, he walked nervously into Brother Kofi’s home, expecting to be met with the same judgmental stares he had grown accustomed to. Instead, he found smiles. The people there welcomed him warmly, offering him food and asking about his day. For the first time in years, he felt like he belonged.

As they prayed and sang songs about Jesus, tears welled up in Atujani’s eyes. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He realized then that this was what he had been searching for all along—not just a religion, but a relationship, a love that accepted him despite his flaws.

Before the celebration ended, Brother Kofi handed him a Bible. “This is for you,” he said. “It’s the greatest gift I can give because it contains the words of life. Read it, and you’ll find the answers you’ve been searching for.”

 

The following Sunday, Atujani stepped into a church for the first time. It was a small mud-brick building with wooden benches and a tin roof that rattled in the wind. The villagers stared as he walked in, their eyes filled with curiosity and, for some, disbelief.

“What is he doing here?” someone whispered.

But Atujani didn’t let the murmurs distract him. As the choir began to sing, their voices rising like a symphony of hope, he felt a peace he had never known. It wasn’t just the music—it was something deeper, something he couldn’t put into words. For the first time, he felt truly at home.

As the service ended, Atujani clutched the Bible that Brother Kofi had given him. It wasn’t just a book; it was a symbol of the new life he had found, a life filled with hope and purpose.

 

 

Dear Reader

As you read Atujani’s story, pause for a moment and ask yourself: Have I shared the love of Christ with someone today?

There are many like Atujani in our communities—people who are longing for hope, burdened by rejection, and searching for peace. Have you shown them the love and kindness that Jesus asks of us? Or have you looked past them, assuming they are too far gone?

Jesus commanded us in Matthew 28:19, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations.” But sharing the gospel isn’t just about words; it’s about love, compassion, and meeting people where they are, just like Brother Kofi did with Atujani.

Have you won a soul for Christ? Do you think about those who have never heard His name or felt His love? Let Atujani’s journey remind us that even the smallest act of kindness—a listening ear, an invitation, a smile—can be the turning point in someone’s life.

You could be the Brother Kofi in someone’s story. Will you answer the call?

 

 

Samuel  Elijah Boateng

sam.boateng600@gmail.com

0593876208

John C. Maxwell Leadership