A three-inch bug crawled slowly across the dirt just outside of the opening to the hut, in no apparent hurry and with no concern about anything except persisting in its journey. It was interesting to see this bug. In this part of Nigeria, almost anything you can see that crawls, walks, flies, swims or otherwise shows life gets eaten by something else, sometimes while you're watching it, usually because something hungry sees it at the same time you do. There had been times when Osaze would have eaten the bug himself. This time it was just idle amusement to him.

Osaze remembered times when as a young boy he used to curse the very dirt that this bug now so casually crawled across. Those were times when he felt lost, that he had nothing, that the dirt was not even his except as a curse against him. The dirt belonged to anyone but him and he was just a trespasser. When dry, the dirt would cling to the air and cause his throat to scratch. When wet, it would stick to his skin and cause rashes or let parasites enter his body.

Today, it was just dirt.

He looked back from the doorway to his mother. How frail she looked. At age 35 she looked old and he struggled to remember how she looked many years ago when he was young. But, Osaze was just 14 himself, so "many years ago" was not that many years ago.

He had been born in this very village, a place called Shagunu, not far from the western shores of Kainji Lake in western Nigeria. His parents had proudly named him Ibrahim after the great Prophet of Islam. Once he was old enough his father took him to the five daily prayers at the mosque. The wail of the call to prayers would come from the loudspeakers of the mosque and no matter what he was doing he would have to stop, find his father, and go to the mosque to pray. The hardest prayer time was the first, from dawn until sunrise. In Osaze's mind, this time of day was one to be savored. It was Africa time, when the world was waking up. He did not want to be stuck doing prayers. He wanted to watch the wonders around him as everything came out of slumber and woke to life.

Osaze's father and mother were subsistence farmers. In the small family plot of land they grew barely enough yams to feed the family for a year. They would occasionally trade yams for other foods to eat, but meat was not something that Osaze tasted until he was almost ten. It seemed that he was always hungry.

Farming was hard work. When he was a small boy his father had given him a hand hoe and taught him how to work in the field. In between the five daily prayers Osaze was out in the field working.

His two brothers Ishaku and Umaru died when they were still little children. Ishaku was just three when he got a fever, wouldn't stop crying and finally died within four days. A year later, little red spots appeared all over Umaru's body and he died within a week. These were sad times in Osaze's family. His mother wailed loudly and his father would spend more time at the mosque. But, it was simply Allah's will.

Osaze grew up a very selfish boy. Since he had nothing, if he could get anything, he did. As he grew older he was always looking out for himself. When there was the chance to take something, he did it. At night, when he thought about these things, he would say to himself that it was his right, because he was the first born. It was important that he get what was rightfully his. "Besides," he would think, "I only want just enough. If I get it I will stop."

He was very excited when he grew old enough to go to school because that meant that he would not have to work in the field during the day. Even though school was very hard because he had to learn English and then Arabic, it was his fondest memory of being a young boy. Osaze loved to raise his hand when the teacher asked a question. "I should claim this question," he would say to himself. It should be his question to answer.

But just as it started, one day school also stopped. He was ten years old when his father explained that it was more important that he work in the family field growing yams. His parents had no more money for Osaze's paper and pencils and besides, it was better that he help out with the food the family needed to survive. What would he do with what he learned at school? How would their family use that to eat?

It was a bitter disappointment and the worst day of his life; far worse than when either of his brothers died. Their death was their problem, but this was his. His! How could he bear this?

Even though only one boy of his age continued to go to school Osaze would never forgive his parents for this loss.

Two years later, at age 12, Osaze left Shagunu. For several weeks he had planned his escape and in the end it turned out to be very easy. He just left. After the first prayer of the day, he simply walked down the dirt trail from his village to the main road and kept walking. For awhile after that, he roamed the country, finding other young people his age who taught him many things including sniffing glue and stealing. Food came wherever and however he found it. Sometimes he got a beating for stealing. Sometimes he did the beating.

One day, a truck driver who gave him a ride asked him if he would like to make some money and so for many months Osaze rode in the truck, helping the driver load and unload the truck in return for food and a safe place to sleep.

Sometimes the driver would give him a small amount of money to buy food and Osaze would tuck that money away in his sock. It was such a small amount that it was not enough to earn his loyalty so on one trip from Lagos to Benin City he left the truck at a stop and just started walking.

It was approaching dark as he came to the outskirts to Benin City when the two older boys stopped him.

"Hey Rabbit, where are you going?" snarled one of the boys.

"Just walking down the road, going somewhere," Osaze answered.

"Don't you think you should pay us to walk on our road?" came the quick reply.

Osaze had faced this before and he knew what they wanted. They wanted his money. To be honest, he looked like he might have some. His clothes were neat and almost clean, his stomach looked full and his hair was not long. Working for the truck driver had been an okay life.

"I do not have any way to pay you," Osaze stated loudly, hoping to seem unafraid of the two.

The bigger of the two boys almost spat back, "Then we will have to make you pay some other way." Osaze turned to run but he didn't even take two strides when the big boy spun him around, two fists flying at his face.

All Osaze remembered of the rest of that encounter was pain. Pain that would not stop. When he woke up it was morning. He was laying off of the road in a shallow ditch, his head hurting badly, blood in his mouth, his right arm would not work and his chest had such deep pain he could not sit up. With his one good hand he checked his pockets. Nothing. He kept looking. Did they find the Naira notes and coins he had in his sock, he wondered? Lifting his aching head he could see that his feet were bare. They had taken his shoes and socks. And his money.

The pain of keeping his head up was too much and he sank back into the grasses along the road. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted and placed gently into an automobile. As the car sped down the road he drifted into and out of dreams. For the longest time, he sensed he was back on the family land in Shagunu. The morning sun was coming up and he was touching the softness of the earth as a gentle haze settled on the ground around him.

"How do you feel?" came a voice through the haze. At first, he thought it was his father. "Boy. How do you feel?" said the voice again, insistently. This time the haze lifted and he was looking at the face of a man.

"I hurt," was all he could manage to say before the haze descended and again he was standing in the middle of his family's field.

During the next several days he learned that he had been picked up by the man, carried to his home in Benin City, put into a bed, a doctor had been to see him several times, and he would slowly recover from his injuries.

One afternoon, as the man, Mr. Adedayo, brought food into the small room where he lay, Osaze got up the courage to ask why he was here.

"You were lying along the road, boy," said Adedayo. "And you were hurt. I couldn't leave you there, could I." It was a statement, not a question, and it surprised Osaze because this was not an idea that he would have ever considered.

"What is your name?" continued the man.

"I am Ibrahim," he said.

"Where do you come from, Ibrahim?" asked Adedayo.

"From Shagunu, near Kainji," answered Osaze. "Where am I?"

"You are in my home, boy," replied the man, "and you will stay here until you are well enough to leave."

"But I have no way to pay you and I don't even know your name," was Osaze's only reply.

Adedayo then said something that further puzzled Osaze. "There is no need to pay me. Anything I might have earned in this life has been paid by another."

Every day over the next several weeks, Osaze asked many questions during the time that he saw Mr. Adedayo. Soon, Osaze realized that this man was not a Muslim, and yet he knew a lot about Islam. They had discussions about the prophets and Adedayo told him more about Jesus the prophet. "Jesus already paid your bill, my young friend," was what Adedayo would say every time Osaze asked about the cost of his care. As he grew stronger he grew more interested and Adedayo spent time teaching him and answering all of his questions.

One of his frequent questions was "How do you know that God loves you?" It burned in his heart because he felt that God had abandoned him in this life, and so he must get everything he could for himself.

"When you see the African morning, you know that God loves you," Adedayo would say. "In this, he is giving the earth a new day. Every day that there is an African morning is God's sign of hope for your life." This was such news to Osaze that it troubled him greatly that he did not know this God. This was not Allah that he prayed to at the mosque. This was a God that loved him? Could it be possible?

The day came when Osaze asked Mr. Adedayo to explain to him what he must do to accept this God. It seemed so easy. The next morning, as the sun was rising on a new African day, Osaze and Adedayo prayed as Osaze asked Jesus Christ to come into his heart.

"From today, your name will be Osaze," said Adedayo, explaining that Osaze was a Benin name meaning 'Loved by God.' The boy was so happy because he remembered that the prophet Ibrahim from whom his real name came, had also had his name changed by God to signal that he would be used for great things.

It was such joy when Adedayo reminded him that from now on, the African morning should forever remind him of God’s love for him. "Sometimes in the morning," Adedayo said, "when the cool of night is lifting in the stillness, when the warmth of the African morning is waking the animals and birds, you will feel the voice of God calling to you."

For the next three months, Adedayo taught Osaze from the Bible, with the young boy hungry for each word and each thought. And then, came the day when they went into town together. Amazingly, Osaze saw a man on the street with the facial markings of his people. As he talked to the man he learned that this man knew about his village and also knew that many people were sick there.

Osaze and Adedayo returned home, Osaze said a quick goodbye and left immediately to return to his village. It took three days and he was very careful about approaching strangers because in his pocket he held tightly the small Bible that Adedayo had given him. Osaze was not able to read the words, but Adedayo had helped him to memorize many parts so that, as Adedayo told him, he would be able to read the words that were written on his heart.

During the travel back to Shagunu, Osaze worried about what he would say when he reached his village. How would he tell his people about Jesus? Would his parents disown him? Would the villagers try to kill him?

When Osaze got to his village, he ran to his parents' hut and as he walked through the doorway, his heart sank. It was as he feared. His mother and father were very sick.

"Father, Mother, I have come home to you," he said, now starting to cry. Later, he would think how odd it was, because he did not cry when he left his home two years before. He did not cry when he lay in the ditch, severely beaten. But at this moment, he felt like he was a little child again, needing his mother and father and seeing that they could not help him.

Within an hour, he knew that he must pray for God to heal his parents. "What are you doing?" cried his father, watching as Osaze prayed. "It is not prayer time. Allah will be angry."

"But father, I am now a Christian," the words came spilling out of Osaze. "I am praying to the one true God. His son is Jesus Christ. He came to save us and I have been saved. I can pray to him at any time."

His father was too weak to protest, but the few people standing outside the doorway who had gathered when they heard that Osaze had returned home, were not happy.

"It is blasphemy," said one. "He tells the lies of an infidel. What has happened to him? He has been corrupted."

On this night, no other outcry would occur. But during the next several days many villagers came to inquire of Osaze and to accuse him. Since most of the village was sick, the accusers were few but vocal.

To each villager Osaze calmly told his story. "My name has been changed to Osaze," he would say. "It means 'loved by God.' The real God found me. I did not have to pray five times each day to tell him that I was here. He knew me. And he sent a stranger to save me when I was lost and dying. Now I do not fear hunger or dying. I will be able to live with him forever because of his son, Jesus Christ." And, he would tell them words that he had memorized from the Bible, being careful to refer to the New Testament verses as the Injil so the Muslims would listen, because this was one of their sacred books.

Within days the persecution started. First it came from people passing by his family hut who would say his name very loud, then villagers began to yell at him. They would shout, "Go away!" But he stayed. This was his home. Soon, there were threats. "Leave or you will be hurt. We don't want you here." And one day, he returned from working on his family's land and a wall of his family hut had been torn down while his parents were inside.

Finally, the Chief came to talk to him. The Chief was also ill but he listened carefully as Osaze told his story. Osaze also told the Chief that he has been praying for the village and all the villagers. Suddenly, before the Chief could say anything, Osaze started praying out loud. During his prayer, Osaze prayed for the chief and asked God to take the illness from the village and put it in him instead. When he finished his prayer, he could see that the Chief had a very quizzical look in his eyes. The Chief was thinking, "This is a different young man than the selfish boy who left this village."

Within two days of the meeting between Osaze and the Chief of Shagunu, Osaze began to feel sick. Within another two days, he was barely clinging to life while all around him the villagers were recovering. The Chief had been thinking about this young man's prayer and so he ordered the villagers to go to Osaze's family hut to pay respects to him. Osaze was weak but as the people stood outside the doorway he prayed out loud that his family, the Chief and the villagers would know the God that gives him hope. For an hour after praying, Osaze re-told the story of becoming a Christian and getting the name Osaze. He told the people about the baby that was born on Christmas day so that all could live. He told them about how Jesus had sacrificed his life so that others could live and how people in other places who believe in this Jesus give each other gifts on this day to remember that greatest gift. And, almost out of breath in weakness, he told them about the God that sends them an African morning every morning to remind them of his love. Osaze finished, "I have hope. I have the hope that I never had. Before this hope, I tried to get anything I could because I had nothing. Now I have everything and I need nothing."

Two days later, on a bright, warm African morning on the twenty-fourth of December, Osaze died.

It is early Christmas morning and the pastor of the tiny church in the small village of Luma is praying. For several years, he has been working hard to grow food for his family and he has been struggling to get villagers to come to the church. Yet, no matter what he has tried, no one is willing to come. There are now only four people who even go near the church and three of them are his family.

But this is Christmas morning. Today he is going to tell the story of the birth of Jesus, the baby son of God who was born on this day to save the world. Today is the day when he wishes he had loudspeakers for his church, like the loudspeakers of the mosque that are now blaring the Muslim call to prayers.

Today is the day that he feels the weight of what God has asked him to do with his life. "God, I am weary. Please bring the gift of Christmas to my heart," he prays.

As he finishes praying he hears the sound of running feet and in a second, two children burst into the small one-room mud church. Excitedly, they shout that there are many people coming down the road. This is not a good sign. The church sits at the end of the road. They can only be coming here. Thoughts race through the pastor's head - Christian churches all around the region have been burned down by angry Muslim mobs that gathered quickly and descended on the churches in a rage.

But there is nothing he can do, and so, having nothing to hold back a mob, the pastor kneels at the door of the church to pray for protection. Within a minute a crowd comes into sight and soon over a hundred people fill the small clearing around the church. At the front is the Chief of the neighboring village of Shagunu. Fearful that this staunchly Muslim neighboring village has come to threaten him or burn down his church, the pastor asks why they are there.

The Chief replies matter-of-factly that they have come to hear the story of this Jesus who was born on this day, and who loved them so much that he sent Osaze to their village. And then he adds, "It is an African morning."

And on this day and in this way, Christmas came to the small village of Luma Nigeria. For the humble village pastor, his simple prayer of "God, please bring the gift of Christmas to my heart" had been answered.

May God bring the gift of Christmas to your heart, too.