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The best thing that ever happened to me took place one afternoon on October 25, 1975. I knelt beside my single room apartment in Tamale, northern Ghana, and said to the Lord Jesus Christ: “Please, Lord, forgive me my sins — I always knew I am a sinner. I’m sorry for my sins and the way I’ve gone my own way. I believe you died for me. Please forgive me. Come into my heart today and remain in my life forever!”

I probably didn’t use the exact words the way I’ve stringed them here, but they are pretty similar to the way I felt and what I spoke to Jesus about. I remember this vividly because it was on my 19th birthday that year. I had just returned from a man who reminded me of the love of God, about my need to repent and be saved, live for Jesus, and head for Heaven.

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Little by little, it dawned on me: this flair for writing, this interest to string words together to communicate meaningful ideas, is more than a hobby: it is a mission with a vision — which makes it a calling

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