I was going to meet my aunt to get the outfit she promised me.

Beside her house, there was a child’s birthday party going on. Children gathered, women buzzing around in their matching uniforms. You could tell it wasn’t anything religious, just a good old-fashioned celebration. And trust Yorubas — food, drinks, music, dance, laughter. They know how to make life a party.

I like looking, and I can look like I am not looking😂😂 — but deep down, I wanted to join them.

And I wasn’t alone. There were a few Muslim children standing nearby with their long hijab and flowing gown, watching like me. Maybe they were invited, maybe they weren’t, but they carried the spirit of the party. They clustered beside a minibus, gisting, laughing, full of energy.

Then the DJ switched tracks. And suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. A ripple went through the crowd… voices rose, feet shuffled to the beat, hands lifted. Even a passer-by muttered, “Christians… this song is now playing at parties too?”

But what caught my eye wasn’t the dance floor. It was the Muslim children by the minibus. They jumped, squealed, and sang at the top of their voices. And not just mumbling the chorus… they knew every single word:

🎶 I have decided to follow Jesus… no turning back, no turning back… No! No! No! 🎶

And in that moment, I froze.
Because the gospel was louder than the music.

Here were children — maybe not raised in church, maybe not wearing “Sunday best” — belting out a song of surrender like it was the latest Wizkid hit. No one taught them in that moment, no one preached to them. But something had already planted the words deep inside them.

It struck me: the songs we sing, the words we release, the seeds we sow — they travel further than we imagine. They land in hearts we may never reach with sermons. They echo in places we never thought they’d enter.

And maybe that’s the real beauty of the gospel. It doesn’t need a pulpit to be alive. Sometimes, it’s a birthday party. Sometimes, it’s children who don’t “look the part” carrying the message with joy.

I walked away with one thought: we may never know how far our words, our love, our songs will go. But they matter. They linger. They plant roots.

Because the gospel doesn’t wait for Sunday.
It shows up in parties, in streets, in little children’s voices.

What’s one moment when you felt God show up in the most unexpected place? Tell me about it in the comment section below…

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