Anyone who pays close attention to migratory birds and animals eventually accepts the maxim that migration is a form of adaptation. Movement is often a response to shock, disruption, or the need to survive. In my own life, migration became not only a physical journey but a spiritual and cultural awakening—an unexpected encounter with the Spirit of God beyond the borders of my familiar denomination, drawing me into the vastness of the global Christian family.

On Christmas Eve in Liberia, the nation received a devastating message: armed men from the North had invaded the country. Because military unrest had become almost routine since the 1980s, many—including myself—assumed this would pass without serious consequences. But this time, it did not pass. It ushered us into the painful reality of displacement and exile.

As I searched for a safe place after Sierra Leone became too dangerous, I ventured toward southeastern Africa. I did not fully understand the risks of my decision until I arrived in Harare, Zimbabwe. I could not cross the border to Mozambique where my brother lived, nor could I return to Sierra Leone. Mozambique was engulfed in a fierce war, and Liberia had just launched an incursion into Sierra Leone. I found myself trapped between two conflicts, with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

In that moment of uncertainty, I remembered a gentleman from Kenya who had sat beside me on the plane. Perhaps he sensed the danger I was walking into—or perhaps, as I now believe, he became an angel of protection. Just before we deplaned, he handed me a business card belonging to a Christian woman in Harare. I accepted it casually, almost dismissively.

Three days later, after wandering the city and weighing my options, I decided to visit the office listed on the card. It took considerable effort to locate it, but eventually I found the place. I entered, asked to see the woman, and waited. When she finally welcomed me into her office, I shared my story. She listened with the calm assurance of someone grounded deeply in faith. Then she said, “Don’t worry, my son.” She made several phone calls, arranged accommodation, and guided me step by step on what to do next.

Before I left, she said, “Let me pray for you.” And she prayed exactly as my mother would have prayed—tenderly, fervently, with a mother’s heart. I was stunned. Is she Anglican? I wondered. How is she praying with such warmth, care, and love—just like my mother?

In that moment, a profound truth dawned on me: there are mothers and God-fearing people far beyond the borders of our denominations. God’s kingdom has no walls, no tribal lines, no cultural limits. The Spirit of the Lord binds this global family together.

This experience became a defining lesson in my journey of migration. It taught me that all God’s children—across nations, traditions, and cultures—are one in the eyes of God. And since that day, I have carried with me the conviction that the Spirit moves freely across borders, guiding, protecting, and revealing the unity of God’s people everywhere.