Kokoro & Grace:
A Birthday I’ll Never Forget. It was my 10th birthday—the kind of milestone a child looks forward to with bright eyes and high expectations. But that year came with quiet changes. I had just been transferred from a private elementary school to a public one. Things were a little tight at home, though I didn’t fully understand it then. Still, my father, in his usual loving way, promised me something small—some sweets, maybe biscuits. In Nigeria, that was enough to make a child feel celebrated. My hair was beautifully braided in neat cornrows, and I went to bed that Sunday night imagining how I would “show up and show off” on Monday. But morning came with a different reality. My father gently told me he couldn’t get the sweets he had promised. Instead, he asked me to accompany him to Subuola Street in Surulere, perhaps hoping to find help from family. Then came the moment that broke my little heart—he told me to go to school just like that. No treats. No celebration. No sign that it was my birthday. I went quietly, carrying disappointment heavier than my school bag. But God wasn’t done writing that day’s story. On our way, we encountered a man we all knew as —Baba Oniwe, the book seller. He was a fixture in our community, selling everything from used textbooks and pencils to brooms, canes, and snacks. Truly, everything a school child could need—or fear. He made a simple suggestion: “Why not buy kokoro for her to share in school? ”Kokoro—crispy cornmeal sticks. Not cake. Not sweets. Not what I had imagined. In fact, I had never heard of anyone celebrating a birthday with kokoro. But my father agreed.With the little he had, he bought as much as he could. And though I didn’t realize it fully then, that moment was soaked in sacrifice.“If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father…” — Matthew 7:11.
I went to school still carrying my sadness. I said nothing about my birthday. I felt shy… even a little ashamed. Kokoro didn’t feel like something worth celebrating. But just before the school day ended, I quietly told a friend, almost in a whisper: “Today is my birthday… I brought something to share.”What happened next changed everything. She jumped up—literally stood on the table—and announced it to the entire class. Suddenly, the room filled with voices singing Happy Birthday. Laughter followed. Smiles everywhere. The kokoro? Gone in minutes. They loved it. Some even asked for more. And just like that, something shifted in me.The sadness lifted. My face brightened. I laughed freely. I joined in the joy I thought I didn’t deserve that day.“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” — Psalm 30:5I went to school sad… and came home full of joy. Later in life, I began to understand something deeper. Some of those children had never had a birthday celebrated before. No cake. No song. No attention. And here I was, thinking I had nothing.That day taught me gratitude. My parents were not rich, but they gave us everything that mattered—love, care, provision, and sacrifice. We had food, shelter, and dignity. And in that moment, I saw my father through a different lens—not as someone who couldn’t provide sweets, but as someone who gave everything he could.“Every good and perfect gift is from above…” — James 1:17. If an earthly father can go to such lengths to make his child happy, how much more our Heavenly Father?The One who feeds the birds of the air… The One who calls me His own… The One who gave His Son so I could have life.“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son…” — John 3:16“I am the apple of His eye.” — Zechariah 2:8 . That day, through something as simple as kokoro, God showed me a truth I carry to this day: I am seen. I am loved. I am provided for. And truly—“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof.” — Ecclesiastes 7:8. What started in disappointment ended in joy, laughter, and a lesson I will never forget.