At the Annual Conference of the Methodist Church in Sierra Leone, West Africa, meetings were held in the large sanctuary in the capital city, Freetown. Each day as we entered the large doors into the sanctuary there was a young girl, maybe about the age of 8, who begged at the door. She looked ragged, dirty, her hair was matted and knotty, and she had on tattered clothes. No one seemed to know her, and people brushed her aside upon entering. Some of the pastors tried to tell her to go away. We were busy doing the work of the church. She was a …