It’s hard to believe that more than two decades have passed since I lost my parents. As a teenager, I was forced to grow up fast — stepping into the role of a mother long before I was ready.
In Rwanda, parents guide their children’s steps: choosing schools, careers, even friendships. I had no one to guide me. But I was determined not to be swallowed by despair.

Along that lonely road, I discovered my passion and my purpose: to care for the poor, the orphaned, and the abandoned — because once, I stood where they stand.

I know what it feels like to achieve something and have no one there to say, “I’m proud of you.”
I know the sting of suffering without a hand to hold, the ache of milestones — graduations, marriage — without the ones who should have been there.
But God, in His mercy, gave me my three younger siblings.
Through them, I learned how to mother, how to lead, how to love without limits. They are my joy, my purpose, and my promise to my parents and to the living God.

Forgiveness has been a long and winding road.
Some days, it still is.
But I have come to understand: I need grace too. How could I withhold it from others when God has so freely given it to me?

When people ask what keeps me going — what drives me to love, forgive, and rise again — my answer is simple:
I believe my parents are with God.
And the Bible reminds me, “Strive for peace with everyone, and for the holiness without which no one will see the Lord” (Hebrews 12:14, ESV).

I live with one sacred goal:
To honor the God who holds my parents now.
To walk the hard road of forgiveness.
To love without counting the cost.
To one day see my Mom and Dad again — in a place where sorrow and separation are no more.

May we each choose the harder path — to love deeply, forgive freely, and walk humbly with the God who first loved us.

“And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.”
— Ephesians 4:32 (NKJV)