Today carried a different rhythm across campus.
We started the morning together—all four of us—in the dining hall. Breakfast was good, as it always is, and there was something grounding about beginning the day in shared space before heading off in different directions.
Worship followed, steady and familiar. Nathaniel was introduced. There was another visitor, who wasn’t introduced, but whose presence added to the sense that this place continues to welcome people from all over.
After worship, I made my way to the high school. My itinerary noted that I would be assisting with English classes.
But the day had other plans.
An Unexpected Role
When I arrived, the students were waiting to begin the first of their national exams for the week. Instead of teaching, I found myself stepping into a completely different role—proctoring a room of S1 and S3 students in a Mathematics exam. My first time in a classroom in Rwanda, and I’m overseeing a national exam.
As I entered, the students were already seated, quietly waiting. There was a calm stillness in the room, a shared understanding of the importance of the moment. Just before 10:00, exams were stapled and distributed. Right at 10:00, they began.
And just like that, the room settled into focused silence.
Students would occasionally come forward to ask for an extra sheet of paper or permission to step out, but otherwise, the time passed with a quiet steadiness. It moved faster than I expected.
At 12:30, I slipped out for lunch, mindful of the carefully followed schedule that structures each day here.
Conversations Over Lunch
By the time I reached the dining hall, the others were already there—Nathaniel, London, and Naomi. We prayed, gathered our food, and sat together.
Soon after, Devotha and a visitor named Sallie joined us. Sallie is visiting from Milwaukee, spending a few days on campus to learn more ahead of a group expected in August. Serge arrived as well, and the table filled with conversation. It was easy, relational, and full of connection.
I had a chance to catch up with both Sallie and Serge, and before long, the clock nudged me toward my next commitment.
Leadership and Trauma-Informed Care
At 2:00, I met with the campus leadership team—the heads of departments—for a training session in the fellowship hall. This session focused on trauma-informed leadership, a space that feels deeply aligned with the work I am continuing to grow into. Even so, I wasn’t entirely sure how it would be received.
As we moved through the material, that uncertainty eased. The group was engaged, responsive, and thoughtful in their answers to open-ended questions. There was a willingness to reflect, to consider, and to engage with the content in a meaningful way.
As we wrapped up, questions came—honest and practical. We sat together in that space of dialogue before closing.
The headmistress thanked me, and I shared that I would be leaving behind all of my materials and additional resources for their continued use.
It felt less like a one-time session, and more like the beginning of something they could carry forward.
The Impact You Don’t Plan For
After a brief stop back in my room, I headed to the high school early for Conversation Corner. I had mentioned a short video the day before and wanted to be available in case anyone wanted to see it.
On my way, a student stopped me.
She thanked me for the Conversation Corner yesterday and shared that it had deeply impacted her.
She didn’t have to stop. She chose to.
And in that moment, I was reminded that you don’t always see the impact when it happens—but sometimes, you’re given a glimpse.
Sometimes the most meaningful impact happens in the moments we never planned to fill.
Returning to Identity
As students began to gather, I recognized several faces from previous sessions. About half the group had been with me before, so we began the way I always begin a new group—by introducing one another—students introducing students. Their name, something they like or are good at, and one characteristic about them (e.g., they are humble, they are kind, etc.)
They paused to prepare, leaning into the process of getting to know each other, and I watched as connection began to form even before the conversation formally started. Sallie joined us briefly to observe. Her timing was perfect—she arrived just as introductions began.
One by one, students introduced their peers, and after each introduction, I welcomed them by name. It’s a small thing, but it matters. Names matter.
From there, we returned to identity.
We talked about speaking words of encouragement and truth—not just to others, but to ourselves. About how repeated words begin to shape thought, and how thought, over time, settles into belief.
And once those truths are written on your heart, they become harder for anyone else to rewrite.
Then we opened the space for questions.
They asked about differences between schools in Rwanda and the United States. About life experiences. About meaningful moments.
Thoughtful questions. Honest curiosity.
Sallie stepped out to retrieve her luggage from the airport, and we continued until the sounds of other groups signaled that time was ending.
I offered to show the short video I had mentioned—just 83 seconds—and told them they were free to go if they needed.
No one moved. So we watched it together.
Just a few minutes longer. Just enough to share something meaningful.
When truth is spoken often enough, it moves from words, to thoughts, to something written on the heart
Walking Forward
As we left, I walked alongside one of the students, Fortunate.
I asked her what she hoped to become—"A neurosurgeon.”
Clear. Confident.
We talked about that path—what it could look like, what it requires—and I shared that I could truly see her stepping into that role. When I asked where she hoped to train, she didn’t hesitate.
Somewhere beyond Rwanda.
There was vision in her answer. Intention.
At the gate, our paths split—hers toward the dorms, mine back to the guest house.
Closing the Day
Dinner brought a small change of pace—John had the World Cup game on, the first time I’ve seen a television on since arriving.
It was a simple, unexpected moment of normalcy.
After dinner, I returned to my room to continue preparing resources to leave behind for the school. The week ahead will look different—time with the mothers in the malnutrition program, and hopefully the sewing program as well, depending on how the testing schedule unfolds.
For now, I’m ready for rest.
Grateful for a day that didn’t go as planned—and for all that came from it anyway.