Today was a wonderful day. New visitors are arriving, preparations for the celebration are in full swing, and there is a noticeable energy across campus.
As has become my rhythm here, I woke up before my alarm. It is still surprising—and something I’ve come to deeply appreciate. There is a kind of rest here that feels different.
Breakfast was especially memorable this morning. John made samosas—the first I’ve had this entire trip, despite several opportunities. It was one of the foods I had been looking forward to before even arriving, and it did not disappoint.
We enjoyed breakfast together before heading to chapel, where Jerome spoke. It was a steady and grounding start to what would be a full day.
The Final Session
After chapel, I gathered my materials and met Josiane to head to the final session with the mothers in the Child Malnutrition Program. Nathaniel and Naomi joined as well. Today, we focused on application.
Earlier, I had asked the mothers if they were comfortable working in small groups, and they had said yes. So, between chapel and the session, I translated several scenarios into Kinyarwanda—imperfect, but meaningful enough to guide discussion.
We began by revisiting the handouts and talking about how they had used them over the past few days.
What they shared was powerful.
One mother explained that after reviewing the material, her husband promised he would never beat their children again.
That moment stayed with me.
Not just because of what was said—but because of what it represents. A shift. A possibility. A new way forward.
My deepest hope is not just that these words are spoken—but that they last, shaping families and futures long after this moment.
We talked about what it could look like for these practices to extend beyond individuals—to families, to neighbors, to entire communities. A framework that teaches, guides, and builds rather than punishes.
We divided into five small groups and began working through the scenarios.
Each one was designed to help them think through real-life situations using a trauma-informed lens—asking questions, considering responses, and reflecting on impact.
The discussions were active and engaged.
They paused for breakfast, then returned and continued working through the scenarios, sharing their thoughts openly with one another.
There was participation from everyone.
Ownership.
Understanding.
As we wrapped up, I thanked them and reminded them that this was our final session together. Sandra suggested a group photo, and we gathered at the front. The arrangement was… creative—but the moment itself was meaningful.
There is something about closing a chapter face-to-face that carries weight.
We said our goodbyes, and I left deeply grateful for the time we had shared.
Connections at the Table
After returning to our rooms briefly, we headed to lunch.
Two visitors were already seated with Vann—a board member and his wife. As we began talking, we discovered shared connections back home, including ties to my church community.
It’s always striking how small the world can feel in moments like that.
We lingered over conversation before I transitioned to my afternoon sessions.
Compassion and Calling
My 2:00pm session was with the nurses and midwives, focusing on compassion fatigue—something they had specifically requested.
I arrived early to set up, and the session unfolded with openness and engagement. There is a depth of understanding that comes when people recognize their own experiences in the material.
Afterward, we took photos together, capturing the moment—something tangible to mark our time.
A Desire for More
Next was a session with the nursery teachers.
With spaces being used for celebration preparations, we had to adjust locations, eventually settling into a small teacher workroom.
There were about six of them, seated at desks pulled into a circle.
We walked through key concepts, revisited what we had covered, and worked through a few scenarios together. It was a shorter session, but meaningful.
At the end, one of the teachers said, “We really need a full week workshop on this.”
It was both encouraging and sobering.
Encouraging because they see the value.
Sobering because it highlights just how much more there is to give.
Encouragement plants the seed, but practice is what allows it to take root and grow.
Ending with Joy
As that session ended, I made my way quickly to the high school for Conversation Corner—arriving a bit late.
The group had gathered in a different location, and we eventually moved into a classroom to escape the heat. Desks shifted, chairs formed a circle, and we began.
Introductions first—students introducing students.
Then, I asked if they wanted to play a game. The enthusiastically said “Yes” and asked if I had Uno cards. No Uno cards today (a note for next trip), so we chose “Two Truths and a Lie.” For the first time, every single student participated all the way through.
It was a small victory—but a meaningful one.
We followed with “Concentration”, and the energy in the room shifted—lighter, more animated, full of laughter.
And just like that, it was time for them to go.
They had evening prep for their final exams.
As they left, a few stayed behind to help reset the classroom—a small act of care that did not go unnoticed.
A Full Day, A Full Heart
The evening unfolded with conversations among visitors, staff, and friends.
We gathered before dinner, lingering in shared space, reflecting on the day. New faces, familiar connections, meaningful dialogue.
Dinner was simple and good, even in John’s absence for the evening.
At one point, noticing how tired I had become, I quietly gathered the plates from the table and carried them to the kitchen. A small act—but one that felt right in the moment.
By the time I returned to my room, I intended to do a bit more work.
Instead, I closed my laptop and fell asleep before 9:00pm.
A full day.
A full heart.
And the quiet recognition that something meaningful is taking root—in ways both seen and unseen.