Faith, Hope, and Love

Note: This post was written after my first trip to Rwanda in July 2015. For some reason, I never posted it. I returned to Rwanda in June 2017 and have been asked to share about my trip for church. The thoughts from this blog post continue to swirl in my head as I reflect on my time in that beautiful country, so I felt it was time to finally send these thoughts into the world!  I can't get the image of Nyamata out of my head. The church doors still have the hole from where grenades were thrown. The walls are filled with holes from bullets and stained from people's blood. Small rivulets of light flow in through the tin roof because of holes left from shrapnel. The cloth covering the altar is almost completely a reddish-brown color--not colored by age or the red dirt Rwanda is known for, but rather by the blood of its people. Around one million Rwandans were killed during the 1994 genocide. No place was safe. Not even the church. As we entered the church, it felt like you w...

I haven't been to church in what feels like, and probably is,  months . I just got tired of church hopping. After living in Houston for almost a year, I had been to at least eight different churches. And while there were a few churches I went to for weeks at a time, I hated the awkward, out-of-place feeling I had while there. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with. I just wanted to belong somewhere. And then one Sunday, there was an excuse not to go visit a new church or go to an old one. Can't remember what it was. But oh, what a slippery slope that became. Suddenly there was an excuse for every Sunday. I was out of town. I didn't feel well. I was going to be late. And then the day came when I decided, why bother until I know where I'm going to live next? I was ready to put an end to the church hopping routine and settle down, but I couldn't do that until I was settled, right? If my dad ever reads this, I know he'll be appalled. As would probably my...

It never fails that within a given week someone   seemingly has to ask me, "So... do you have a boyfriend?", "So who's the lucky man?" or something along that lines. It doesn't matter if we've been friends for ages and just haven't seen each other in a while, or you've just met me a few months, days or hours ago. It somehow always creeps up. And when I say, "No... No one..." with a sweet smile on my face, the answer is always a variation of three things: 1. "Don't worry, your own time will come soon." (Really? I wasn't worried until you said that , now I'm worried that something is the matter since "my time" hasn't come yet. Thanks.) 2. "Oh, why are you being picky? Or are you just waiting until you're sure ? (Actually, no one is even remotely interested in me. Or at least no one I'm aware of. Thanks for reminding me of that fact.) 3. "We've got to find someone for you!...

Ever since  Ash Wednesday , I haven't been able to get that Crystal Lewis song out of my head. My dad happened to be in town that Wednesday and we had a good talk about Lent and what it meant. Growing up Baptist, Lent isn't something that we generally observe as a denomination. However, I do remember our church in Nigeria doing a 40 days of prayer and fasting leading up to Easter. And as I've grown older, I've become close friends with Catholics, Episcopalians, and other denominations that do observe Lent. And as I mentioned in my last blog, I never really got it. In fact, once in in high school I almost wiped off the ash cross on a friend's forehead thinking it was an accidental smug mark. While my dad and I were talking, the subject of how the Jews mourned through ashes and sackcloth was related to Ash Wednesday. In a sense, by wearing the ash cross on your forehead you're "mourning" your sinful nature and what it cost Christ to save you. It...