Now, he was 12,000 kilometers away. There was no time to mail a physical Bible. There was no Kinyarwanda church nearby. He felt a familiar panic rise: How do I send her the Word? How do I send her my voice?
But that Bible was gone. Lost during the journey to the refugee camp, then lost again in the chaos of resettlement. kinyarwanda bible pdf
When his grandmother passed away two weeks later, she went in peace. And Jean kept reading—for himself, for her memory, for everyone who needed to hear the old words in the language of their heart. Now, he was 12,000 kilometers away
On the other end, his grandmother whispered, “ Uraho, mwana wanjye … You are alive, my child. I hear you. I hear the Word.” He felt a familiar panic rise: How do I send her the Word
Then he typed the words into his search bar:
He scrolled to . There it was: “Uhoraho ni Uwungeriye; ntacyo nzakumbura.” (The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.)