Just at the edge of Kigali, a city that swells to 3 million people during the workday, is the bustling bus depot. As the diesel fumes from large work trucks burn your nostrils and you navigate through the sea of red helmets of moto-drivers, you finally break through to the countryside.

Although it's been 22 years, pain, poverty, and anger still plague thousands of survivors struggling to live in wholeness.This group, however, was not like the others. This group included genocide perpetrators; people who committed unfathomable evil acts, went to prison, repented and are now free.

I was getting nervous, the excited-butterflies kind, as our two-car caravan navigated the unmarked dusty roads in Mbabe, Rwanda. We were almost there.

The grenade markings are still on the ground by the front doors. The tin roof is still riddled with bullet holes- allowing thin beams of sun into the brick church sanctuary. The linen laying over the alter is still stained with blood.

Here's my theory: We have the same eternal needs (our own brokenness, wounds, sin, and struggles) but we (including me) have more means to distract ourselves from them.

We sat there disappointed. Eager to serve these kids. Then these words popped into my mind. Listening blesses them. 

I couldn't pass up an opportunity to share something encouraging when I had 50 pastors in the room that I will never see again. So I shared with them this very simple message: