A way back to God...

Sometimes, I don't truly understand what happened to me. The fact that I no longer recognize the person I used to be is almost amusing. Whenever I try to force my mind to remember that version of myself, all it offers me are vague images of things I used to do—never the details, never the emotions tied to them. And honestly, I prefer it that way.

I was born and raised in a Catholic family. I have received all the sacraments except marriage and anointing of the sick. From the age of 12 to 18, I was an active member of the church—very active. I was Umulejiyo, even leading the children’s group, a member of Inkoramutima y’Ukaristiya, and I danced in the church choir, Saint Nicolas. I walked miles upon miles to attend religious ceremonies with elderly women. On top of that, I spent six years of my secondary education at a convent school, Groupe Scolaire Notre Dame de Lourdes in Byimana, which only deepened my involvement. There, I joined the choir and continued participating in the ministries I had been a part of before. Fun fact? In S5, I seriously considered becoming a nun—nkava ku by’isi. Hahaha. But look at me now! Lol.

As time passed, I slowly withdrew from my church activities, though I remained in the choir because I loved singing, even if singing and I have always had a long-distance relationship—we love each other, just from afar,lol. My prayer life dwindled. I prayed for the sake of praying, but it lacked meaning. One day I would pray; another day, I wouldn’t. Gutyo gutyo.

In 2017, on a Saturday, our book club (Nkundagusoma) was discussing ‘Things Fall Apart’ by Chinua Achebe. That book was a trigger. It unlocked a part of my mind I didn’t even know existed. It made me question everything I believed in—religion, Christianity. And my conclusion? "White people really manipulated us."

That was the beginning of my unraveling. Suddenly, I couldn’t comprehend how someone I had never met, who didn’t even know me, could have died for me—for my sins. What even was sin? That became another area of exploration. I decided for myself that sin was simply a failure to be kind, to uphold humanity. Everything else was just a mistake, and mistakes are unavoidable—we are human, after all. Ain’t we?

I began debating with Christians, arguing that they were blind, manipulated. I stopped going to church unless it was for a wedding or a funeral. Instead of Sunday Mass, I devoted my Sundays to listening to a man named Mugabo John, who became my "pastor." He helped me unlearn all that Christianity had taught me. And so, I denied Jesus Christ. I proudly told people that I didn’t believe in Him. Some of my friends called me "Philosophe," and yooo, that fed my ego like nothing else.

To put a definitive end to my belief in Jesus, I wrote a letter to God. (At least I still believed in God. Hhhh.) I apologized to Him for failing to understand Jesus Christ. I told Him that with the brain He had given me, His so-called Son’s story simply didn’t make sense. If He was real, He would find a way to manifest Himself to me; if not, then so be it—I was gone.

And so, I threw myself into the world. No spiritual guidance, just my own intellect. I turned to psychics, daily horoscopes (Aries, of course), and self-help books to navigate life. I prayed; but to me, God was more of an abstract force—like "the universe"—nothing personal, nothing profound. Life was only what I could see and feel. Looking back now, ndavuga nti Kristu. I was in complete darkness. I made mistakes—all kinds of mistakes. Nothing excites me today because I have given myself permission to live fully, and trust me, I did. I indulged every desire my flesh had.

I searched for happiness in all the wrong places—drunken nights, meaningless relationships, situationships, one toxic cycle after another. I thought I was enjoying life, but in reality, I was lost. I eventually cut off all those relationships, but by then, I was deeply depressed, empty. The only things I cared about were going out and making money.

Then, something shifted. I started incorporating gospel songs into my Sunday mornings. I began noticing how drained I felt after nights out, how alcohol was destroying me. The lifestyle I once glorified was doing more harm than good. I realized I was being deceived—but by who? By what? I was trying to have my cake and eat it too, to enjoy the world while still longing for God’s presence. But He, in His kindness, met me even in my lukewarmness.

On August 4, 2024, a Sunday like any other, I woke up without a single thought of prayer or gratitude. As usual, I picked up my phone and started scrolling. A friend had posted a song: ‘Paka Mbingu Iseme’ by Daniel Lubams. Something drew me to it. I played it once. Then again. And again. And again. I found it on YouTube and spent hours listening to it. And suddenly, I felt the urge to kneel and pray. I don’t know what I said in that prayer, but it was genuine.

A voice—doubt, perhaps—told me it was just emotions, that once I stepped out of my room, I would come back to my senses. But that thirst for God never left me. It stayed.

Later, I confided in my friend Prisca. She was overjoyed and gave me what she called "the best gift she could ever give me": she introduced me to Jesus. She explained who He truly is. We had a very long conversation. That night when I went back home, I prayed like never before. I cried everything out, surrendered everything, and accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

That same night, at 1:14 AM, I had a demonic attack. A force tried to strangle me, well it did. I screamed the name of Jesus, and it released me. I called Prisca, terrified, and we prayed together. At 3 AM, three things I once clung to disappeared, replaced by new convictions from God.

A few weeks later, the attacks intensified. I saw things in my room, but I refused to be shaken. One night at church, during an Evolve Night, I had an encounter with the Holy Spirit. He told me I was free, free from everything that was attacking me at night. (Isaiah 54:17 just crossed my mind as I write this).

And so, my journey began. I returned to church, joined communities to help me grow spiritually, and started reading the Bible intentionally. On February 11, 2025, I was baptized, testifying to the world that Jesus is my Lord and Savior.

The truth is, Jesus had been working on me long before I met Him. He removed things I was unwilling to let go of, people who had no place in my future. He closed doors that weren’t aligned with His plans for me. And when I finally surrendered, He filled me with a joy and peace beyond understanding. My glow returned. My heart softened. I felt alive again.

Christianity is a journey of death—death to self. For someone like me, who was deeply entrenched in the world, it wasn’t easy. But when you surrender to God, He takes the lead. He walks with you. He changes your desires. Now I now despise a lot of things that I once loved, and I respect the ones I once ignored. And I love it here.

I still stumble sometimes, but nothing—nothing—will take me back to where I was. My Father welcomed me home like I never left. He filled the void inside me that longed to be filled. I am now a Born-Again Christian. I die to myself daily. And I live for Him.

***Luke 15:11-32*** 

My baptism