Beyond Limits

This year has stretched me in ways I never imagined. It began with my daughter falling sick around June— a journey that led to countless hospital visits and even four days of admission for a frightening blood clot in her hand. Those moments were heavy. As a mother, there is nothing more painful than seeing your child in distress and feeling powerless to take it away. At times, I felt like life had pushed me to the sidelines. Plans slowed down. Opportunities seemed just out of reach. I often wondered,  “Why now? Why this season?” And yet, even in those hard spaces, I began to notice something: God was still at work behind the scenes. Hidden Good in Difficult Times What I thought was delay turned out to be protection. What looked like loss turned out to be redirection. And even when I felt too overwhelmed to chase after opportunities, some of them quietly came to me. It was a reminder that God’s hand does not stop moving, even when mine feels too weak to hold on. Sometimes being “on ...

I’ve been journeying with a young woman named Rhodah, my mentee, who has submitted over 50 job applications this year alone. So far 4 rejections?  Not a single yes. Even when we have tried alternative routes — training programs, volunteer placements, anything to create a pathway — the doors remained shut. About seven regrets came in for even sponsored learning opportunities. Nothing seemed to give. And it got me thinking: What goes on in the mind of a person who keeps pushing but meets one closed door after another ? What does it do to one’s spirit when, despite doing everything right — praying, applying, networking, trusting — nothing seems to shift? I thought about those in leadership positions — the pressure is even worse. You’re expected to be strong, to be the light, yet sometimes your own phone stays silent. No opportunity. No breakthrough. Just a quiet room and unpaid bills. And for those walking through it alone, single mothers, widows, the silence can be deafening. But Wha...

Today I sat quietly, just reflecting. This year has been a whirlwind — a roller coaster of highs that barely held, and lows that came quietly, forcefully, and often, unnoticed. I’ve been fighting silent battles. The kind that drain you. The kind you don’t post about. The kind that leave you staring at the wall, wondering if hope is still real. There are days I’ve woken up, not to live — but just to sit. To breathe. To survive. Sometimes after walking through hard seasons, the hardest thing isn’t the pain itself… it’s finding the strength to move forward. You feel stuck. Numb. Like you’re in a cycle that spins but never progresses. And in those moments, everything in you whispers, “ Maybe it’s all lost .” And yet — you're the leader. You’re the one people look to for strength, direction, wisdom. You’re the mother, the provider, the protector. The one who gives — over and over — even when your soul is scraping on empty. But what happens when the giver is the one in need? What happens...

There are moments in life when everything stands still — and you wonder whether   anything good can ever rise from the ashes . I know that space intimately. I’ve lived it. Years ago, I walked out of the gates of a maximum  prison facility in Kenya — not just physically free, but determined to heal, to rebuild, and to become. What followed was a long journey of facing shame , confronting pain, and slowly rediscovering the woman God created me to be. It hasn’t been easy. But every step has been drenched in grace. This month, I received news that stopped me in my tracks — I have been selected to pursue a Professional MBA with Roxbourgh Institute, Switzerland .  This opportunity is humbling .   The Professional MBA is typically reserved for founders of established ventures — and yet, I was selected. Not because I had the most resources or visibility, but purely by   God’s grace .  Me. A formerly incarcerated woman. A daughter. A mother. A mentor. A leader. And ...

How many times do we rebuild? We rebuild when life knocks us flat and we lose everything we thought we had. When the dust settles and we’re left standing in the ruins of what used to be— a dream, a plan, a version of ourselves—broken and scattered. Still, somehow, we gather what’s left and begin again. We rebuild when we don’t have the tools or the resources. When all we have are trembling hands and a whisper of hope. We find small ways—quiet, often unseen ways—to make it work. We make do. We stretch. We improvise. Because something deep within us refuses to quit. We rebuild when no one believes in us. When support disappears and even our reflection looks uncertain. But faith shows up, even in the silence. And we take one more step, with nothing but a spark inside and the sacred conviction: "There must be more." We rebuild when the ground is dry and hard, when lifting the jembe feels like lifting the weight of the world. And when we can’t dig another hole, we pause— not in su...

A Day in a Kenyan Public Hospital We don’t expect to have sick people at home. That’s not how we imagine our days starting. We make plans — responsible adult plans — with illusions of control. “I’ll drop by the market, pick up a few things, maybe check on them after lunch…” That was me, right before life reminded me that control is a myth and the real planner is the one above. We had been seeking medical support for a close family member who had been unwell. After visiting a couple of private facilities, the verdict was clear: “ You need to see a cardiologist .” Which is how we ended up at the public hospital at 7 a.m., trying to beat the crowd. Plot twist: the crowd had already beaten us. There was already a thick line of patients outside, some holding plastic files, others clutching their chests, their children, or their faith. Then came the first unexpected twist of the day — a stern-looking doctor, who appeared like a drill sergeant from a medical bootcamp. Without much conversatio...

There are moments in life when the very ground beneath you feels like it’s moving. Not in loud, dramatic ways — but in quiet, unsettling shifts. The things you thought were stable begin to shake. The rhythms you relied on no longer feel secure. The roles, the work, the expectations… they all blur. And you find yourself wondering: Where do I stand now? I’ve been there — and if I’m honest, I’m still there in many ways. Trying to hold the pieces. Trying to stay faithful. Trying not to break while quietly whispering to God, “ Please just show me where to place my feet .” And yet, in the middle of the shifting, something strange happens. Peace comes. Not because everything makes sense. Not because the answers arrive. But because God meets us right there — in the in-between, in the tension, in the unsure. Philippians 4:7 talks about a peace that “ passes understanding. ” It’s not logical. It doesn’t follow the rules of reason. It just settles in — soft, sure, uninvited but so welcome. This k...