Somewhere in a small Rwandan village sits a small hut. A picture of this hut also hangs in my bedroom, drawn by the occupant of this humble home. The young artist is called Hareruya, a beautiful name for a beautiful, young, and terribly underprivileged girl. Two years ago, my youth group director approached me with a question that would change my life. “Would you like lead the project for our sponsor child?” he inquired. Enthusiastically, I voiced a confident affirmation, and thus was the start of my correspondence with a certain 6-year old Rwandan girl. I wrote her letters, attempting to be upbeat and positive, encouraging her in her schoolwork, and reassuring her with my prayers. I began a bagged lunch sale every month to provide the funds
