THE BOY FROM LIMURU -REDEMPTION IN THE RETURN

My dear first daughter,

I took a trip to Limuru town for the second time. There is something about this town, the quiet mist in the mornings, the rolling green tea fields, and the kind of peace that feels like it could heal anything. That is why when I fell in love with a boy from Limuru and didn't expect him to be trouble. He was charming in a way that he didn't try too hard. A little mysterious, a little guarded, with eyes that held stories he never quite told. I met him on an ordinary day, but somehow everything shifted. I was grieving your grandmother, and here in my most vulnerable and broken state, I found someone who knew how to listen, how to laugh at the right moments and how to make me feel seen. Conversations with him felt easy no wonder I fell for him too easily. As time went by and he shared part of his life with me, I thought I could understand him, maybe even help him, but the truth was, he was a storm, and I was trying to rebuild my life in the middle of it. The red flags were there, but I still stayed because love-at least the kind I felt, can make you hopeful to a fault. He wasn't just misunderstood -he was reckless, and he dragged me along in this mess as I tried to play the role of savior in his life. I had found myself a bad boy, and that is how I got to experience my first trip to Limuru with the boy that I loved. The morning I woke up from that first trip, I had to face the truth that sometimes, people are exactly who they show you they are. And no amount of love, patience, or prayer can force someone to become who you hope they'll be. I chose peace over chaos, clarity over confusion, and healing over heart. I went to Limuru as a broken woman who thought she was in love and came back more broken.

A couple of years later, I never thought that I would be back in Limuru, not after the heartbreak. Not after the tears that fell quietly in places no one saw. Limuru had become more than a place -it had become a memory I wasn't ready to revisit. Every corner felt like it whispered his name. But healing has a way of calling you back -not to relive the pain, but to rewrite the story.

My dear daughter, what I didn't know then was that God would use the very place that broke me as the ground where I would testify. Because my story didn't end with the boy from Limuru. It began again with Jesus Christ.

There was a season when my heart felt shattered beyond repair. I questioned myself. I questioned love. I even questioned why God would allow me to be so broken. But it is in this broken place that I encountered a different kind of love. A love that didn't confuse me, didn't disappear & a love that didn't wound me and call it affection. Jesus met me in my lowest moment not with condemnation, but with compassion. Not with silence, but with truth. He began to piece me back together, gently, patiently, faithfully.

He healed what I thought would always be broken. And somehow, He made me whole again.  So when the opportunity came to go back to Limuru, not for love, but for a mission, I knew it wasn't a coincidence. It was a purpose.

I walked those same roads, but I was no longer the same girl. The weight I once carried had been lifted. The emptiness had been filled with the presence of God. This time, I wasn't looking for someone to love me because I was carrying the message of the One who already did. I spoke to young people in the town, not perfectly, not proudly, but honestly. I told them about heartbreak, about mistakes, about chasing the wrong kind of love. But most importantly, I told them about Jesus, the One who redeems, restores, and renews. The One who took my broken heart and made it a testimony.

Standing there in Limuru for the second time, I realized something profound: The enemy thought he had marked that place with pain. But God had marked it with purpose. What once symbolized loss now speaks victory. Because I went back, not as a victim of heartbreak but as a witness of healing.

With lots of love,

Your Mother.