Faith Unfolded

There are moments in life that carve us into who we are meant to be. For me, that shaping began with loss the kind that changes how you see the world and how you talk to God. When my mother passed away, I was a child who barely understood what grief was, let alone how to survive it. Yet, through every tear, every prayer whispered in the dark, and every mile walked under the sun, I came to know that pain can be a holy teacher.

This is not a story of pity, but of purpose. It is the story of how God turned sorrow into strength, how my mother’s last words became seeds of survival, and how faith carried me when nothing else could.

I am not writing this so that people can feel sorry for me. I write because I have learned that even in breaking, there is building; even in shaking, there is shaping. I am grateful for the pain and the journey, because if it were not for what I went through, I would not be the person I am today. God knew I needed it.

Before my mother fell ill, she spoke words that I would come to understand only years later. My brother and I were at the cattle post counting chicken eggs when she said, very calmly, “If it happens that I pass away, tell your grandmother to buy goats with the change left after the funeral expenses.” She listed what needed to be bought first her coffin, food, and chairs and then she said the rest of the money should be used for goats.

At the time, I did not understand the weight of her words. I was young, and death was something that only happened to other people. Two weeks after her funeral, I finally told my grandmother what my mother had said. My grandmother did not ask questions; she simply nodded and did exactly as she was told. She bought the goats.

Looking back, I see the divine pattern in those moments. God had already placed the future in my mother’s mouth. He knew what would come, even when we did not.

My mother died when I was in Grade 6. In the rural village where we lived, there were no mental health services, no counselors, no one to help a grieving child make sense of loss. But we had faith and that became our comfort. God Himself was our counselor.

After the funeral, my  brother and I moved to the lands to stay with my grandmother. Each morning, we walked five kilometers to school and another five back to the lands . The long walks were hard, but what hurt me most was watching my younger brother struggle beside me. Still, I thank God, because today he is a grown man.

The year after my mother died, I wrote my Grade 7 exams (Primary School Leaving Examinations). I had always been an A student, but that year I got a B. It hurt deeply, not because of the grade itself, but because I knew I hadn’t been able to read or focus. My mind was heavy with grief. I remember asking God, Why did You take my mother? Why can’t something good happen to ease the pain?

In 2006, I started junior school. I had no uniform, so on the first day of junior secondary school, I wore my old primary school clothes. Watching the other students in their new uniforms made me cry silently. A week later, my cousin gave me one of her old skirts, and for the first time, things began to feel a little lighter.

Still, life was hard. The pain of losing my mother lingered. There were days when I thought of giving up completely. Once, in a moment of despair, I even thought about ending my life and my brother’s because life felt unbearable. But my grandmother’s love anchored me. She had no job, yet she gave us everything she could warmth, hope, and faith. Each day she reminded us, It’s going to be okay. God loves you.

While other students wrote with pens, I used a pencil because we couldn’t afford pens. Our cousins refused to lend us theirs. But I kept going.

One day, during Form Two, I sat down and asked myself a question that changed everything: If I don’t study hard and pass, what will become of me and my brother? That day, I made a promise to myself to study, to succeed, and to one day earn enough to make life better for us.

I started paying attention in class, reading after school, and praying more. I would sit alone in one of the huts, open my Bible, and talk to God as if He were sitting beside me. I learned that He truly is close to the brokenhearted. I told Him everything my fears, my hunger, my pain.

Later that year, I was chosen as Head Girl at Lerala Junior Secondary School. I didn’t understand why. Maybe they saw something in me that I couldn’t yet see in myself. Some said I was humble, others said I was kind or smart. They didn’t know the battles I was fighting inside. I had simply learned not to look like my pain.

Many nights, I went to bed with an empty stomach, but I always thanked God for another day of life. When my brother started Form One, seeing him in torn clothes broke my heart. I often hid in the toilet to cry, whispering prayers to the God who had become my closest friend.

Despite everything, I believed that God still had a plan for us just as my grandmother always said.I sat for my JCE exams  in 2008 and passed. By then, our goats had multiplied.

When I was admitted to boarding school for Form Four and Form Five, my grandmother couldn’t afford all that was needed. We sold three of my goats to buy sheets, blankets, and toiletries. The money wasn’t enough, but my aunt helped with the school uniform.

That’s when I finally understood what my mother had meant about the goats. They became our provision when we needed it most. God had arranged it all long before I knew I would need it.

Now, when I look back, I see a clear thread running through every hardship, every tear, every prayer. God was there all along organizing, preparing, guiding.

Indeed, my mother’s words were not just instructions. They were prophecy.
And through them, I learned that God’s plans are never random. They are written in love, even when life hurts the most.

Today, I write this story not just as a survivor, but as a counselor in training. My journey has taught me that healing is not about forgetting pain it is about transforming it into wisdom. Every struggle I faced has shaped the heart I now bring into the counseling room.

I understand what it means to sit in silence, to ache for comfort, and to search for meaning in the middle of brokenness. That understanding allows me to meet others with empathy, patience, and grace. My story reminds me that no wound is wasted when placed in God’s hands.

I once thought my mother’s words were simply part of a painful goodbye. Now I know they were the beginning of my calling to be a voice of hope for those who feel unseen, to walk beside the hurting, and to remind them that God is still present in their story.

Her words still echo in my heart: “Buy goats.” What once seemed strange has become sacred. It was God’s way of showing me that provision and purpose often begin in places of loss.

And so, I continue my journey guided by faith, strengthened by love, and committed to helping others discover that even through pain, there is always a plan.

–Segolame Lebogang-