Years passed quietly, one prayer after another.
Our second daughter grew into a young woman with her mother's fire.
She studied under candlelight, borrowed textbooks, and sometimes cried from exhaustion — but she never gave up.
Now she is close to graduating, proof that determination can bloom in drought.
Our third daughter found joy in a sewing needle.
She would sit for hours, stitching scraps of fabric together until they looked like dreams.
When she completed her first dress, I cried.
It wasn't just cloth — it was hope sewn by hand.
I began to see that our story was changing.
Not because everything was easy, but because God had taught us how to survive with grace.