When I first heard about the Bible studies happening in our area, I was curious. I had heard people whisper that the Makuwa—the white missionaries—were teaching about a God who forgives sins and gives eternal life. I had spent my whole life fearing spirits, offering sacrifices, and doing what our traditions demanded. But inside, I always felt empty and afraid. So one day, I decided to go.

We live in a very remote place, and for many years our lives felt marked by limitation. I, Juan Carlos, cannot walk and depend on a wheelchair. My wife Martha can walk, but because she is visually impaired, she cannot see the path ahead. Each day, we faced our challenges together: I would guide the way, and she would push my chair. It was our simple rhythm of survival.

When Paul wrote to the church in Philippi, he said, “I thank my God every time I remember you… because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.” His words reveal something more than appreciation for financial support. They express deep affection for a church that had joined him in heart and mission–a true partnership in the gospel.

I was born into a Muslim family, and as a teenager, I was required to follow all the rules of Islam. At first, I wanted to obey those rules because I wanted to be like my parents. But after years of trying to do everything that was expected of me, I realized I had no real relationship with God.

In the heart of Tabora, Tanzania, the sound of the gospel drifts softly through open windows every Sunday morning. From Radio Uhai, voices rise in worship, Scripture is read aloud, and the message of Jesus Christ is spoken with clarity and love. For many, this broadcast is more than just a radio program—it’s a lifeline. Among those forever changed by it is a man named Soki.

My story begins in one of the hardest seasons of my life. I was battling stage 4 breast cancer, and I was full of anger and bitterness. My life had been hard, and now this diagnosis felt like the final blow. I blamed God for everything–my pain, my struggles, and my cancer.