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Hey, somebody's gotta stick up for the Browns
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Singletary update
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Gameblog: Cavs at Indiana Pacers – Here’s to LBJ and Free Throws
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OSU – Michigan college football rivals meet in Baghdad
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Bowling season starts today
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Attention Haters, Palin And Hannity Together
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Muslim McCarthyism & Death Prayers
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Federal Judge Declares DOMA Unconstitutional
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TIME TO GET YOUR COLLECTOR CARS WINTERIZED
Let's Talk Real Estate:
Silverdome Potentially SOLD!
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Norma asks if Barkitecture is still at Stan Hywet.
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Steely Dan Plays "The Royal Scam" at E.J. Thomas Hall
HRLite House:
Colloquium at University of Akron
Akron Gamer:
Nintendo's Mario endures even as games come and go
By Jewell Cardwell
Beacon Journal staff writer
POSTED: 05:28 p.m. EDT, Oct 18, 2009
She could have found justification in hating, especially those she looked upon as friends who were party to the unimaginable 1994 massacre in her African homeland.
And she could have allowed herself to be hobbled by self-pity, pining for the innocent loved ones rounded up for slaughter.
But Immaculee Ilibagiza, a survivor of the Rwandan holocaust, found a way to make her living and their dying not be in vain.
She continues to do it by preaching peace and walking by faith.
She's often called the embodiment of the 23rd Psalm:
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. . . .
I was blessed last week to speak by phone with this amazing woman, who will appear at 7:30 p.m. Thursday at Walsh University in North Canton.
How do you anchor yourself when everything around you is falling apart? I wanted to know.
Without a second's hesitation, the soft-spoken and heavily accented voice answered: ''Everything is possible with God.''
Immaculee's book, Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (written with Steve Erwin), made the New York Times best-seller list and has been translated into 15 languages.
She spoke about hiding in a closet-size bathroom for 91 days with other young women during the height of the carnage, having morsels of food slipped to them.
''I heard the voices of those who were searching for us. Right on the other side of the door,'' the 39-year-old Immaculee recalled.
According to Rwandan government estimates, around 1 million Tutsis were hunted down and murdered by the warring Hutus inside 100 days.
''I was 24 and home from college,'' she recalled. ''I had never worked. I had been in school all my life. I was used to having my parents do everything for me.''
They're gone now, along with ''maybe a hundred or so other members of my family,'' she said.
Immaculee's strong Catholic faith and prayer — the same tools that sustained her while she was hiding from the enemy in the bathroom — still pilot her today.
Ironically, it was a Hutu pastor who hid her and seven other starving Tutsi women in that small space.
Too afraid to speak, fearing they would be overheard by the enemy, Immaculee said, she and the others ''communicated through the strength of trust.''
They had to be strong for each other, she said.
She learned many other valuable lessons inside that cramped space.
''Forgiveness is something that happened for me when I was in that bathroom.
''My mind was racing back and forth when the people came to search and didn't find us,'' she said, recalling those days of terror.
''I was begging God to protect us. I think that's when I really knew God was real.
''Then I began to meditate on Jesus; when he was dying on the cross and saying, 'Father, forgive them. For they know not what they do.'
''Who would kill God? Who would beat him to death? And why? I kept asking myself.''
''Then it came to me. 'Fear blinds the souls of those who lack love in their hearts.' ''
Immaculee, who emigrated to the United States in 1998 and began working at the United Nations, is married with two children.
She has established the Left to Tell Charitable Fund to support those orphaned in Rwanda in the genocide, and for high school and college scholarships for students trying to make a way out of nowhere.
She decided the only way she could really heal was to forgive, as Jesus did ''all those who trespassed against him,'' Immaculee said.
That's the message she shares with the world.
''If I can forgive, anyone can,'' Immaculee insisted.
''All I know is that I have to live my life like Mandela, not like Hitler.
''If you can find meaning in the pain you're going through, it frees you from all the confusion. Then you start trusting God more.''
One of the best pieces of advice Immaculee said she ever received was this:
''You still have your heart. Yes, you're suffering the lack of affection from your family that is gone. But you can get it from others. And you can surely get it by giving of yourself.''
Restaurant fundraiser
A fundraiser is in the works for lifelong Kent resident Rick Roszkowski, who was recently diagnosed with brain cancer and has begun a long series of chemotherapy and radiation treatments at the Cleveland Clinic.
Unfortunately, the buyout that Roszkowski, 49, took at Chrysler, after 23 years of service, pays his medical benefits only through June.
The fundraiser, hosted by Applebee's restaurant at 4296 Kent Road, Stow, runs 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Oct. 27. Fifteen percent of the diners' bills that day — eat in or to go — will be donated to Rick's Recovery Fund. You must have a Dining to Donate flier (call 330-677-9132, 330-714-4609 or 330-699-1009 to get one).
Those unable to attend may donate to R. Roszkowski, Rick's Recovery Fund, 2181 E. Santom Road, Stow, OH 44224.
Jewell Cardwell can be reached at 330-996-3567 or jcardwell@thebeaconjournal.com.
She could have found justification in hating, especially those she looked upon as friends who were party to the unimaginable 1994 massacre in her African homeland.
And she could have allowed herself to be hobbled by self-pity, pining for the innocent loved ones rounded up for slaughter.
But Immaculee Ilibagiza, a survivor of the Rwandan holocaust, found a way to make her living and their dying not be in vain.
She continues to do it by preaching peace and walking by faith.
She's often called the embodiment of the 23rd Psalm:
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. . . .
I was blessed last week to speak by phone with this amazing woman, who will appear at 7:30 p.m. Thursday at Walsh University in North Canton.
How do you anchor yourself when everything around you is falling apart? I wanted to know.
Without a second's hesitation, the soft-spoken and heavily accented voice answered: ''Everything is possible with God.''
Immaculee's book, Left to Tell: Discovering God Amidst the Rwandan Holocaust (written with Steve Erwin), made the New York Times best-seller list and has been translated into 15 languages.
She spoke about hiding in a closet-size bathroom for 91 days with other young women during the height of the carnage, having morsels of food slipped to them.
''I heard the voices of those who were searching for us. Right on the other side of the door,'' the 39-year-old Immaculee recalled.
According to Rwandan government estimates, around 1 million Tutsis were hunted down and murdered by the warring Hutus inside 100 days.
''I was 24 and home from college,'' she recalled. ''I had never worked. I had been in school all my life. I was used to having my parents do everything for me.''
They're gone now, along with ''maybe a hundred or so other members of my family,'' she said.
Immaculee's strong Catholic faith and prayer — the same tools that sustained her while she was hiding from the enemy in the bathroom — still pilot her today.
Ironically, it was a Hutu pastor who hid her and seven other starving Tutsi women in that small space.
Too afraid to speak, fearing they would be overheard by the enemy, Immaculee said, she and the others ''communicated through the strength of trust.''
They had to be strong for each other, she said.
She learned many other valuable lessons inside that cramped space.
''Forgiveness is something that happened for me when I was in that bathroom.
''My mind was racing back and forth when the people came to search and didn't find us,'' she said, recalling those days of terror.
''I was begging God to protect us. I think that's when I really knew God was real.
''Then I began to meditate on Jesus; when he was dying on the cross and saying, 'Father, forgive them. For they know not what they do.'
''Who would kill God? Who would beat him to death? And why? I kept asking myself.''
''Then it came to me. 'Fear blinds the souls of those who lack love in their hearts.' ''
Immaculee, who emigrated to the United States in 1998 and began working at the United Nations, is married with two children.
She has established the Left to Tell Charitable Fund to support those orphaned in Rwanda in the genocide, and for high school and college scholarships for students trying to make a way out of nowhere.
She decided the only way she could really heal was to forgive, as Jesus did ''all those who trespassed against him,'' Immaculee said.
That's the message she shares with the world.
''If I can forgive, anyone can,'' Immaculee insisted.
''All I know is that I have to live my life like Mandela, not like Hitler.
''If you can find meaning in the pain you're going through, it frees you from all the confusion. Then you start trusting God more.''
One of the best pieces of advice Immaculee said she ever received was this:
''You still have your heart. Yes, you're suffering the lack of affection from your family that is gone. But you can get it from others. And you can surely get it by giving of yourself.''
Restaurant fundraiser
A fundraiser is in the works for lifelong Kent resident Rick Roszkowski, who was recently diagnosed with brain cancer and has begun a long series of chemotherapy and radiation treatments at the Cleveland Clinic.
Unfortunately, the buyout that Roszkowski, 49, took at Chrysler, after 23 years of service, pays his medical benefits only through June.
The fundraiser, hosted by Applebee's restaurant at 4296 Kent Road, Stow, runs 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Oct. 27. Fifteen percent of the diners' bills that day — eat in or to go — will be donated to Rick's Recovery Fund. You must have a Dining to Donate flier (call 330-677-9132, 330-714-4609 or 330-699-1009 to get one).
Those unable to attend may donate to R. Roszkowski, Rick's Recovery Fund, 2181 E. Santom Road, Stow, OH 44224.
Jewell Cardwell can be reached at 330-996-3567 or jcardwell@thebeaconjournal.com.
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