“I planted a garden, and God grew a movement.”

A SOUTH SUDANESE CHURCH PLANTER AND REFUGEE IN NORTHERN UGANDA

I am a refugee from South Sudan. War forced me to flee my home and seek safety in Northern Uganda. I arrived with nothing but the clothes on my back, my family beside me, and a heart full of questions. At first, the UN helped. There was food, shelter, hope. But that help faded. What remained was a life of uncertainty defined by hunger, dependency, and despair.

People around me have grown used to waiting—waiting for handouts, for someone else to bring change. Many believe this is all there is. They say, “We are poor. We have no future.” And I understand. I see it in their eyes: the pain, the numbness, the loss of hope.

But I couldn’t accept that. Not for me. Not for them.

As a church planter with Petros Network, I was given something small—seeds, tools, and a training program called F.A.I.T.H. Gardens—Food Always In The Home. It didn’t look like much. But it was enough to start. I planted. I prayed. I invited neighbors to help in the garden and told them, “Whatever we grow, we will share. And I will tell you why I have hope.”

At first, others didn’t understand. They laughed. Some resisted. But I pressed on. We planted together. We worked side by side. And little by little, something began to grow—not just in the soil, but in the soul.

This began to be more than just food. It was about dignity. It was about Jesus.

Jesus met us in the dirt. In the weeds. In the daily struggle of survival. He reminded us that He is the Bread of Life—food for the body and food for the soul.

Today, that tiny garden has become two full acres. We grow maize and vegetables—enough to feed many families in our camp. The garden is thriving, but more importantly, the people are too.

We built a small church out of local materials. Nothing fancy. Just sticks, thatch, and the Spirit of God. Every week, nearly 100 people gather. We worship. We learn. We remember that God has not forgotten us.

I have seen lives change. I think of a man who was enslaved to alcohol, barely surviving. Today, he walks with Jesus. He helps in the garden. He shares his story. And he believes again.

This is real transformation. It is physical. It is spiritual. It is communal.

The truth is: we still face hardship. Hunger still threatens. Resistance still rises. But now, hope is stronger. Faith is deeper. And the love of Jesus is breaking through—even in the refugee camps.

God can grow something beautiful in the hardest places—if we’re willing to plant.

That is why I keep going. That is why I keep praying. I believe the Kingdom of God is coming to our camp, one seed, one family, one act of love at a time.