Last Tuesday, David and I, along with John and Jessica from eMi, visited orphans and widows in the Kifumbira slum in which our church ministers. New City ministers to the community monthly, sharing Christ’s love through praying, sharing scripture, listening, touching and giving. Before heading a few kilometers down the road to the slum, about eight of us gathered at the church to pray for our time there, that the women and children would be encouraged and come to know Christ’s healing love. I was a little surprised when Gerald, our pastor, explained that today the women and children would all gather in one place and we were going to individually encourage them though sharing bits of our testimonies, scripture, and whatever else the Lord laid on our hearts. I thought we were going to be talking, praying and sharing with the women and children one on one or in small groups, not speaking to a group of 75 ladies! Speaking in front of large groups is not something that I particularly enjoy or that comes naturally for me. I started to think of ways I could “hide” in the group or conveniently be playing with the children when it was time to share. The thoughts didn’t last long and I was soon convicted of my selfish heart. I have Christ in me who is so much greater than my own fears of public speaking! Many of these women and children are hungry, sick, suffering with AIDS, and are desperate for encouragement, longing for a taste of hope in their dismal circumstances. I know the only love that can truly heal their heart and give them hope for a new life where there is no more suffering..... I began to pray that Christ would give me the words that the women needed to hear from Him.
Driving down the bumpy, muddy road into Kifumbira, children waved and adults stared as we entered into their humble community. Wood shanties for homes, curtains for doors, a pit for the potty, a fire for the stove, life here continues in stark contrast to the luxuries that we’ve know all our lives. It’s also rather ironic that this slum, one of the poorest in Kampala, sits nestled behind the wealthiest district in Kampala. In Uganda it seems that you are drastically poor or wealthy, there’s hardly a middle class. My heart broke as Pastor Gerald pointed to one adorable little girl and explained that she had AIDS, judging by the spots on her skin. She probably had never been tested for the disease and definitely did not have money for the treatment. I wondered how many others in this community were living with AIDS and didn’t even know it, or how many were daily suffering and in pain because they couldn’t afford the treatments.
Our white truck climbed up a hill, interrupting about twenty-five boys playing football (aka soccer). The minute we stepped out onto the grass, children immediately surrounded us, appearing it seemed out of no where. I just held out my hands to them and they fought for them, simply wanting to touch my hand. We did a quick walk through of the community, and it seemed quite similar to the houses on our street and the poor living conditions all over Kampala for that matter. While we walked, the children chased after us, chanting like they all seem to do, “Muzungo, how are you? Muzungo, how are you?” (Muzungo=white person in Swahili).
Meanwhile, ladies of all ages gathered on a hill, many with babies and small children. New City had unloaded boxes of soap, rice, vitamins, and were attracting quite a crowd. Jessica and I played with the children and tried to get them to sing songs to us in Luganda (one of the main languages in Uganda) while Gerald spoke briefly to the group and introduced our team and our purpose in being there. My heart started to race once again as I realized that I would be speaking in a few minutes. One by one people in our group went up, we had four Ugandans and four Americans. I was tempted to run off with the kids or to go play football and have a legitimate excuse for not talking. Once again I realized that I have a hope that some of woman may not know and it would be a waste and selfish of me not to share it.
Before I knew it, David was up, sharing with the women and suddenly Gerald was making the eye brow signal at me, telling me that it was my turn. Yikes. Here I am, a young, healthy, rich girl, standing before women of all ages in conditions that I have never known or experienced, yet their eyes were all drawn on me with great expectation, longing to hear whatever words I had to say. I felt ill and weak as I walked up front. I prayed, telling Jesus that I could not do this on my own, I did not have words to say, asking him to please speak though me. I realized as I went to stand by Gerald that I was still gripping a little girl’s hand, dressed in a pink dress. Though she was about three, it felt secure having my hand in hers so I didn’t let go! She was not scared.
I prayed again, took a deep breath, and by God’s grace, spoke calmly and with strength that was not my own. Amazingly, the Holy Spirit gave me the words to say, and Gerald translated them in Luganda for the ladies to hear. They clapped and nodded when I shared that I know they are hurting, hungry, sick and suffering-BUT Christ’s shares in that because he came to the earth and suffered for them, ultimately to suffer and die for us, taking our sins upon himself. He cares and wants you to cry out to him. They smiled and clapped again, it was a crazy experience and I was close to tears the whole time. I shared a few more words, and with a breath of relief, went back to the comfortable circle of children, my hand still being gripped by the little girl. It was overwhelming because I knew that that was not me speaking, but Christ in me. Nothing in me could have had strength and known what words the women needed to hear except the Holy Spirit in me.
What touched my heart even more was the little girl who bravely went up with me and held my hand. I asked her afterwards what her name was. I made out a name I thought was Susan jumbled together with some other sounds that sounded to me like Natalee (the name of my sister who died almost 3 years ago.) I couldn’t believe it. I thought that I must be hearing things. She barely spoke English, so I asked her several more times what her name was. Her friends told me it was “Susan” but I knew that I had heard Natalee. As the others from New City spoke, she and her brother sang several songs for me and I still couldn’t get over her name. She even pointed to and touched my sister’s butterfly ring that I wear. At the end, right before we left, her mom found her with me and I asked what her name was. She answered “Susan Natalee.” My heart was filled with joy and I found it so providential that the little girl who held my hand while I was afraid to share with the women about Jesus’s love name was Susan Natalee. What an encouragement to my heart and a sweet gift of grace from the Lord!
Exodus 4:10
Moses said to the Lord, “O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past not since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.”
The Lord said to him, “Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now go; I will help you speak and teach you what to say.”
