Uganda is Filled with Stories
People are Living Stories
The people of Uganda deserve to have their stories told.
Stories of Inspiration
We believe people have more than just stories; they are testaments to the work of the Holy Spirit in Uganda.
Zam regularly attends the Kaliro congregation. I noticed she had a little boy with her, around 10 years old at the time. Her son, Abasa, cannot walk or speak, but he always has a very sweet, though blank, smile on his face. Zam carried him with her every time I came, and I would watch her as she would carefully wipe the spittle from the corner of his mouth and take such loving care of him. One day, while headed to the congregation in Kaliro, we came upon Zam carrying her son and offered them a ride. It was then that Zam told me her story. Zam was one of three wives married to a Muslim. When Abasa was born, the other wives mocked her and claimed that she was cursed because she had given birth to a cripple. They were very cruel to her but Zam told me, “I KNOW the Lord has given Abasa to me.” Later, after Zam became a Christian, her husband abandoned her and her children.
Zam is so faithful to attend the congregation; she walks over a quarter of a mile carrying her son to each meeting so that he, too, can hear the Word of God preached. We were able to purchase 21 goats to help the Kaliro congregation become more self sufficient, and Zam was one of the women to receive a doe. Before I left Uganda in late November 2019, we had a sponsor to care for Zam and her family. She is so grateful to have been sponsored and can now feed her family and will even be able to send her eldest son to school when it reopens. She is just one of the many people the Lord is using to show His hand. Because of her changed heart, the people in her community see the difference and they are asking questions. They want to know who this God is that He cares for widows and cripples; that loves those considered unlovely. Yahweh is using her to spread His gospel and I cannot wait to see where He leads next.
In November of 2019, we ministered to the congregation outside Kaliro village every week. I was taken to the homes of the several widows and abandoned families in the congregation to speak with them and take their pictures. This village sits 3.5 miles off the nearest paved road; the residents’ simple brick huts dot the countryside, often in clusters of 3 or 4 houses. While meeting one of these widows to take photos and speak with her personally, in front of the neighboring house I noticed a man and his children watching me. Musumba spoke with him and explained who I was. Muzungus (white people) are NOT a regular occurrence this far from the city, and this man was not part of the congregation, so he knew nothing about my presence in the village till we showed up at his neighbor’s house that day.
I felt a tugging to talk with this man, so Musumba translated for us. His name is Richard. I asked if it would be okay for me to take photos of him and his home and he allowed me to do so. He told us that his wife had abandoned him and their children due to the poverty and hopelessness of the situation. As Richard was talking and showing us around his home, the despair and hopelessness was visible in his own eyes. He was working as a laborer when he could, making around 65 cents a day– it takes at least one dollar to feed his family a single meal. And yet, this man was unusual; he was a single dad in a country where it is usually the father who abandons his family.
As we turned to leave, Fazira called attention to the next to youngest child, who appeared to be 4 or 5 years old. This boy’s leg was horribly raw, with the skin falling off in chunks. Richard told us that four days prior, boiling liquid had been spilled on his leg, resulting in the gruesome burns. Raw flesh was exposed on his leg and foot, and exposed to the dirt that was everywhere. I asked Musumba to get my first aid kit from the car, as I prayed about what I might have for burns. Two things came to mind. I liberally sprinkled lavender oil on the raw skin, and then applied a thin layer antibiotic ointment, using a cotton pad to gently spread the medicine. I gave the ointment tube and more cotton applicator pads to Richard and instructed him to keep the wound clean and to continue applying the ointment each day. Before leaving, I prayed over the child, Yesel, and asked for Yahweh’s healing, blessing and protection over him. Richard thanked me, and then we continued on to meet other widows.
I didn’t return to Kaliro till ten days later. It was my last day with the people before I was to return to the USA. Thanks to the generosity of friends, we were able to purchase Lugandan Bibles for each family of the congregation, plus some extra copies. As I began to teach a final Bible lesson, there, on the front row, I saw Richard and his son. His eyes held a new light and he was smiling joyfully. At the end of the lesson, the elders called each member forward to receive their Bibles. Afterward, they asked who else needed a Bible. Richard was the first to leap to his feet, crying out, “I must have a Bible!” His delight was clearly evident. Richard was a new man.
Examining Yesel’s wound after the meeting, I found that his leg was healing very well; there were only two spots that were still raw. I had one remaining tube of antibiotic ointment, so I gave it to Richard with clear instructions (translated by Musumba) to only place it on the areas still raw (to make it last as long as possible). I then prayed with Richard for peace, for comfort, for salvation, for provision, for his absent wife and for the redemption of their marriage. The following week, I returned to the US.
Musumba reported to me that from then on, every Friday when the congregation met, Richard was in attendance, hanging on to every word spoken. After a few weeks, Richard one day pulled Musumba aside to speak privately, “On the day Mom Eleanor came to my house, I had already put away in my heart that I was going to abandon my children. When my son’s leg was burned, I feared that the wound would become infected and that he might lose his leg or become a cripple and the thought was too much to bear on top of the struggles we already had. Then, Mom Eleanor showed up with medicine and she prayed for my son and cared for us. I thought to myself, ‘Who is this God, that He would care enough about me to send someone all the way across the world to see me? To care about me. To care for my son. I realized I could no longer leave my family because I knew that God saw me and He cared about my life. Please, tell Mom Eleanor that God didn’t just send her here to speak to all these other people; He sent her here to speak directly to me.”
You never know to whom the Lord wants you to be His voice, His hands, His eyes. For the Lord to be able to say to someone, “I see you. I see your hurt. I see your needs. And I care.” It can have more of an impact than you or I could ever imagine.
Richard is still a member of the congregation. Yesel’s leg has healed and he runs and plays as a boy should. When I shared his story back in the USA, a Godly woman in the states was led to sponsor his family, to help Richard know that there are still good women.
It remains to be seen what the Father has in store for this faithful father. But his life has been changed by the love of a God who sent an ordinary American woman to his house to say, “I see you, and I care.”
Lydia is one of many abandoned wives in Uganda. She lives in the same village as Fazira, our ministry partner. We met at a Bible study Fazira asked me to lead at my guest house in Jinja. Lydia, a new believer, was several months pregnant at the time; her husband had recently abandoned her after she became a Christian. Not only did he leave Lydia pregnant, destitute, and with several other children, he also gave her HIV. She was devastated. After I learned of her story, we prayed together, especially for the child that was growing in her womb. She invited me to visit her home when I was in the village. By home, I mean a very small, cramped, brick hut. Dirt floors, no windows, clothing hanging on the wire strung between ceiling beams for lack of any other storage. Her children shyly greeted me, uncertain of what to do with a “muzungu” (white person). They allowed me to take their pictures before I left.
On January 27th, Fazira sent word to me that Lydia had given birth to a little boy. Lydia told Fazira, “Because of Mom Eleanor’s prayers, my baby has been born, so she should name this baby.” This was such an honor to me! I told them to let me meditate and pray on it before I gave an answer. After prayer, I chose the name, Ezekiel, meaning ‘God is my strength.’ The next day, a dear friend took me to dinner to celebrate my upcoming birthday on January 30th. She is a “professional granny” as a caregiver to newborn infants, and we enjoyed the opportunity to catch up on each other’s life. I shared about the birth and naming of Ezekiel with her, knowing her love of babies.
A day later, my friend told me she wanted to commit to become a family sponsor. Lydia, with her newborn, seemed a natural choice for my friend. The first gift arrived for Lydia when Ezekiel was just 3 days old, and Musumba and Fazira took it to Lydia. Musumba said that Lydia was overwhelmed when the gift arrived. Lydia had not eaten since the baby was born. She was weak and dehydrated and had no milk for the baby. There was no food for anyone. In utter despair, Lydia had purposed in her heart to kill the baby and then herself because she could not watch him suffer and could see no other way to end the suffering. Then her friends arrived with food and news that she had someone who cared about her family. She now has provision for her family and even school fees for the older two children. She thanks the Lord, but told Musumba, “Please tell Mom Eleanor that I know God sent her all the way around the world to speak to me and show me He loves me.”
During the months of quarantine, Uganda experienced their rainy season. One night, the back wall of Lydia’s house collapsed on her three-year-old son, Grace. When the wall collapsed, he inhaled water and his lungs. He was taken to a Children’s Hospital in Jinja, and remained in a coma for days, and his kidneys also began to fail. Lydia stayed by his side for days, praying for a miracle. The people involved in the Binji Cooperative were generous and he was able to receive the treatment he needed and finally began to improve. Now, several months later, Grace’s kidneys are healing and he is on the mend. Lydia and her family are reading their Bible daily and learning all that they can about the wonderful God who heard this mother’s prayers.