In some ways, life in Uganda is idyllic. The breeze rustles through the trees, the sun shines out of a clear blue sky, the red earth a breathtaking contrast with the green mountains. Zebras roam through the fields and cows gaze contentedly at the cars that rumble by every now and then. We leave the doors open, eat fresh, local food, and stop to say hello to people. Children run around barefoot in the villages, chasing goats and chickens. We sit under the acacia tree on wooden benches and sing “nincunda kabarragara” (I love bananas) to make the women laugh.
On the other hand, life in Uganda is pretty hard. The women we sing with are dressed in shabby clothes and their bones show through their paper-thin skin. The cute children running around are barefoot because they have no shoes (and the babies have no diapers…beware). The villages smell of sewage and animals and people who don’t bathe enough. And today we are here to share the word, visit village projects, and make sure everyone has mosquito nets, because Malaria is very common.
Lauren and I spend an hour hiking around the area, visiting the agricultural projects and getting all melty about the baby goats. Lauren informs a few of them that God loves them in Rinyuncoli, at which point Pastor Enoch teases us about preaching to animals.
When we return to the rest of the group, they have finished treating the mosquito nets and one of the women who came with us is teaching the word. The children are still running and playing, the women still sitting under the acacia tree, the sun still high in the sky. And now they have strung the nets across the field, a dozen or so fluttering in the breeze as they dry. The women sit with their backs to them, but every now and then one of them will remind the women of their presence by a gentle brush on the shoulder.
One woman in particular captures my attention. She is younger than some of the other women, her skin still clear and smooth. She’s nursing a baby while she listens to the Bible teaching, sitting on the ground, her ankles crossed. The white netting swirls around her every time the breeze blows. She’s beautiful. I know her life must be hard, but for the moment, I envy her.
And at that moment, my heart is suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I envy her because, as waves of love wash over me, I realize how deeply God loves her. He is in love with these women, these mothers and grandmothers and daughters who will never finish school, who will spend their lives eking out a living in this place, who will probably never leave this village and never have indoor plumbing. He loves them. The Holy Spirit whispered this love to my heart as I gazed upon them; I began to see through his eyes. They were withered and old, but lovely. They were tired and work-worn, but they were gorgeous in his eyes.
And I call to mind Eph 5:25-27: “Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless.”
That’s when I finally understand. These women are his bride. And no bride ever looked ugly. No, they’re beautiful, the wife of the Lamb. I will see them again at the wedding, and I have no doubt that they will be radient.
Like I said, Uganda can be beautiful. But more beautiful than the land or the weather or the animals is the blushing bride contained within its borders. The church is there, and she is gorgeous.
Janessa peeking out of her mosquito net
Awesome.