The Invisible

They come to church every Sunday. The details of why they chose to walk through the doors vary with each woman represented. But at their core, they are searching for truth. They can bring nothing to the table, except themselves. They have little education. They have no money. They have nothing to offer. What a beautiful opportunity the church has to love these women with the love of Christ, teaching them the truth they may not even realize they hunger for.

But this doesn’t happen. These women are invisible to the eyes of the leadership. If by chance they are seen, they are seen as a disturbance. Soon, they grow weary of being invisible and they stop coming, searching for truth and acceptance elsewhere. Although the faces change with the seasons, these women are always present.

My eyes have recently been open to these beautiful women. Apuun, a friend of mine, started attending church. She professes to be a Muslim. As she continues to come, I am the only one who talks with her. I have witnessed one other person greet her in the time she has been coming. As I watched this treatment, I began watching the interactions of other. That was when I saw them – these beautiful, invisible women.

A few months ago, several women attended a women’s conference, including a handful of women who don’t regularly attend church. Many women returned with testimonies to share from the time, all sharing how they are now “a Deborah”. One woman shared how God provided the fee to attend, and was enthusiastic about the Bible she was given. I don’t know her by name, but recognize her from my friend Roma’s compound – a place where people come to drink, gossip, and fight. The next week, she joined the invisible crowd. 

A few weeks ago, I watched Apuun looking at this other woman’s Bible. Apuun has limited English, but I grew curious to know if she could read. A few days later, I asked her. She admitted she couldn’t. Our team has a collection of New Testament audio recordings called “Treasures”, or as they are more commonly known as here, “Matayo” (the Book of Matthew – the first thing heard when you turn it on is “Matayo”). I asked Apuun if she would be interested. Being Muslim, I wasn’t sure she would accept. With a smile that lit the room, she said she wanted one.

A week later, Apuun moved from Close 3 to Close 6. Kakolye is set up on a grid (this directionally challenged girl thanks the Lord for this fact), with eight main streets, conveniently named and numbered “Close 1.. 2.. 3..”. I promised Apuun I would come to see her new place. She told me she moved to Close 5. I spend most my time on Close 3 and 4, which became evident as I turned down Close 5. From every direction, people shouted, “Mzungu! Mzungu!” but from the distance, I heard the familiar call, “Naaammmiiiilllooooo!”
“Kainza!” I called back to Apuun’s second daughter, who sprinted straight into my arms. I asked her to take me to her new house. She grabbed my hand, directing me through a maze of buildings. My head told me we were not going to her new howse – I was correct. We walked passed a group of women sipping on local brewed booze. “My friend!” one of the women called out. I turned to see the woman with the Bible.

“Eh!” I didn’t really know her, but recognizing her face I went to greet, “how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Where are you going?”

“I came to see where this one has shifted. She said she is taking me to the place, but I am not sure.”

“No, it is that way,” she pointed in the opposite direction of our journey, “have Namakambo show you,” Apuun’s oldest daughter took my hand and lead me in the right direction.

“Alakara (thank you)!” As I began to leave, I noticed the Treasure I gave Apuun being listened to by this group of women as they drink their booze. Turns out, Apuun likes to share it so everyone can listen to the Word of God.

The next day was church. I sat near the back, the woman who helped me the day before sat in front of me and Apuun sat to my left. As the service went on, God impressed on my heart that I need to get to know this woman more. He told me to ask her name and if she reads her Bible throughout the week. I didn’t know what would come of my second question, but I envisioned us sitting under the tree I found her under the day before, reading the Bible together. I pictured Apuun joining us with her Treasure. I envisioned a safe place for these invisible women to come and learn about the Lord.

Finally, the service ended. As I shook hands with the woman, I continued to hold her hand, “Remind me what is your name?”
“I am called Florence,”

“Florence, I am called Namilo,” Florence smirked as she knew my name was not given to me at birth. “I have a question for you,” tapping her Bible, “Do you read this during the week?” 

Curiosity filled her face, “yes,”

“Eh, that is so good. I was wondering if I can come and talk to you about what you are reading. Would that be fine?”
Her face loosened into a bright smile, “Yes!”

“Wonderful. Do you stay where I saw you yesterday?”
“Eh, that is my place,”

“Okay. I will come this week.”

This happened Sunday – three days ago. I wish I could end this in a picture of a beautiful Bible study. Instead, I end by sharing how I didn’t find Florence the day I went to see her. She had gone to a burial outside of Moroto. I found Apuun and shared how I wanted to talk about the Bible with her and Florence. “Eh!” She exclaimed, “That would be good. I can listen to the Word of God and then we can talk. That’s good.”

Instead, I end with a vision – a dream. I end with a plea for prayer for these beautiful women, that they will come to know the Great I Am sees them, and so deeply loves them.