I met her at the appointed spot on the road. She came on a boda-boda {motorcycle taxi}. Rain sprinkled our heads as we hurried back to my home. Rebecca the Seamstress, come to help the mzungu sew curtains for naked windows. We walked, and I took inventory of the beautiful woman next to me. Tall, with an impossible hourglass figure so common here in Uganda, a weathered but still young looking face framed by a short and well-maintained afro. Dressed in a long white skirt with a well-fitting blouse, she was a picture of elegance. Stunning. Regal.

Nearing my house, we discussed the weather and her grandchildren.

We arrived and measured windows and discussed fabric. My body present but my mind elsewhere, a mental checklist playing….dishes to wash, laundry to hang, dinner to prepare, kids to bathe. We finished and I was all too prepared to thank her and rush her out the door so I could get on with my important tasks.

And then. Then the heavens opened and poured down on us. With only her tiny umbrella I couldn’t send her into the downpour to ride a motorcycle. And with my car in the shop, I couldn’t offer to drive her. I sighed. She will have to sit and wait it out. Huff, huff. Sigh, sigh.

I smiled and offered her a seat. Would she like tea or coffee? I brought out steaming mugs of tea and biscuits, and that’s when Jesus schooled me. As we sat there, cozy and warm with the lull of rain just outside, we chatted. She began to talk.

And I listened. 

She spoke of living through the horror and terror of Idi Amin. She spoke of bodies piled up outside her house, listening desperately on the radio for any news of when it might end. She spoke of hiding her babies under the bed, of foraging for food, of wondering if her family would die of starvation. She spoke of her father being taken away by Idi Amin’s men to be beaten and interrogated because of his job as a prison warden, and a Christian. She told of slowly rebuilding her home, her life, her safety, and her family.

And she told of a faithful God that saw her through it all. Her face lit up when she said, “My God was faithful. He kept us safe, and gave us new life.”

I smiled through tears and whispered a grateful, “Thank you.”

I almost missed it. I almost missed this God-moment, this beauty right in front of me, because I was too caught up in my own story to hear someone else’s. But my God used a rain storm to slow me. He gave me a gift, a treasure, in a woman I barely knew.

I don’t want to miss moments of God-whispering in the threads of story. I want to make space and time to hear other’s stories of God and His faithfulness. I want to see His fingerprints in the hope that comes from unexpected places, to make time to hear His voice in my every day.

God gives us each other to encourage, build up, challenge, and savor. We must be willing to take time to listen to His voice through the people we meet.  The words of the saints who have gone before, the ones slogging it out beside us, and even those coming after us.

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” James 1:19

So, just for today, let’s you and me slow down. Let’s listen with our whole hearts to the God-stories playing out all around us. 

That day, Rebecca became more than a seamstress….she became mentor and treasured friend.

With love from Uganda, Joy

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