Her Pen, His Purpose

Day Two~

“Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people.” —Acts 2:46-47

When I think about Africa, the first thing that always comes to mind isn’t the just the food, the scenery, or even the bustling way of life—it’s the people and just how big our God truly is. Our first full day back at Heshima reminded me of that in a way that stayed with me. From a breakfast table in Kampala to a worship service under a white tent, I could feel the Lord working.

After breakfast, we piled into the van and drove through the bustle of Kampala, past fruit stands and boda bodas (Ugandan motorcycle taxis) weaving through traffic, until we reached Café Pap. I ordered a mocha that might have ruined all other mochas for me—it was that good.

By the time we reached Heshima, the courtyard had been transformed. A simple white tent was set up, plastic chairs arranged inside, and a handful of nervous students preparing for worship, their quiet smiles mingling with the warm, heavy air. It was humble, but it felt holy. We began our small session with worship—different accents, different languages—and yet there was no barrier. The Spirit of God knit us together like one family.

Misty shared a devotional and as she spoke, I realized again how true it is that God doesn’t require polished sanctuaries, perfect lighting, or speakers with seminary degrees. He meets us wherever His people gather—whether in a cathedral or a canvas tent. Matthew 18:20 says, “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them.” That morning, beneath the hum of traffic and the melody spilling from shop speakers, I could feel His presence.

Rain, Laughter, and Prayer

By lunchtime, the air was thick with the smell of chapati (a warm, chewy flatbread popular across East Africa), beans simmering, and fresh avocado sliced open. We sat together eating rice, beans, beef, and chapati—the kind of meal that fills you without fuss, the kind that feels like it’s been prayed over.

It struck me how different meals feel in Uganda—slower, more communal, more intentional. No one rushes off with a phone buzzing in their hand. Everyone sits. Everyone shares. It’s not about eating quickly but about being together, about making space for gratitude and presence.

Not long after, the sky split open. Thunder cracked, and heavy rain began to fall—the kind that soaks you instantly and leaves you laughing because there’s nothing else to do. The courtyard turned to puddles, but that didn’t stop the joy. Judah and I played with Alvin and Aaron (Alvin’s best friend), two boys whose smiles could brighten the darkest day. Soon, the rain had subsided and all the little boys wanted to do was run around outside and play. They climbed onto our backs, shouting “ you are my boda boda!” as we stumbled and laughed, pretending to drive motorbikes through the puddles. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and all I could think was the absolute pure joy that exuded from these two little children. Joy that defies circumstance. Laughter in the middle of a storm.

Later, we broke out into small groups for prayer. I was paired with someone from our advocacy team and Linda, who acted as our translator since the girls in our group weren’t very comfortable with English. They shared their prayer requests with us, one by one, and we entered into a time of “prayer counseling.” Together, we prayed over each girl—lifting up her needs, her hopes, her burdens to God. Even though we were complete strangers, there was such a sense of unity, as if the Spirit was reminding us that we are never foreign to one another in His presence.

And in that muddy courtyard, I felt the weight of a truth I often forget: God hears every prayer in His children’s native tongue. There is no translation delay in heaven. He is as present in Luganda as He is in English, as near in a white tent in Uganda as He is in a church pew back home.

Evening Reflections

As evening came, we headed to Café Caramel for dinner. I ordered pesto pasta—yes, pasta in Uganda—and it was perfect. But the best part wasn’t the food. On the way there, I saw Henry, a teenage boy I’d met years ago, walking home from school in his uniform. We had reunited and spoken briefly the day before, but seeing him outside the walls of Heshima was eye-opening. The last time we were together, he’d handed me a skirt he made out of grass—something simple, but meaningful. I’d tucked it away like a treasure and still have it to this day.

I hadn’t expected him to remember me, but when his face had lit up in recognition, and I realized how lasting even the smallest connections can be. That brief encounter stayed with me long after dinner. It reminded me that God doesn’t just move in sweeping revivals or earth-shaking miracles. He moves in the one-on-one moments—in friendships that stretch across years and oceans, in the laughter of a child, in the way He allows two people to recognize His love reflected in each other.

It struck me again how the Kingdom of God so often begins small, almost hidden. A single seed. A small ministry. A handful of women with sewing machines and scissors. Yet when God breathes on it, it grows into something life-giving, something that reaches far beyond what we can see.

That’s what today reminded me: God is Emmanuel. He is with us—in the rain, in the laughter, in the prayers, in the pasta, in the quiet reunions on dusty roads.

By the time I laid my head down that night, I knew I had seen Him—not in visions or thunderbolts, but in something far better: His presence woven through the ordinary, the way only He can do.

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 🌿 About Heshima Ministries

Heshima Ministries serves underprivileged women in Uganda by teaching them practical skills like tailoring, hairdressing, and small business management. But more than that, they offer dignity, hope, and the truth of God’s love. “Heshima” means worth in Swahili, and that’s exactly what they pour into each woman who walks through their doors: a reminder that they are valued, chosen, and worthy in Christ.

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