Under His Wings of Hope

The Bible tells the story of the miraculous healing of a woman with the issue of blood. This woman dealt with chronic blood flow every day for twelve years! She had spent everything she owned on physicians, but none could heal her. This woman knew she could be healed; she had great faith, and she placed her hope in the Lord. One day she heard that Jesus the Healer was passing through her town. She believed that if she could spend some time in the presence of Jesus, He could heal her.

The Bible story continues: “She came up behind Him and touched the edge of His cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

‘Who touched me?’ Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, ‘Master, the people are crowding and pressing against You.’

But Jesus said, ‘Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.’

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at His feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched Him and how she had been instantly healed. Then He said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace’” (Luke 8:44-48).

For twelve long and painful years, this woman lived a meager life behind closed doors, cut off from the world because of her condition. When she heard that Jesus was passing through, she reached into the very core of her being for the energy she needed to get to Him. Deep inside, she believed that if she could just touch Him, she would be healed. Her mind was made up and her faith was strong. Nothing could stop her. She was sick and tired of being sick, so she pushed on until she was able to touch the edge of Jesus’ cloak. When she finally reached Him, she received her miracle: she was healed immediately.

This woman was healed simply because of her faith! Jesus did not lay hands upon her. No doctor was responsible. No operation took place. No medicine was given. Her faith alone cured this woman. And her faith came from knowing and believing in the power of the Lord, Jesus the Healer.

In many ways, I can relate to the story of this woman. Like her, I had suffered from a condition that dominated my life. I was born into the extreme poverty that had been the plague of northern Uganda for many years. With extreme poverty came malaria, malnutrition, and contaminated waters. Because our village did not have the knowledge or the resources to fight or fix these life-threatening conditions, most of the children in my village did not live very long. It was considered a miracle and a blessing if a child lived as long as a year. By the grace of God, I was one of those miracles.

For the first twenty-two years of my life, I was raised in extreme poverty in northern Uganda. I lived in dangerous and harmful conditions without knowing the extent of the damage the widespread poverty was causing in my life.

My very early years were full of joy. My parents and my siblings were my whole world, and all was well as long as every member of my family was happy and had something to eat. We ate every meal together, usually from one bowl. We slept in huts made of clay and straw. My world was harmonious, at least to my knowledge. I did not know I was living in extreme poverty. I had no idea of the things my family and I were doing without. I had no knowledge of how our lives could have been improved by having access to things that much of the world took for granted. The neighboring villages were poverty-stricken, too. This was our normal, everyday life; it was natural for us.

Let me tell you about some of the terrible conditions caused by the extreme poverty we faced in our day-to-day existence.

When I was a child, the Agu River, which runs through Agu Village, was the only source of water for both people and animals. We gathered our drinking water from this river every day, but we also bathed and washed our belongings in the same river. And our animals drank from this river. During the rainy season, the river flowed, but its water was not good for human consumption. When the scorching sunny days of summer came, the river ran low, making the water even more toxic.

When the river dried up during the summer season, with rainfall almost nonexistent, we had to deal with drought conditions. Without our usual water supply, it was difficult to grow enough of the crops needed to feed our families. During those times when our fields did not produce enough, we could only afford to have one small meal a day. Without proper nourishment, many of our people—children especially—became sick and died from malnutrition.

This same river was also a breeding ground for mosquitoes, and of course, mosquitoes spread the deadly disease malaria. It was nearly impossible to prevent being bitten by mosquitoes because we did not have—and could not afford—insect repellants or even mosquito nets to keep the bugs away from us. And if an infected mosquito bit someone, chances were they could not afford to go to the hospital to get the needed care.

This is only a small portion of the ways poverty affected my life as a child—and how it still affects the people of northern Uganda. I did not know as a child that I was drinking unsafe water. I did not know it was unusual to share only one meal a day with my family. I did not know there were ways to prevent and treat malaria. Looking back, I realize that there were many things that could have prevented the pain and suffering my village lived with, and still lives with to this day.