For His Glory: Hope's Faith Journey- Part 1

Hi friends! On today’s Draw Near to Me post we will begin Hope’s faith journey. I met Hope in 2016 when I went on my first mission trip to Africa. It was a two-part trip where we went to Kenya and then Uganda. Hope was one of our translators at Okoa Refuge in Uganda. She was tender and loving while remaining very bold and fierce when it came to proclaiming the gospel. Hope has been a friend ever since I met her on that trip. She is truly what a radiant, godly woman looks like. I have a fun little story to tell that will give you a glimpse of what she is like, but I will write that next time. Thank you, Hope, for sharing part of your incredible story. God is using you in such mighty and incredible ways. If you enjoy this post, please share it with others using the share button below and consider doing a free or paid subscription. With that, let’s dive into Hope’s story. Enjoy!

When I was born, both my mom and dad were Catholic. As kids, we went to church, but we didn’t really understand things. Mom had not always been Catholic. In her first marriage her previous husband was Muslim, so my older half brother and sister were as well.

My dad died when I was 2 ½ years old. Mom raised us as a single mother to 5 kids. Over the next few years things got really, really hard. When a husband dies in Uganda, sometimes the relatives do not care if he has kids or a wife. My dad’s side of the family tried to take everything he owned, even if it meant taking it away from our family.

My dad’s relatives wanted our land so badly that they tried several ways to get it. They even wanted to kill my mom to take it. They knew that my siblings and I were so little that there was nothing we could do if they got my mom out of the way. My mom ended up taking them to court and won, but she was a single mother trying to fight them. They retaliated and burned her house down. They did so many things to our family. It became really, really scary.

After the house incident, my mom said enough is enough. Although we were able to stay with cousins and family friends, we were basically homeless for a little while. My mom was working day and night finding charcoal and doing different things to raise money. After a couple of months, she somehow raised enough money for us to move to her hometown, which was about 6 hours away.

Mom thought her family would help us if we moved closer to them; however, they didn’t step in right away. She was still struggling to raise all of us and didn’t have a job. Things got much worse. A friend told her that people would help us if she joined the mosque to become part of the community. Mom started going, but the assistance she hoped for didn’t really happen. After a year, my aunt asked my mom if she wanted her to take care of some of the kids. In the end, my aunt took me and my twin sister.

My aunt was Muslim, so we ended up converting to Islam. I didn’t understand what that meant. We tried to learn the Quran, but it didn’t really make sense. The requirements were many. I was told that even if you were Muslim, you would never go to heaven if your parents were not. My older half siblings were Muslim and my mom had converted to Islam to get help raising us; however, there was still a problem. My dad was Catholic. Since he had passed and could not convert, I realized that I was never going to go to heaven. That was the scariest part for me.

Life was already hard and then it got much worse. While we were with my aunt, my sister and I lived in a town that was about 2 hours away from my mom’s village. Back then, transportation in the villages was available but not very good. They also did not have phones. There was no way to communicate with my mom. She had no clue what was going on.

My aunt was very, very abusive. My sister and I basically became her slaves. It was so tough that I became suicidal at 7 years old. Thankfully, one day my uncle came to visit. After seeing our condition and how we were treated, he went back to my mom and told her, “Hey, if you still want your kids alive, you need to go get them.”

I will never forget the moment I first saw my mom. I was carrying a 20L jar of water along the road to bring back to my aunt’s. It was so heavy I could barely lift it. As I was returning, I saw my mom on a little motor bike taxi. I immediately recognized her when she passed me on the road; however, I was in such bad shape that she did not recognize me. I was extremely skinny and dirty. My hair was overgrown except for a bald patch that developed on the top of my head. My hair had come off on that spot from being forced to carry heavy stuff on it. I looked terrible.

I hurried to meet my mom at my aunt’s house. I said, “Oh mom, I’m so happy to see you!” She looked at me with an expression that was like, “Who are you?” When I smiled she finally recognized me and said, “Hey, is that you?” She was so shocked that she didn’t know what to say and began to cry.

My mom spent the night at my aunt’s place. The next day I told her, “Mom, if you leave me here you are never going to see me again. I’m gonna run away. I’m gonna kill myself. I just cannot live here anymore. I cannot take it anymore.” So, my mom told my aunt that she was taking me and my twin sister back. Even though my aunt was really upset because we were basically her slaves, she could not change my mom’s mind.

My sister and I stayed Muslim after we went to live with my mom. Although we went to the mosque, it didn’t mean much to me. As we got older, we learned about the Quran once in a while, but I didn’t really seek it out.

I was still moved around a lot. I lived with many different people and felt like I was disposable. It damaged my relationship with my mom. She sent me off to live with anyone. Every person that I lived with was a different story. People abused me on so many levels. It was one bad thing after another. I didn’t really have a choice other than to keep it to myself, suck it up and continue living.

In my last year of primary school I came back to live with my mom. The school was almost like an orphanage where children could be sponsored. A Swedish couple selected me and my older sister to receive their support. They paid for our education and chose the high school we went to. It ended up being a Catholic school.

I didn’t really have a religion by the time I was in high school. I was done with everything. I didn’t understand the God thing much, so I didn’t stick to anything. I hated my life. I hated God. I hated almost everything, but the one thing I did love was singing. I made the choice to join the choir at our Catholic school. The cathedral, organs and music were amazing.

I started going to church to be able to sing. I went for the sake of the music. I didn’t have a relationship with God and didn’t want anything to do with Him. I was convinced that He hated me. I thought that everything that was happening to me was my fault or that I was paying for somebody else’s sins, perhaps an ancestor’s. I felt like God was making me be the one to pay for everything.

To be continued.

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