The journey of this joyful heart: Juliet's foot: A story from Africa

I'll never stop thinking about Juliet.

I'll never stop praying for Juliet.

And, I'll never stop loving my dear sister, Juliet.

After a five hour drive from Kampala (capital of Uganda), Erica and I had just reached the little village of Nalweyo, our home for the next few weeks. The people of Nalweyo were so ecstatic to have us visiting, that they threw us a parade! As excitement, nervousness, and curiosity danced together inside of me, I peeked my head out of the car and I saw Juliet. She was the last person in line to greet us, but her bright smile could be picked out of thousands. As soon as I hopped out of the car, she seemed to have made her way to where I was, and immediately she grabbed my hand.

The welcome parade

I noticed her beautiful skin, a smooth shade of dark licorice with a pink glow to her cheeks. Her hands were rough and leathery, and her eyes pierced mine - as if they wanted to tell a story.

Then, I noticed her foot.

Her right foot had turned a shade of pinkish white. It was bubbling, it was bloody, it was pussy, it was blistering and it was obviously very painful.

"Oh, my word," I thought. In that moment I prayed that the Lord would begin to work miracles on her foot.

The next day, Erica and I asked other villagers about Juliet, and her foot. As my Renyolo (Nalweyo language) improved I was able to get to know her better, and ask her questions directly.

We quickly found out that Juliet (age 15) has Epilepsy, and had a seizure by the fire one night in November. As she was seizuring, her foot hit the fire and she was severely burned. She lost feeling in her foot, and didn't even have sandals to protect it from getting infected. Since most people over there are not educated on Epilepsy, her parents and a lot of other people were probably pretty confused as to what was going on with her. From what some of the village girls told me, her parents dropped her off at the Church after her foot caught on fire and left her.

My heart ached and pained for what she must have been feeling, and I begged God to let me help her.

As I was holding her hand that night, I heard a whisper on my heart. "Daughter, wash her feet."

"Okay, God. I can do that." I said to myself.

I looked at Juliet and tried my best to pronounce, "N'Kwenda Kusaba Amaguru" (I want to wash foot) and then pointed at her foot. She smiled and agreed. The next day Erica and I filled up our washing basin with water and a bar of ivory soap. (We didn't really have any supplies, but that wasn't stopping us.)With plastic bags as make-shift gloves, we washed her feet. Little kids gathered around to watch, and Juliet just stared and was quiet.

I know that my God is a God of strength, and action, and power, and compassion, and awe. And again, in that moment I asked Him to do something radical and begin healing in that foot.

As days went by, we acquired actual supplies and began loving on her and treating her foot. We were gone during the days, but as soon as our beat up Suburban pulled in Nalweyo - she was there waiting by our house. There were nights when I'd be up worrying about her foot and pondering what I could do to make it better, and how I could fix it. Then God reminded me that He is God, and I am not. He doesn't need me, but He is using me. He could heal her, and only Him.

After Sunday Church

The days when her foot made no progress (and even looked worse), you could still see that smile and hear her sweet giggle. I remember on one of the days where her foot was looking pretty bad, she came hopping over to my house with a sugar cane to share with me. I didn't know how to eat it, so I bit the outside layer (completely wrong) and she laughed hysterically. I promised myself I'd never complain over pain again, because she honestly never did.

On our last day, right before we drove away I looked down at her foot.

Erica and I both agreed in excitement, that her foot looked significantly better, and it was healing.