Jesus Christ, saving a girl from Uganda

An Evangelist Tale 

Date: 10th to 11th May 

Jesus Christ, saving a girl from Uganda 

By Neil McBride 

Saturday on the High Street – Shorts, Sun, and a Stall This Saturday, my church set up a stall in the heart of our local high street, prime territory for friendly chats, free leaflets, and the occasional awkward wave at someone pretending not to see you. We were there from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m., a full shift, except you get sunburn and the occasional blessing instead of wages. It was one of those rare small-town English days where the sun shows up and stays. The heat reminded me that I desperately need to invest in a pair of colourful, loud summer shorts, the kind that scream holiday dad but in a cool, ironically trendy way. The truth is, shopping’s never been my thing. It could be because I am nearly forty and my fashion sense officially retired about ten years ago. I still feel good, so looking good feels optional, at least, that is the story I tell myself. 

Note to self, though: shorts are not ideal for Sunday meetings. Not that my church has any strict dress code, we’re the “come as you are, but maybe not straight from the gym” kind of congregation. The original plan was to be there bright and early, before the sun fully clocked in and the birds started their aerial acrobatics. But after considering the 8-hour outreach marathon ahead, I decided to turn up fashionably late, around 10 am. Two of our church crew were already operating the stall. Since my designated shift was not until 12 to 2, I decided to quietly hover in the background, blending into the scenery like a socially awkward ninja. I parked myself in a camping chair under our tiny blue tent, which, conveniently, was pitched right between Greggs and Costa. It was the holy land of free WIFI, truly divine. While the others talked, I did what any modern disciple would do: I opened my laptop and got cracking on my website. 

 

It was a beautiful experience to be among others, sharing the gospel, a calling I have always cherished as a powerful way to grow in faith and spirit. I kept track of the time on my phone, waiting for the right moment, knowing I could not begin on an empty stomach… of course, I needed my little boost of courage, coffee in a paper cup. Excitement stirred in me, not from the caffeine, but from the deep assurance that the Holy Spirit would guide my every word and step. 

In my natural self, I am quiet, often battling a storm of social anxiety. But I have learned that when I step out in faith, trusting in Jesus, fear gives way to strength. Through Him, I have discovered that every giant can fall, and every storm can be calmed. Today was not just about speaking; it was about surrendering to a purpose greater than my fear, and in that, I found peace, boldness, and joy. The clock hand on my phone crept toward twelve; it was time. My moment at the stall had come, and a brother in Christ stood beside me, ready to share in the next two hours of divine purpose. I stood silently for a moment, lingering just behind the table, waiting for my lips and tongue to awaken from their slumber. A steady hum pulsed through my body, excitement and holy anticipation. No water in the world could quench the fire burning in my heart. I was not concerned with selling Bibles or handing out leaflets; I was yearning for something deeper. I wanted to witness someone receive the Holy Spirit. Why lower my expectations when I serve a limitless God? 

With a quiet breath, I opened my mouth and whispered a simple word: “Hello.” At that moment, I knew I was stepping aside so Jesus could step in. It was time for me to decrease, and for Christ to increase. The first person to approach was a young girl, full of energy and joy, practically running to the table. Her eyes lit up as she pointed to a pink-covered Bible. She wanted it, just like that, with no hesitation. I was stunned and moved. In a world where so many young hearts are distracted, here was one drawn to God’s Word. It filled me with hope. It was more than a sale, it was a sacred moment, and I was grateful to be part of it. 

Throughout the afternoon, I had many conversations. I was not trying to sell books; I was sharing my heart. Somehow, I ran a bookstore I never intended to open, except every “book” pointed to the Author of Life. Every exchange became an open door to speak of the Holy Spirit. 

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw her. A woman was walking slowly past the stall. Something stirred in me. I did not know what to say, but I knew I had to say something. The gospel cannot be received unless it’s first spoken. So, I called out, my voice trembling slightly: “Hello.” She turned. I asked gently what she was looking for. In that moment, I was not just trying to share a message; I was trying to reach someone. Her story, her background, her culture, all of it mattered. The gospel is not meant to be cold or mechanical. A social encounter, a divine conversation. Evangelism is not about preaching at people; it is about seeing them, loving them, and letting the Holy Spirit use us as vessels of truth and grace. 

I truly love people, deeply and sincerely. There is something sacred about simply talking, sharing space, and connecting heart to heart. As our conversation began, we spoke about all kinds of things, some light, some silly, but I smiled through it all because joy was bubbling up inside me. I have learned to cherish those moments of comfort in conversation, where walls come down and trust begins to grow. I never want to overwhelm anyone with heavy-handed preaching. Sometimes, the most powerful testimony shines not through thunderous words, but through quiet sincerity and the gentle light of Scripture spoken with love.I asked her name. “Brenda,” she said, with a warm smile. In return, I shared mine, greeting her with words and kindness. 

In that moment, I reminded myself: I am not the story but a small part of a far greater picture. Brenda told me she was from Uganda, in Eastern Africa. I asked gently about her relationship with Jesus. She shared that she had been attending a church and was scheduled to be baptised in July. My heart stirred. I told her what the Bible teaches about baptism, not as a future event to be delayed, but as a powerful response to hearing the gospel. On the day of Pentecost, 120 people were baptised on the same day they believed. No waiting list. No online course. Just faith and obedience. 

Brenda’s eyes lit up. She was ready, willing, and hungry. I told her we could arrange her baptism this weekend. I asked for her number so that I could pass her details on to my pastor, and she agreed. As she walked away, I prayed quietly in tongues, asking the Lord for wisdom and guidance, for her, us, and what came next. 

Later that evening, I shared her story with my pastor. He said he would call her. I felt a sense of peace; I had done my part. The rest belonged to God. I had been a signpost pointing toward Him. I am always mindful when ministering to the opposite sex, careful not to cross boundaries or let anything compromise the purity of the testimony. I avoid unnecessary texts, phone calls, or private meetings. This is not about me. It never was. This is holy ground. This is a soul, dearly loved by God. And that’s far more important than ego, attention, or comfort. 

I had many warm, engaging conversations that day and learned a lot, as I often do in these social moments. But my heart was fixed on one person: Brenda. I kept praying into the situation, asking God to lead every step. The next day, I went to church alone. 

As I sat in my usual seat, something inside me felt heavy. I was upset, not because I was alone, but because I had not brought anyone. I badly wanted others to experience what I felt in that place. Still, I held hope, trusting God was working behind the scenes. 

He was writing a new chapter in Brenda’s story, a chapter in the book of salvation. Worship began, and I was singing off-key but full of heart. Suddenly, my phone lit up in the middle of the service, and I heard Brenda’s name. It startled me. I stepped out and answered the call. It was her. She told me she had spoken to the pastor and wanted to learn more about the Holy Spirit. My heart could have burst. Without hesitation, I met her and brought her to the church. 

She joined us in the meeting, smiling, engaged, taking it all in. I warned her about my terrible singing. I truly cannot sing, but it did not faze her. The joy in her eyes said more than words ever could. During the service, we had a prayer line where people could come forward for individual prayer. I gently encouraged Brenda to seek the Lord for herself, and she did. 

After the meeting, we shared a long, beautiful conversation over bowls of chilli corn curry, which tastes better on a Sunday. We sat in the church courtyard, discussing faith, life, and what was stirring in her heart. Though I appear confident, social interactions do not come easily for me. I still stumble. But in those moments, I was not focused on my weakness but on Brenda and what God would do in her life. 

I longed to speak more about baptism and the Holy Spirit, but I also knew the importance of giving space. So, after the last grain of rice disappeared from my plate, I walked her to one of the church leaders and then to the pastor. I stepped back and let them speak, praying silently as I poured my first cup of coffee for the day. Brenda was ready to be baptised. I had already passed her details to a trusted sister in the Lord, and everything was falling. 

Brenda went home to prepare spiritually and practically for the sacred step she was about to take. She chose her clothes thoughtfully, understanding the weight and wonder of what was coming. Meanwhile, we went to the old church hall, where the baptism tank stood. 

The place felt frozen, quiet, aged, and worn by years of worship, prayer, and salvation stories. We had already moved to a new building, and most things here no longer worked. Just a few tired lights flickered above us, as if bearing witness one last time. We turned on the tap… only to discover no hot water. But that did not stop us. With a shared sense of mission, we began to fill the tank the old-fashioned way, refilling kettles from the downstairs kitchen, over and over again. There was something poetic in that effort, something sacred. We were preparing not just water, but a place of rebirth. 

This would be the final baptism in this old hall. And now, Brenda’s story would join its legacy, a closing chapter for one house of worship, and a brand-new beginning for her soul. After what felt like an eternity, the tank was ready. Brenda was ready. She stepped into the water, her face calm but radiant. I sank into a nearby broken chair, lowered my head into my hands, and began to pray. I prayed not as a spectator but as a witness to something eternal: Brenda’s story and the love of Jesus Christ meeting at this moment. 

There is nothing more beautiful than watching someone receive the Holy Spirit. As she was lowered into the water and raised again, tears poured from my eyes, not sadness, not even relief, just pure joy. This was not about me, it never was. It was always about Jesus and Brenda, her new beginning, His endless grace. As she rose from the water, a gentle, soft, yet heavenly sound flowed from her lips, born not from this earth but from the Spirit. It was quiet but echoed in eternity, a divine whisper only heaven could truly hear. 

She stepped out of the tank renewed, the old washed away, clothed in the newness of life. I was overwhelmed with happiness, for her, for what God had done, and for the Holy Spirit now dwelling in her. 

To be even a small part of that story is a privilege I do not take lightly. This is just the beginning of a beautiful relationship between Brenda and Jesus Christ. Amen. 

An Evangelist Tale 

 10-11th of May 

DTA  Neil McBride (CEO and founder of Downtown Angels)