When My Faith Was on My Head

This morning, I remembered Uncle Paul.

When I was in primary school, our car gave up on us. Unfortunately, we couldn’t afford another, and our school was far from our house. So, my mother hired a driver, except, this was no ordinary driver. 

Enter Uncle Paul.

Uncle Paul was our mechanic (when we still had a car). He was a warm, well-spoken man of the Deeper Life community. He was really good to us. A true Christian. There was only one problem.

This good man drove with a megaphone on his car so that you could hear him coming a thousand feet away. You knew Uncle Paul would soon turn the corner when you heard Baba Kumuyi’s sermons or music from Don Moen, Ron Kenoly, or the Maranatha singers.

I wanted to enter the ground every time he approached because everyone made fun of us. I begged my mother to find someone else, but she simply couldn’t. It was a tough time, and it was a miracle that Uncle Paul agreed to drive us.

I’m sharing this story because this event taught me to be confident about my faith. It’s not that I didn’t want people to know I was a Christian, it’s that I didn’t want to be a certain kind of Christian. You know, the kind that’s not ashamed to say, “I love God, he’s my father.” The kind that carries her faith on her head, as we say.

In time, we got over the embarrassment of Uncle Paul’s megaphone and sang along to the music. Those who laughed at us forgot about it too. 

Today, I asked myself if I still have that confidence, and I don’t think so.

I need to go back to the time I carried my faith on my head.