Woman, this here, saved my home!

“If only this woman knew!”

Mrs. Bwala thought within herself as she wiped the tear that strayed from the corner of her eye. That singular tear did no justice to the real anguish in her heart. Her heart was bleeding more than it ever had since her new neighbours moved into the vacant flat next to hers less than four months ago. At this very moment, the wife was at it again. 

For the third time that morning, Betty’s voice rose sharply through the walls. The sound travelled so clearly that even little children playing downstairs paused.

It was not the first time. And sadly, it would not be the last.

Later that afternoon, as Mrs. Bwala swept the corridor, she felt a small tug on her wrapper.

It was Joy.

“Granny Bwala,” the little girl whispered, “Mummy is shouting at Daddy again.”

Mrs. Bwala bent down slowly. “Oh, my dear… come in. Come and sit down inside.”

Joy scampered into her flat with the relief of someone escaping a storm.

Mrs. Bwala paused, broom in hand, her heart breaking all over again.

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(A Few Days Later)

Betty arrived to pick Joy up after work. The moment the child heard her voice, she ran behind Mrs. Bwala and burst into tears.

“Joy! Again?” Betty exclaimed, exasperated. “Every time I come, you cry. Why? You don’t want to go home?”

Joy shook her head fiercely, clutching Mrs. Bwala’s wrapper.

Betty knelt, confused. “Do you want to sleep here? With Mrs. Bwala?”

The child nodded.

That small nod broke something in Betty. Her eyes filled instantly.

“I don’t know why she does this,” she cried quietly. “I try… I really try to make the home sweet. I don’t understand what is wrong with her. You know, I provide everything you need. All the subscriptions to the TV, all the attention, all the hugs and the kisses. I let you have all the games. I take you out for shopping. What else do you want this child?”

Mrs. Bwala held the child tighter, then gently touched Betty’s shoulder.

“Come inside, my dear. Let us talk.”

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(Inside the Living Room)

When Joy finally calmed down and fell asleep on Mrs. Bwala’s sofa, Betty sat at the edge of the chair, wiping her face with the hem of her blouse.

“Ma,” she whispered, “I don’t know what to do again. I’m trying… honestly. I’m trying to make the home peaceful. I cook, I clean, I try to make everything nice. Yet this girl will cry for you every time.”

She shook her head helplessly.

Mrs. Bwala sat beside her. “Can I ask you something, Betty?”

“Yes ma.”

“Are you born again?”

Betty nodded quickly. “Yes ma. Yes. I mean… I think so. I gave my life to Christ during university. And… I can speak in tongues. Sometimes… not all the time… but yes ma.”

Mrs. Bwala smiled softly. “Good. And have you ever had anyone sit you down properly to teach you about womanhood according to Scripture?”

Betty raised her brows. “Womanhood? Ma… I don’t think so. We have church programs sometimes. Women’s meetings and all that.”

“And do they teach on what the Bible calls a woman to be?”

Betty shrugged. “Sometimes they bring speakers to talk about submission, women’s health, your career and self-development. Things like that. To be honest, when they announce women’s programs in church, I don’t even want to attend. I don’t want to hear my pastor’s wife lecturing us because she herself… hmmm…” She sighed. “Let me not talk.”

Mrs. Bwala nodded. “Have you attended any biblical womanhood course asides the church programmes? Something that opens your eyes to your identity as a woman through the Word of God… your purpose, your assignment, your husband, your home… all through Scripture?”

Betty shook her head slowly. “No ma. Nothing like that. 

Mrs. Bwala chuckled lightly. “I understand. And books on Biblical womanhood?”

“I read a lot” Betty continued, “but the ones I have read are mostly about love languages, apology languages, emotional intelligence… relationship psychology…. Nothing too deep. Nothing Bible Bible.”

“Hmm,” Mrs. Bwala said gently. “Those books help, but they are not the foundation.”

Betty looked at her with tired eyes. “So what am I supposed to do ma?”

Mrs. Bwala paused, looking at Betty for a long moment. Then she leaned back slowly and said,“

My dear… I understand you more than you think. I was once you.”

Betty frowned gently. “You, ma?”

Mrs. Bwala nodded. “The first one… two years of my marriage were hell. Hot, bitter hell. My husband and I fought like enemies. I shouted. I screamed. I reacted. I insulted. The home was tearing apart. We were on the verge of scattering completely.”

Betty’s eyes widened.

“One afternoon,” Mrs. Bwala continued, “a woman came to visit me. A quiet woman. Until today, I believe the Lord sent her. She looked around my home, listened to me pour out my frustration, and then she said, ‘I brought a gift for you. A gift that can save your home.’”

Mrs. Bwala chuckled softly at the memory. “When I saw the gift, I was offended. Truly offended. I was a unit leader in church. I prayed. I fasted. I spoke in tongues. How dare she suggest I needed this gift of all gifts to save my home? Didn’t she know I was spiritual? Didn’t she know I knew the Lord?”

Betty swallowed and whispered, “What gift was it?”

Mrs. Bwala rose slowly to her feet.

“Let me show you,” she said.

She walked toward the wooden shelf in the corner and reached for a bundle wrapped in a soft, white, furry shawl, carefully, tenderly, as though it were fragile.

When she returned, she sat beside Betty again and began to unwrap it with almost ceremonial reverence.

An old Bible emerged.

So worn… so softened… edges almost melting from years of desperate study. It looked like a treasure pulled from a lifetime of storms.

Betty gasped lightly.

“This,” Mrs. Bwala said, touching the aging cover, “was the gift.”

Betty stared. “A… Bible?”

 

“Yes,” she nodded. “This very Bible. The woman told me to read it. Not casually. Not like a church worker. Not like a Christian trying to fulfill righteousness. She said, ‘Go and EAT this Bible. Let it train you. Let it teach you womanhood. Let it break you. Let it rebuild you.’”

Mrs. Bwala’s eyes softened with memory.

“I felt insulted. I truly did. Imagine! Me, a worker in the church? Being told to go and learn marriage from the Bible as if I was a baby in Christ. But something in her eyes that day made me obey.”

She placed her hand on the Bible.

“My darling… this Bible trained me. Ah, this Book is alive! It has life inside! Ah, it broke me. My dear, this Bible saved my home.”

Betty blinked, her mouth parting in awe.

Mrs. Bwala’s voice lowered, deep with truth.

“Our home was gone. Finished. Scattered. But this Word rebuilt us. If not for what I met inside these pages, my marriage would have died”

A tear slipped down Betty’s cheek.

“Ma…” she whispered, “can this Bible… can this same Word save my home too?”

Mrs. Bwala gave her a warm, sure, motherly smile.

Mrs. Bwala smiled and held Betty’s hands gently.

“Yes. If you are willing to sit down and learn, it will.”

She paused, then leaned closer, her voice dropping into a whisper.

“But let me tell you something, my dear… a secret many Christians never discover.”

Betty looked up, attentive.

“The Bible is locked.”

“The Bible is locked?”

 

She tapped the worn cover softly.

“This Book is full of mysteries. It is full of secrets. You can read it from cover to cover and remain completely the same way as you were.”

“Hmmmm” Betty swallowed slowly.

Mrs. Bwala continued, her eyes shining with depth.

“Psalm 25:14 says, ‘The secret of the LORD is with them that fear Him, and He will show them His covenant.’ My dear, the Word of God does not open because you can read English. It opens because your heart fears God. It opens because you come as a child.”

She lifted the Bible reverently.

“Jesus Himself spoke in parables. Multitudes listened… yet understood nothing. They went back home with stories. Only the disciples went back home with understanding.”

She smiled gently.

“Do you know why? Because they came to Him privately and asked, ‘Master, explain this parable to us.’ They came wanting more. They came hungry. They came humble.”

Betty nodded slowly, listening as though her soul was being pulled open.

“If you come to God with that same attitude: ‘Lord, explain this to me. Make it plain. Open my eyes.’, then the Bible will unlock. Revelation will flow. Mystery will become life. The Spirit will breathe upon the letters and turn them into bread.”

She held Betty’s hands more firmly.

“But if you come like many churchgoers… reading it casually, reading it proudly, reading it to tick a box… then you will only gather information, not transformation. And the Bible says clearly, ‘The letter killeth, but the Spirit giveth life.’ That means you can read Scripture and still remain unchanged, unbroken, untouched.”

Betty blinked, a tear escaping.

Mrs. Bwala leaned closer.

“So I must ask you now, Betty…Are you ready? Are you ready for the Word to become Spirit to you? Are you ready for the Holy Ghost to walk you through these Scriptures? Are you ready for the mysteries of God to open to your eyes? Are you ready to be taught, broken, rebuilt, and made new?”

Betty inhaled deeply, trembling.

“Yes ma… I am ready.”

Mrs. Bwala smiled. It was the smile of a mother who has seen many births into truth.

“Then, my dear… the Bible will open for you.”

Betty squeezed her hands softly yet desperately as if her life depends on it. “I am ready to save my home. I am, mummy, I am”

“Yes, I will lend this Bible to you” Mrs. Bwala said.

“Really? You will?”

Betty gasped. “Really? You will?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Bwala nodded. “You can see how rugged it looks. A lot of my notes are inside. I ate this Bible like a well-eaten orange. I squeezed every juice from it. I believe my notes will bless you.”

Betty’s eyes widened with a mixture of reverence and longing. She reached for the old Bible with trembling palms, almost afraid to touch something so sacred. Her voice broke into a whisper.

“Ma… this feels like you’re handing me your heart.”

 

Mrs. Bwala smiled. “In a way, I am. This Bible built me. It will build you too.”

Betty held it to her chest as though she had just received the greatest treasure of her life. Tears gathered in her eyes again, but they weren’t tears of frustration — they were tears of hope.

“And then,” Mrs. Bwala continued gently, “if you can come here every day at 7pm after work, even if just for thirty or forty-five minutes, we will study together. I will show you what the Scriptures say about a woman, a man, our children, our roles, our power, our grace, marriage, the home. Not what the culture says. Not what the world says. The Word.”

Betty exhaled deeply, as though something heavy had been lifted from her shoulders. “Ma… thank you. You are an angel. I need this. Truly.”

Mrs. Bwala patted her hand. “Your home will rise again, Betty. Light is already entering.”

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AND THIS IS THE CALL, WOMAN!

Stories like Betty’s are everywhere. Women who sincerely want peace, want joy, want godly homes, but do not know the Scriptural foundation that makes these things possible. They love God yet lack guidance. They have passion but lack discipleship.

This is why The BUD Family Africa created the Biblical Womanhood Africa (BWA) Course: a structured, Spirit-filled, Scripture-rooted journey that opens a woman’s eyes to her divine design and equips her to live it out with joy.

If you have ever longed to understand:
• who God made you as a woman
• how to build a peaceful, godly home
• how to honor your husband biblically
• how to raise children with spiritual intelligence
• how to walk in the strength and gentleness God ordained
• how to rediscover your femininity through the lens of Scripture

Then this course is for you.

 

The BUD Family Africa is keen on faithfully following and perfectly fitting into the Biblical mold of God’s definition of a woman through absolute obedience to the Word of God. We invite women who seek the same for their lives, desiring to see themselves the way God sees them.

We seek women who are willing to defy the world’s norm and courageously choose to break the world’s mold of their womanhood and fit themselves in the mold of the Word of God. 

If this is you, the Biblical Womanhood Africa (BWA) Course begins in January and registration is open. Come, like Betty, and step into the beauty God intended from the beginning.