“Siyabonga, Make…”

Today I was called to a homestead because a girl was ‘being beaten’ by an older girl in the community. This young lady is 15 years old and she is pregnant. She is unmarried. She has been hiding out behind closed doors, too ashamed to venture outside. She is no longer allowed to attend school due to her present ‘condition’. She feels unable or unwilling to even go to church…

But let me tell you more about her…

…she is very intelligent

   …she has a witty sense of humor

      …she has an infectious smile

         …she is one of my daughter’s best friends here

            …she was recently baptized

               …she loves Jesus

                   …she made a mistake in believing that her sexuality held more value in a single moment than any of the above…a mistake that we see being made over and over again by too many young women here…but today we are talking about this one…

…the story is so multi-layered and too sensitive to share too many details. However, my hope is that by telling part of it I can raise up an army of concerned mothers, angered fathers, protective brothers and sympathetic sisters to cover this sweet girl and her unborn baby in prayer!

After arriving on the homestead, I found the young lady locked in her room. She was wailing, terrified and alone. My heart was broken before I even opened the door. Once inside, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, signs of a struggle were evident. What was most evident was the broken, trembling child in front of me. Her eyes were almost swollen shut from crying. Her shoulders were shaking with her sobs. I have known this girl since first coming to Swaziland in 2009 and for the first time I thought: her innocence is gone. At that moment a part of my heart I didn’t even now was available to be broken…broke.

I held her in my arms as she continued to convulse in sobs. “Oh God…give me words…help me to know what to do here…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

His words started to pour out of my mouth…seemingly outside of my control…

“You are loved, you are precious, you are pure, you are forgiven and not forsaken. I haven’t left you. I haven’t turned my back on you. I know you and I adore you. Even though you have wandered away, you are not the sum of your past mistakes…I am pursuing you and I WILL NOT STOP! This nonsense here today has nothing to do with ME…you are loved…”

The only thing that made sense was to take her home with me; for the afternoon; warm her up with really sweet rooibos tea and a grilled cheese sandwich; let her wash up with some sweet smelling soap and warm, fresh water. I  enjoy listening to the steady, low murmur of she and Claire chatting while they snuggle under a blanket on Claire’s bed watching a movie and doing each other’s nails…even…giggling…re-capturing a bit of her innocence…perhaps…

I pick up her mother on the road, after she was through working in the sugarcane fields for the day and then dropped them both off at home; hoping and trusting that I didn’t step on another mother’s toes in doing what I did. “Siyabonga, Make…” the mother quietly says, as she exits the truck. “Thank you, Mom”