It was a cozy Sunday morning. We walked from our home away from home in Kumakwane Village, Botswana. Our feet dragged along the desert sand. We took some of it along with us as the grains settled into our shoes, making our feet as dust-filled as summer days when you were young, and barefoot feet were freeing and grounding all at once.
Our walk led us to the Village Church and we sat in plastic chairs under an old, worn tent, our feet still meeting the sand. Children piled in as the service went on, greeting me with their perfect, white smiles, and a joy that only comes from Africa. I sat in my chair and listened to the pastor as the children tugged, pulled, and braided my straight American hair, something so foreign and beautiful to them.
And then a little girl, the age of two wobbled into the tent. My heart skipped a beat as I examined her fragile little body, covered in burns from head to toe. Her face was severely scarred on the entire right side of her body. It was one of those moments where you know you it’s none of your business, one of those moments you know you shouldn’t stare, but you just can’t stop. My eyes fixated on her as my mind wondered what story those scars held. She’s so young, I thought, how could this happen? Why, God? She doesn’t deserve this, she’s so innocent.
She sat near me and the other children as the service went on, but shortly thereafter tears flooded her eyes. She bursted out in pain and sniffles and I could feel my spirit drawing closer to hers. I got up out of my seat and whisked her outside, coddling her and covering her scars in kisses, giving her all the love I had to offer. Her soul and watery eyes calmed. She was left with soft after-cry hiccups and me lightly bouncing her on my hip.
Her right hand barely moved as it was designed to because the burns were so severe. I touched her arm and the burns felt so fresh, her skin tight and painful, still radiating warmth. She was sensitive to touch and even a rough knock from the other children made her screech in pain.
One year ago, her father was drunk. He made the mother and their one year old daughter drink gasoline, and he set them on fire. They went up in flames and he then set himself ablaze. A week passed, and then, so did her mother. Miraculously this little girl survived, but spent the next 6 months calling the hospital her new home. Her father lived, was sent to jail, and not long after released.
She is now 2 years old, covered in extremely severe burn scars, motherless, and being cared for by a distant relative. She has troubles eating sometimes because the gasoline burned her esophagus. She still pains. She’s still suffering the repercussions of her fathers actions. And she always will be. Every time she looks in the mirror. Every time she misses the mother she’ll barely remember. Every time she struggles to eat food. Every time she pains where her wounds now live. Every time. Every day. For the rest of her life.
As I listened to her story, I just wanted to fix it all for her. I wanted to take back all of it, and give her everything she needed. Everything her father took from her, all of the pain she felt, and all of the trauma she’ll continue to relive.
I wanted to say, “Hey little girl, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry that no one protected you. I’m so sorry that you had to endure such a painful experience at such a young age. I’m so sorry that you’ll never be the same, perfect little girl you were born as.”
“Hey little girl, you don’t deserve what happened to you, but you are not what happened to you. You are so much more. You’ll always be beautiful. You’ll always be enough. You are a warrior. You are a survivor. And you are going to change lives.”
“Hey little girl, your earthly father failed you, but your Heavenly Father adores you so. Every single inch, from the hairs on your head to the tips of your toes. He has a love I pray you embrace, a love I pray you hold onto in each passing moment. The ones full of giggles and crinkle eyed smiles, and also the ones that bring deep, regretful, excruciating pain.”
Our world is broken. It’s shattered, in pieces, and so difficult, sometimes painful to follow. Pain breeds pain. When people are lost, they can walk down roads that scare the hell out of us. Roads that cause you to betray the only people you could hurt only the way you could. Roads that cause you to light your loved ones on fire.
I thought about this mans life, I thought about the mother, about this little girl, and I thought about Jesus. If only this man had known the love of the father, could things have been different? Would he have treated his family with grace and love instead of persecution and hatred? I just wanted so badly to go back for her, I wanted to go back in time for them and tell them about the life Jesus intended for us. The life that holds freedom and wholeness, peace and purity.
Jesus has the ability to change lives. The ability to transform minds and save the hopeless. As badly as I wish I could change this little girls fate, change her story, I’m grateful for one thing today. I’m grateful that she was at church. It warmed my heart and brought me peace thinking that someone in the village was caring for her in a way that is beyond our human capacity. Someone there was connected to the Lord and wanted to share the love they received, pouring it out onto this little girl.
Usually a blog like this would find a way to end eloquently, bringing serenity to your heart, giving you a happy ending. I don’t have that for you. I don’t have words to justify her story. I can’t say that what happened to her was okay, I can’t say that her wounds were healed that day. But what I can say is that Jesus was present. I can say that He asked me to hold her. He asked me to give her kisses and make her feel beautiful, because if He was here that’s what He would do. He wants us to be physical representations of His love.
I can say that in a world so broken, so difficult and painful, that the only thing that settles my heart is God. That when I hear stories like this, I just want more of Him. Because in a world set on fire, He’s the only thing that makes sense, the only thing that brings healing, the only thing that soothes our burns.
