Hope, as I call her, is a beautiful, lovable, sweet 4 year old creation of God. Her story doesn’t begin or end with me, but I’m grateful for the parts of our stories that overlap. I met Hope in the beginning of our month of ministry in the Malealea Valley in Lesotho. She lives in the village of Hatsoeunyane, that my team had the opportunity to love on this entire month.
Hope joined us on our walks through the village and our talks with much of the community. The idea of new people and a different language seemed to make Hope uneasy. She’d follow us from home to home, but with enough distance that she could continue her thorough evaluation of us. She would only approach us as we urged with smiles and a motioning of our hands. Her skepticism never wavered, and the frown permanently painted on her face acted as a challenge for us. But no amount of smiling, tickling, hand holding, or high fives could replace her frown with a smile.
This is how we got to know Hope. A quiet, reserved little girl not amused by our desperate attempts to connect with her. But everyday we could count on Hope to be in our group with us from the moment we walked into the village until we said goodbye for that day. Always present with no words and no smiles.
On a particularly warm day near the end of our stay in Lesotho, Hope joined our group like always, but instead of being bundled up to her ears in winter clothes, she was sporting a fun summer outfit. An outfit that I can’t recall because in that moment all I could see was Hope’s abnormally skinny arms and legs and the scars from severe burns that took up about the 1/4 of the skin on one of her arms.
Quiet and unaffected, Hope sat and listened as we began to present question after question to the woman we were visiting. Lineo, a neighbor of Hope’s, that we had formed a relationship with fielded each of the questions that penetrated our hearts and minds. Hope focused her eyes on the ground as Lineo outlined the parts of Hope’s story she knew. I listened intently, hand in hand with Hope, as Lineo’s words sunk in with painful force. Hope’s mother had passed away, leaving her in the care of her grandmother, who was caring for 9 other children, 2 of her own and 7 more grandkids, during the same time. But the family conditions couldn’t surprise us anywhere near as much as the words that came next.
Hope is abused and starved by her family.
I examined her face in desperate attempts to understand what she could be thinking or feeling in reaction to her story unfolding in front of us, but nothing. No tears, no words, no reaction. I sat, stroking her hand, unsure of what things we were going to be told, attempting to console myself as much as console Hope. Never flinching, she allowed us to speak about her as if she weren’t sitting directly in front of us.
We were unaware, as we spoke, that one of the other children that lives with Hope had been listening as we spoke about the things Hope had been enduring at the hands of her family. As quietly as she came, she darted out of the group to run home and tell her family of what she’d heard. Before we could comprehend what was happening, Hope slipped her tiny hand from mine and away from the group, only accompanied by the cliff bar we could slip her and a single lollipop. Chasing after a lingering call from her grandmother demanding her home. Confused and heartbroken, we sat staring after her. Suddenly the reason for her frown and skepticism became blindingly clear. This beautiful presence had suffered more in her 4 years of life than I could ever comprehend. Unaware of what would come next for Hope we knew we had to go to her home and try to talk with her family.
We followed Hope home and were greeted with the sight of an already stripped child even more exposed as her grandmother bathed her naked body in desperate attempts to conceal the abuse that occurs behind closed doors. The malnourishment Hope was suffering from ever so apparent from her distended belly and tiny limbs. Never has Hope looked at us the way she did that day. At 4 years old, she had trained herself to turn off feeling. She slipped into a distant version of herself as her eyes pleaded for love. The last thing my flesh wanted to do was to interact with Hope’s grandmother or any of the family that allowed such horrendous things happen to such a sweet girl, but as quickly as those thoughts came, God eliminated them. He worked through me to love on that family like they’ve never been loved before. Each day, we’d find our way back to that home. Back to our sweet Hope and the newfound hope she’d given our team. Greeted by sweet hand-holding and the very rare slip of a smile, she’d warmly welcome us back into her life day after day. Hope watched as our team loved her but also as we loved her family.
Sunday was my final day with Hope, but it’s a day I will never forget. My incredible teammates hiked the hour back to the village of Hatsoeunyane to pick up Hope and her family to walk the hour back for church. When they arrived, surrounded by a swarm of children, I spotted Hope nestled into one of my teammate’s arms. Hope, always quiet, got passed from teammate to teammate as we each took our turn snuggling her and loving on her. When it was my turn, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I watched as this precious soul that had been so emotionally and physically damaged in the few short years she had been on earth, broke down all of her walls with us. She listened as I sang sweet words to her and held my hands. Her rare smile peeking its way through as she allowed herself to be comforted by my presence and love. I spent that church service snuggled up with Hope, and seated directly beside the women that have caused Hope so much pain and suffering.
After the time we spent with Hope and her family, I began to realize that I had diminished her story to one sentence, “Hope is abused and starved by her family.” I failed to truly seek her heart and give her a voice in her own story. And even though she rarely spoke, Hope had a louder voice than most of us. Hope allowed us into her life, but not only that, she taught us more about unconditional love than most of us had learned in our 20 some years of life. We walked into Hope’s story with nothing to offer but our love, and she warmly welcomed and loved us even better than we loved her. We couldn’t give her money, we rarely got to feed her, we loved those treating her poorly, and worst of all, we couldn’t rescue her from her suffering. But she loved us anyway. The one thing we can all learn from young children, is their ability to love.
This sweet, sweet girl has a story that’s power will continue to live on through the lives of others. I pray that her story resonates with you and provides you with a drive and desire to share God’s love even when it seems difficult. And although situations may seem bleak some days, be reminded that you too have hope through God.
Sadly, because our month in Lesotho came to a close we will no longer be working with Hope or her family. Not seeing a resolution for Hope is one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced, but I’m grateful to God for allowing us to bring light to her story and for the opportunity to plant seeds of God’s love in their hearts.
Our ministry hosts have a deep passion for the people of Lesotho. They have been so warm and encouraging while parts of Hope’s story were revealed to us. They will continue to pursue Hope until God tells them otherwise. I’m so grateful to have been able to work with people that are so passionate about their community and bringing the kingdom of God to the Malealea Valley in whatever capacity God has planned.
Please pray for Hope, her family, and the people of Lesotho.
Lesotho was an incredible month for us, and it seems unreal that we have already closed that chapter. Leaving was incredibly difficult for our entire team, but we are so thankful for the ways God worked in our month one. In a few days we will be heading to our month two country, Swaziland! Thank you for continuing to follow me in my journey this year.
With love x
