This past month, my team and I, as well as another team called Team Kintsu, partnered with an organization called Africa4Jesus in the Malealea Valley in Lesotho. Africa4Jesus itself does a multitude of ministries such as run a preschool on-site (those little nuggets are SO stinkin cute), disciple shepherd boys, host/ teach multiple bible studies in various villages during the week, have a church on the base, do village outreaches and much, much more. But, this month, our teams did village outreach/ relationship building in the morning and then manual labor type projects such as painting, pathway making, and ground leveling in the afternoons. I apologize for the delay in blog postings. We had extremely limited wifi, electricity, and at times, water access this month. I am hopeful that I will be able to post more frequently in months to come. Our month in Lesotho has now come to a close and our entire squad in in Durban, South Africa for debrief for a few days before we start our second month in Swaziland.
The following story is one from our time in Malealea.
“They’re going to beat her now.”
Our translator’s words stabbed like serrated knives in my chest as the reality of the home situation of the little 4-year-old girl, named Hope* we had been holding became clear.
She has been starved.
Her small arms, sunken eyes, and protruding belly show the disturbing lack of food.
She has been abused.
Burn marks and other small cuts on her body are proof of the physical trauma she has experienced in her short life.
As Hope ran home to her grandmother’s call, the weight of the words that had just been spoken hung on our team’s demeanor in mixed expressions of disbelief, anger, and extreme sadness.
I felt wrecked with helplessness.
This culture is not one that allows or approves of much intercession with regards to these matters but prefers them to be dealt with inside the family unit.
The entirety of my soul wanted to leap out of my body to protect her; to save this little girl from harm. But in that moment, in my weakness, God called us to pray. To seek Him first.
The events that have followed to help this girl have been slow going. Every inch of me that has been trained in working with youth and has, specifically, learned how to go about reporting child abuse in the US has been internally fighting against what has been asked of us by our ministry host: visit and love the family, gather information, wait.
My natural empathetic instincts tell me to move, to fight, to do, to fix, to try to save. But none of what we have been asked to do allow me the ability to do these things.
And then I heard another phrase spoken by a sweet woman in our village.
Morena Jesu. It means “King Jesus” in Sesotho.
It was a phrase I has heard before. But, these two words have been two that have hit me HARD this month from the first time I heard them spoken. They have smacked me in the face, brought me to my knees in worship, and then brought me to my feet in praise once again. This phrase is one that is repeated often here. In church. In villages. On the base.
Morena Jesu.
Morena Jesu.
He is King.
Even here. In every nation. He is King. He is on the throne.
“All the earth bows down to you; they sing praise to you, they sing praise to your name.”
Psalm 66:4
“The Lord reigns, let the earth be glad; let the distant shores rejoice.” Psalm 97:1
But unlike many tyrannical and oppressive Kings in history, He is a good King. He loves Hope more than I ever could and His dying for her was an expression of that unrelenting love.
She may be an orphan on this earth but, has been adopted into the Kingdom. She is an heir. She is worthy.
So even though I am weak in my flesh and feel helpless and there are limited actions I can take to help Hope, I will continue to lift her up to my King because Morena Jesu reigns and Our King is mighty to save.
*Name changed to protect the identity of the child
