lice.

Linda is 14 years old.  Her eyes are lifeless.  Lice crawl in and out of her hair.  Her arms are covered with scars.  She used to use a razor blade, but since they took it away from her, she scratches deep holes into her forearms. 
 
Tears run down her face as she tells a small group of us that she was raped at age nine:  “I was really little, wasn’t I?”   The memory is so painful, and the terror is so real, that she has attempted suicide numerous times.  Last year, her mother died.  Her family doesn’t want her.  Now, she lives at IHNFA, a home in Honduras for at-risk girls.  Violence surrounds her.  No one notices the marks on her arms.  She is alone. 

 
We had been in Panama for a few days.  Chrin was straightening Maggie’s hair when, suddenly, something small and white caught her eye.  Jessica, who has worked with youth for many years, came over for an inspection. 
 
And then the diagnosis came.  Maggie has lice. 

Amaris and Maggie called me over to join the group.  They wanted me to share some of my story with Linda, to tell her of the hope that I had found in Jesus. 
 
I spoke to her about redemption.  I told her about healing.  I begged her not to kill herself, to remember that her life was worth more than that.  To remember that the God of the universe loves her.   I asked her to promise me. 
 

She wouldn’t. 
 

Over the next week, a few more of us fell to the epidemic.  And then it was my turn. 
 
I washed my hair with lice shampoo and sat patiently while Sara combed through every strand of my hair.  We bagged up all of our bedding and clothing, and now we wear shower caps everywhere we go. 
 

We prayed for Linda.  We cried with her and we let her cry on us.  We told her about a Love that was strong enough to change lives, even hers.  We hugged her and listened to her tell us stories of abuse, of adults who had hurt her, of pain that was too much for a little girl to bear. 
 
We sat with her.  We listened.  We told her that she is beautiful.  She is loved.  She is worthy.  She is good-enough. 

                        People avoid you.
 
                                      No one wants to touch you. 
 
                                                     No one wants to be around you.
 
                                                                           The risk is too high. 
 
                                                                                             You are an outcast, the girl with lice.
            

                                                                        You are dirty. 

 
And as we walked away, Linda pulled Amaris to the side and whispered something into her ear.  Amaris later translated it to us:
 

“I promise.”