We are at the midpoint of the month and life has taken on a sort-of routine. We are still asking the Lord for divine appointments and for His will to be done, however, a few events have been relatively constant week-to-week.
One of those events is football! On Monday and Wednesdays at “14” (2:00 PM), we meet up to play football (soccer) with some street kids. There are a few kids we have had the opportunity to make a connection with over the past couple of weeks, and I look forward to seeing them whenever I can.
Today, we headed to the field and didn’t run into any of “our” kids… or any kids in general. We waited at the field for a few minutes but they didn’t show up. Our team knows God never has us at a spot on accident so we found some kids that just got out of school and we asked if they wanted to play. They readily agreed.
We played a game where you stand in a circle, feet a little more than shoulder-width apart, and try to hit the ball between the legs of the other people. There were three girls to start but more came as we played, and soon we had a group of twelve or so boys and girls.
Everything was going well, we were all laughing and getting a bit competitive when I happened to look over at the young girl beside me. She had, just for a moment, been messing with one of her long sleeves and I noticed some odd marks on her arm. They were quickly covered up as she went on playing, but a feeling of dread snuck into my heart and I watched her a bit more closely. At one point, she had pulled up her long skirt to kick the ball and I saw the marks again, all down the back and sides of her legs.
My brain was instantly in denial mode. You don’t know what those are. You are just being dramatic. Obviously, it must be something else.
But my heart knew… Someone is beating this little girl, pretty regularly, by the various colors/ages and definition of the bruises. My guess would be, by the shape of the marks, is with a wire coat hanger.
Even now, my brain is telling me I don’t know, which is accurate- it’s impossible for me to know exactly what is going on…
I worked as childcare provider back in the States, and part of my training was on abuse/negligence and what to do if you saw bruises like those. In the state of Minnesota, I was legally required to call Child Protective Services if I even remotely suspected abuse, CPS would then consider the information and decide if an investigation was necessary.
I don’t know what this little girl’s home life is like, but I know, without a doubt, that if I were in the States and saw bruising like I did today, I would be on the phone within minutes with CPS, ready and willing to help rain hellfire down on whoever was harming the child. I can go from zero to “mama bear” in an instant, especially when it comes to young children.
But I’m not in the States. I’m in Zambia.
I’m not in my culture. Perhaps severe “corporal punishment” is part of this culture- but, since I have yet to experience anything like this before, I would have to say it isn’t, not to this extent. (Besides, without diving too much into the “white western savior” complex, shouldn’t something like a child’s basic rights supersede “culture”?)
I stood there, at the playground, absolutely furious but unable to decide what course of action to take. There MUST BE something I can do for this girl…..
I hear the Spirit whisper, “Pray.”
Are you actually kidding right now, Lord? Just pray??
But then I realized there was nothing I could do but pray.
And then I realized I have been looking at prayer completely wrong.
Prayer is an act of war, not a last ditch effort.
Sometimes prayer is the only thing we can do, but it’s also the best thing we can do. As Christians, we have the opportunity to join God in what He is doing, both here in the physical and in the spiritual realm. The enemy is coming against us and there is nothing more important than utilizing the power we’ve been given.
I have no idea if I am ever going to see this little girl again. I cannot be her knight in shining armor, “saving” her from whatever is happening in her life- that isn’t my role.
While all I want is to physically be able to protect this little one from what is happening in her life, what I can do is petition the King of the Universe on her behalf. Not half-heartedly, not to check off a box having done my “Christian duty,” but honestly and passionately, on my knees, in tears, intercede for this little one, knowing that God hears!
He hears and He cares! He knows her story; He knows where she has been and where she is going. He knows sees every sorrow, catches every tear, and has a plan for her. He loves her more than I can fathom.
I can’t physically step in and shield her, but I can go to war for this little girl.
Her name is Deborah. Will you join me on the front lines?
-L
