Can you solve this riddle?
What is…?
intelligent, holy, unique
manifold, subtle, agile,
clear, unstained, certain,
unhampered, beneficent, firm,
all-powerful, all-seeing, pervading all spirits…
“She penetrates and pervades all things by reason of her
purity. For she is an aura of the might
of God, and a pure effusion of the glory of the Almighty… She is a spotless
mirror of the power of God, the image of his goodness… She renews everything
while herself perduring. For she is
fairer than the sun and surpasses all constellation of stars…”
(Wisdom 7:22-29)
Wisdom: it’s the rain to a parched heart and the air to
my daily breathing. It’s necessary for success
in laboring for the Lord and required for resilience that feeds my survival. It keeps me from giving up while enabling me
to let go. To let go and let God. Especially during weeks like this one.
Saturday, Dec. 6th
Leah(fake name) seemed to be having a difficult couple
days. She was rather moody and seemed
like nothing could lift her spirits no matter what we said or did. Her recent depression and mood swings have
valid reasons—past sexual abuse and separation from family are just a couple,
and I could only will away the inner turmoil she was in. Still, it was frustrating that she wasn’t
letting me or anyone else help, especially because she had recently been quite
grateful and open to help. Her dramatic
elevation of negativity irritated me and when she acted out like a 12 year old
to get attention, I ignored her. I was
not about to feed into her “pity me” party after all the progress we had
recently gone through. Months ago, Leah
had asked me to write her a song with a happy ending, “A song about anything as
long as it ends happy,” she requested. I
had put it off for so long, but now I needed to put my emotions for her down on
paper. So, while the other girls were
watching silent TV (the old tv we have in the girls home doesn’t have sound, so
they call it “watching an album” as if they are watching pictures instead) I
shut myself in my room and worked hard on writing her a new song. If my
conversation with her isn’t getting through, maybe music, which she loves more
than anything will break through to her.
She’s buried under silence
of memories from that night
when a man left her lifeless,
her hopes and dreams now muted cries …
I was interrupted with a knock
on the door. Emily came into my room and
said, “Leah wants to know if…” and made a request of me.
“No,” I answered succinctly and
went back to my writing. Emily was taken
a little off guard and paused for a moment as if she were waiting for me to say
I was joking. “No, I already told her
no. And the answer is most definitely no
if she can’t come in here herself and ask,” I explained. Emily quietly shut the door.
All that’s left is fear that haunts her
Sick of suffering, she’d rather die
All alone the emptiness taunts her
Not believing I’ll fight for her life…
I heard a door slam. Probably
Leah, I thought. I went back to my
paper and finished the lyrics.
There’s a love that’s unfailing
There’s a truth that’s unchanging
There’s a hope that’s unending
Oh what I would do, to give this to you
Satisfied, I sang it out on
guitar. I think this will really help! I thought, and I left my room,
hopeful of giving some encouragement to Leah without feeding her fire of attention-getting.
I opened the door and saw Leah
lying on the bed asleep. She was facing
away from the door, the opposite way of how she normally sleeps in her lower
bunk. One leg was sprawled near the edge
of the bed so that her ankle was hanging off the mattress.
“Leah,” I said excitedly,
knowing that she had just gotten into bed not more than 15 minutes earlier and
couldn’t be that deeply asleep. But she
didn’t answer. “Leah, I finished my song
for you, want to hear it?”
No answer.
I stepped closer to the bed but
nearly tripped on something at my feet.
Empty pill bottles lay on the floor by her near-empty water bottle. I paused and assessed the scene. Two pill bottles were upright and empty,
another was knocked on its side, also empty.
A bag of half-filled pills also lay next to the water bottle.
My first thought was obvious;
she’s attempting suicide. But while my
heart was in my throat and I nearly had a panic attack, my gut told me
something was strange about the way the bottles were laid out, as if they were
set up meticulously on a stage, and I doubted Leah consumed all of the pills.
Still, I obviously had to be sure. I
shook her, but she didn’t move. My heart
started pounding faster as the worst passed through my mind. Did she
take the pills? Is this her dying body?!
I saw a folded up piece of paper
at her feet that said, “To whoever finds this note, please give it to
_________.” Though tempted to read it, I
refused to touch the letter at first. I
refused to believe the dark thoughts clouding me. Instead, I demanded the sleeping Leah get out
of bed. I shook her harder for the third
time and when she moved, my breath deflated my chest like a popped
balloon. Phew, I thought, she’s still
alive. I rolled her over but she
covered her face with her hands. “Leah,
get up,” I exhaled in a sing-song voice, trying to cover the terror that was
still in my throat. “I have the song you
asked for.” I didn’t say anything about the pills or the letter, pretending I
didn’t see them. “Come to my room so I can
sing it.”
She slowly got up, turning so I
couldn’t see her face and marched out of the room ahead of me. When we got to my room, she sank down on Titi’s
bed and let her head fall in her hands, waiting for my song. I played part of it and when I finished, she
said quietly, “That was really good, Mama Kate.” That’s when I knew she was okay. And that’s when I started reprimanding
her.
“So is that a suicide note in
there?” I said suddenly.
She shook her head no.
“Really? What about the
pills? What are you trying to do, Leah?”
my voice rose in transparent anger.
“Nothing,” she responded.
“Did you take the pills?” I
asked in anxiety, though deep down something told me she hadn’t.
“No.”
“Then look at me,” I
demanded. But she refused to let me see
her face.
“So, did you do all this for
attention? To scare me? Or to actually kill yourself?”
“To kill myself…” she said
quietly. “But I didn’t take the pills
yet.”
“Where are they?”
“Under my pillow.”
“Go, show me, and get rid of
them right now.”
“I already flushed them,” she
changed her story.
‘“Leah, first you took them,
then you didn’t, next they’re under your pillow, and now you flushed them? Where are they?” I grew impatient.
“Mama Kate, can I just go get
rid of them myself?”
“Absolutely not.”
She grumbled, got up, and darted
out of my room. I followed at her heels
as she fell back on her bed to dig for the pills. She handed me a small box filled with them. Phew
again, I thought. So, she didn’t
take them. But how do I know these are
all of them? How do I know she didn’t
take any? She was still acting so
strange that I couldn’t be sure. I
disposed of the pills and came back to her and asked again if she had taken
any. She said no, but I was so nervous I
didn’t know if I could believe her. What
if she did take them and I believed her that she didn’t? By morning she’d be dead and it’d be my
fault.
“I’m taking you to the hospital,”
I said suddenly.
“No,” she spat. “I’m not going.”
“Well, you made it look like you
took pills so how do I know you’re okay, Leah?
How can I trust you?”
“I don’t need to go to the
hospital. I didn’t take any. It wasn’t going to work,” she confessed. She was probably right. The pills she wanted to take were old HIV
pills and a mix of another kind. It
would have done grave damage, but not quickly.
And she would have suffered for awhile first. Unfortunately, she had another attempt with
other pills in the past, and she knew the pills she had access to here wouldn’t
do damage fast enough.
I held back tears and a fistful
of anger at the same time. She lay back
down on the couch and claimed she was going to sleep there tonight.
“Convince me that you’re okay,
Leah,” I sighed.
“I’m fine,” she grumbled. “Good night.”
“I’m not convinced.”
She just shrugged and pulled a
blanket up to her ears.
“Fine,” I said, “Then I’ll stay
up until I know you are.” I left the
room to retrieve my journal and book and came back out and sat on the adjacent
couch. I scribbled frustrations in my
journal about how it was such a long day and all I wanted was to sleep. Instead it was already past midnight and I
had to will myself awake to make sure Leah was okay. I prayed and talked to God, and I just felt
his peace reassure me to place Leah in His hands and not to take the burden on
myself. So I entrusted her to God and
the wisdom I felt telling me that she was fine and didn’t take any pills. Finally, I climbed in bed and fell asleep,
praying for more and more wisdom to get me through.
Monday, Dec. 8th
Two days later, an unrecognized
number sang my phone’s standard ring tone.
I frowned at the unknown number and paused, deciding whether or not to
answer it. Too often, far too often, I
get calls from random numbers, asking for help.
It’s not that I’m sick of helping people, but their requests are of
money, mostly all for school fees. I don’t
even know these people but they get my number from someone and ask for
help. I’m not a walking ATM machine, and I’m not
here for handouts. I’m here for
relationships, for hope, and for healing.
So, I started just ignoring any unknown numbers unless they call
repeatedly in a short period of time because that usually means it’s someone I
know calling from a different number or the person really, really needs
help.
I let the phone ring a few more
times and then answered. It was a police
officer on the other end.
“Hello, m’am,” he greeted
politely. “I’m Simelane from the police
station.”
My stomach did a loop-dee-loop. Great, what happened now? I feared his reason for calling.
“I’m calling on behalf of Tracy
(fake name for one of our girls). You
are her guardian, correct?”
Tracy had just left two days ago
with her mother to enjoy the holidays back at home. “Yes, I’m her guardian.”
“Okay, great. I’m the officer in charge of her case,” he
continued. Tracy had been raped and the
trial was finally being brought to court. “She, um…well, she broke down yesterday at
court and she had to leave. I’m afraid
if she can’t testify we won’t be able to carry out the case,” he
explained.
“Well, she’s with her mom right
now for the holidays,” I said, “But please let me know what I can do to help.”
He was very thankful and said
Tracy wanted me at the next court trial.
He explained she was to see the counselor at the end of the week and
then would continue trial the following week.
“I will let you know when we need you there,” he said and hung up.
I was devastated for Tracy. This poor, far too young girl, who had been
raped a year ago now has to be the one to testify against a man who stripped
the life from her—a man she thought she’d never have to face again, a man who
would walk free if she couldn’t hold it together at the next trial.
Wednesday, Dec.
10th
By mid-week, over half of the
house was emptied of the girls who went home for the holidays. A few girls now remain in the house, ones who
don’t have anyone—not even an aunt, uncle, or relative—to spend the holidays
with or ones whose home environments aren’t safe, even for a week-long
visit.
Wendy (fake name) was one of the
girls who had already gone home with her mother, a young 30 some year old who
found out her daughter was in Manzini (not Mozambique like she thought) with
her abusive father and step-mother (before being moved into this home this
year). Her mother, who took great joy in
finding her daughter, came to the girls home to spend some time with us before
taking Wendy home for the holidays.
Several days later, she contacted Gogo with some alarming news. Gogo contacted Titi, and Titi had the grave
duty of relaying it to me.
“I have sad news, sisi,” Titi
said. “Wendy is pregnant. Her mother just found out.”
I felt like an arrow hit me
between the ribs. Pregnant? No! My thoughts raced on, thinking of our sweet
13 year old who had blossomed miraculously in these past several months, going
from a timid, fearing-for-her-life, never smiling girl to a giggling, bubbling,
intelligent, joke-telling young teenager.
Before coming into the home just five months ago, she had been raped
several times walking home from school.
Additionally, she was also abused and beat ruthlessly by her father, and
there was speculation that he had raped her, too. Now, out of the walls of our home, Wendy
finds out the past that she had run from and felt rescued from is now still growing
in her womb.
Thursday-Friday,
Dec. 11th-12th
To wrap up the week, I faced my
own battle of pain as a friend, who once was more, spent two whole days,
sacrificing his time and energy to help me out doing things for the girls. Sitting in the passenger seat as he drove us
around, it was hard not to imagine what life would have been like with him always
at my side. Just his presence, his
laugh, the way he looks at me can set my heart at ease. He had told me a week prior, “You’re still
number one on my list.” I laughed to
myself, knowing I could never be with a man who has a list. I’m not going to be number one on anyone’s
list, I thought, I should be the only
one.
As if my week wasn’t heavy enough
to handle, news from back home about some of my American kids was extremely
unsettling. A boy, who told me awhile
ago that he had been “locked up” and had relapsed again, recently messaged to say things just weren’t
getting better, but he won’t take my advice even though he reaches out for
help. Another two of my girls whom I had
poured so much into while I was in the States both remain dabbling into drugs
and other things that temporarily satisfy, and one’s extreme behavior with guys
and drugs is painfully disappointing.
Not to mention broken friendships, unforgiveness and fist fights. If I
hadn’t invested so much it wouldn’t hurt so much. Sometimes I wonder if it was all wasted efforts and I should have poured into those with more fertile soil, but then I remember it is
not me who causes growth. One plants,
one waters, “but only God causes growth…” 1 Corinthians 3:7
Wisdom.
So, as Wisdom tells me to do, I
offer up all of these whom I dearly love both near and far, who have varying
battles of pain and darkness; without giving up, I let them go into the Hands
of hope—the only hands that can heal, save, and satisfy.
And then I pray for the wisdom
that “penetrates and pervades all things by reason of her purity. For she is an aura of the might of God, and a
pure effusion of the glory of the Almighty… She is a spotless mirror of the
power of God, the image of his goodness… She renews everything while herself
perduring.”
Wisdom will be my survival pack.
