There are no manuals for helping the poor. Every day holds a new challenge; over every hill is a new victory or defeat; behind every door may be an obstacle, seemingly impossible to overcome. There is a constant need to hear God's voice for the moment. The job cannot be done on our own, or we will go home early with tails tucked in and knees shaking.
Meet Shula Mulenga, a 22-year old Zambian woman who oversees orphan care and a Christian school which operates out of her parents' church in Maputo. This is Kutwanana, a ministry with which Orphan Hope is working. Shula knows too well the constant need to depend on God. She feels the desperation of these children. She writes:"Last week I visited the home of a child who has been abandoned with her granny. The granny was sick, weak and despondent, had no hope for the future, spoke for nearly an hour crying as she shared her life with me. I just held her hand in silence. She was so afraid of what would happen to her granddaughter if she were to die. I prayed a simple prayer and promised her food. Today I went to visit her again. She was well, happy, laughing with her neighbour. I joined her in her laughter for a while, then we spoke for nearly 45 minutes. By the end of our conversation she was being contentious with me and arguing with her neighbour.
I have two options: get annoyed at her or just laugh it off.
I chose to laugh-- why? because I remember how she was nearly dying last week and how God has changed the situation so that she has enough energy to be cantankerous with me. A part of me is saddened that she doesn't see the work of God in her life. We are such forgetful beings. I left her, not having solved her grandchild's problem. It's another one I leave before the Father. I am determined not to worry about the girl, Father knows what to do.""I have walked hard and long today but there is still one more walk to take. One of the girls from church has lost her mother. I rally up the youth and we go to the funeral. Her mother could have been saved from death, but she stubbornly stuck to her ancestors and would hear nothing of going to the hospital. My parents are not with me. What do I do? What's culturally right? I tell my girls to sing songs, I pray the boys can give a prayer--they do all that. I look around the room, and I wonder which one of these women poisoned the lady's mind so that she refused anything else but ancestral worship and witchcraft...it doesn't matter, she is dead now. They are quietly grieving. It's strange, people don't cry here, they are not encouraged to cry. We just have silence that is pregnant with grief, fighting to be expressed."
"Before we leave, we talk to our friend. She is in her world of grief that none of us can enter or even understand. She tells us she needs to go to school for an exam. In my head I am thinking, 'Girly, your mother just died,' but another side of me understands. We all need to cope with deep grief. We need distraction, and that's how she is coping. We leave her with her mother's friends and family, some who are involved in the cult that made her die. So I tell Father, here is another one I can't do anything more for. She is yours--I have done what I can for the day."
Without knowing the Father's great love, without having someone greater than ourselves to whom these situations can be entrusted, what hope would there be? Thank you, Shula, for sharing so vulnerably, that we can be jolted into remembering what many in the world deal with on a daily basis. May we also be reminded to pray for her--for broad shoulders, for wisdom to know which of the many needs to focus on, for the life of Jesus to continually spring up within her in the face of dryness and death.
