I let her go from my arms, but not from my heart.

Her name is Palovi (pronounced "paul-oh-vee"), and her mother, Mary, came to the Rahab’s Rope center a few years ago to seek refuge. She had been gang raped—and gave birth to Palovi 9 months later. Mary came with Palovi to the center just after she was born, and they lived there for about four years (until last January). At the center, David told me that Palovi was attached to her mother, refusing to let anyone else touch or hold her, and even ended up sitting in her mother’s lap during sewing classes.

Tonight, Mary brough Palovi to Anatalie’s house where about 12 of the women who lived at the old Rahab’s Rope center gathered to ride to Pushpa’s wedding. As we stood in the street trying to wave down three rickshaws, I felt something brush against my thigh, and looked down to see Palovi leaning against my leg. I knelt down next to her, gathering my yellow sari in my left hand to keep it from dragging in the dirt, and looked in her eyes. “You can be my girl, tonight,” I whispered softly, and held out my right hand. She put her tiny brown fingers in my palm and smiled back at me, and together we walked over to the rickshaws that the other girls had waved down. I ducked to step inside the middle one, lifting my little princess onto my lap, expecting her mother to sit beside me on the three person bench… “My motha,” Palovi said calmly as her mother climbed into the rickshaw in front of us and drove off. The little angel leaned back against my chest, stretched her legs just beyond my knees, grabbed my hand on her leg…and I gently rested my chin in her black hair as two others climbed in next to me, and the rickshaw driver took off down the street. We swerved and turned and shook and bumped and rode for an hour and 15 mins, and I noticed Palovi limp in my arms just 20 minutes into the drive, so I moved my left hand to hold her sleeping head still against my chest, my right hand fingers still clutched in her palm.

As I held the precious angel in my lap, I felt my wet tears dampen her beautiful black hair beneath my chin. The rape of her mother, the horror of her conception, the pain she represented… the beauty of her little body cradled in my arms…I shuddered to think of girls her age—just 5 years of age—that are chained in brothels and sold for thousands of dollars at this very moment. As the buildings flew by outside the rickshaw, I wondered what happened behind some of those walls, what the darkness of the rooms held, what the groups of men who sat on the road and stared at me holding this baby were thinking as they pointed and grunted my way—I held the little angel tighter and prayed that God would never let her go. Who would protect her? Who would provide for her? Would she become just like her mother—raped and forever shunned by her family and community?

I cringed as we arrived at the wedding the precious little girl was lifted from my arms, longing to hold her forever and protect her from the world she lives in—that I live in—that we live in.

I don’t know why Palovi felt so comfortable with me, why she trusted me so much, why she curled up and fell asleep in my lap and let me love her and hold her for just an hour tonight, but I am certain that I held part of the heart of God in my arms tonight-- the part that breaks, aches, hurts, and pains for His oppressed, suffering, and helpless children. I am also certain that He placed Palovi in my arms for a purpose, to show me His love for His children, and to break my heart for the little girls in this country in a irreparable way. Each day I am here, I am more aware of my own shortcomings, weaknesses, inabilities, and helplessness... more aware of how much I need grace and how much I don't deserve it, all the while forced to rely on God in ways I never have before. The more He reveals my own weaknesses, the more He reveals His own strength and love to me, reminding me that He holds each of us in His arms every second of every day--He never leaves us, nor forsakes us, and He loves us more than we can even fathom...