(Claire) Cry, The Beloved Country

Last night my heart broke as I read this paragraph in Alan Paton’s Cry, The Beloved Country. He paints a devastating picture of what can happen when oppression has ruled a people, and how from that point on fear robs you of the ability to hope. Though he’s writing about South Africa, I was struck by how many of the girls here in Medina experience this same isolation, and could relate to these painful words:

“Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.”

With their stories of abuse, violence, rejection and exploitation there are really only two ways to go: to die, or to choose never again to hope, to love, to dream, to believe – close up their hearts to all that surrounds them, hold it in their hands and run, far away. Smile, but not in their eyes, laugh, but not from their hearts. Nothing can hurt them any more, but behind the smiles are hurting eyes, wondering if anyone really ‘sees’ their pain.

Every moment with these girls is an incredible privilege. My prayer is that over time, I imagine years rather than months, there will be no need to hide, no need to run away. That through a process of being loved for who they are, every girl would feel safe to hope, to be free again to open her heart to the beauty of the world around her, and to believe that there is a reason to dance. I pray that the devastation of Paton’s words would be transformed for the girls into something like this:

“Dance, beloved daughters, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of your hope. Let her love the  earth deeply. Let her laugh gladly when the water runs through her fingers, stand silent when the sun makes red the veld with fire. Let her be moved when the birds of her land are singing, and give her heart to the mountain and the valley. For fear will not rob her if she gives of her heart.”