(This is a fictional story of a child living in poverty)
I am nobody. My mama
didn’t want to have a baby. After she gave birth to me, mama tried to leave me in
trash heaps on the outskirts of the slum. Only, I cried too loudly and a
Ugandan police officer found me as mama was hurrying away. He made her keep me.
Mama tells me every day how much she hates me. She tells me I’m stupid and an
ugly girl. I try to block out her mean words. It doesn’t work.
Ugly. Stupid. Nobody.
I wake up, sweating.
Sometimes I try to dream good dreams. I pretend my mama loves me. But then I
wake up.
I get up from my straw
pallet, trying not to wake mama. My bare feet touch the dirt floor and my head
hits the straw roof. I bend down to pick up the yellow water container that
sits by our door. I leave our mud hut and start the two mile walk to the pond
to fetch water. I reach the pond just as the sun begins to rise. Trying not to
scoop up floating bugs and animal dung, I dunk my water container into the
dirty water. I lift the heavy container and sit it on top of my head.
When I make it back to
our house, I see a woman talking to mama. The woman greets me with a smile as I
set down the filled water container.
“I was just telling
your mother about a program at the local church called Compassion.” The woman
says to me.
I look at the ground.
“Don’t mind her. She’s
stupid.” Mama says to the woman.
“I think she’s very
bright,” the woman tells mama. Then she turns to me, “and you are such a lovely
young lady too. I think you would do well in our program. How would you like to
come with me this morning to the church and sign you up to become a Compassion
sponsored child? You will receive homework help, have a warm meal every time
you come, and get to enjoy singing and dancing with other kids your age.”
I lift my head and
stare at the woman.
She thinks I’m bright? She thinks I’m lovely?
“How much do I have to
pay?” Mama asks, putting her hands on her hips.
“Nothing. Your daughter
will receive these benefits and more with no cost to you. She will be sponsored
by someone in another country who pays for her program expenses.”
“Fine.” Mama says shortly.
“If you come with us,
you can help fill out the required forms for you daughter.”
“I have to work.”
“I understand. Then you
will need to sign this form.” The woman says, handing mama a piece of paper and
pen. Mama quickly signs it then pushes me toward the woman.
“Stay as long as you
want. Less time I have to deal with you.”
The woman leads me up
the dirt path, away from mama and our mud hut. She reaches her hand toward me.
I flinch. But she only pats my shoulder nicely.
“My name is Grace, but
you can call me Auntie Grace. And what is your name, sweetheart?”
“Princess.” I murmur to
the ground, ashamed of my name. When mama tried to get rid of me like the
worthless baby I was, the police officer told her to ‘cherish this Princess you
were given’. Mama named me Princess to mock me and make me regret being a
burden to her.
“What a beautiful name
for a beautiful girl! You are indeed a Princess. After all, your father is the
King isn’t he?”
My father? A King? I don’t even know my father. I shake my head no.
“But of course. Your
Heavenly Father is King of all nations. And you, his daughter, are a Princess.”
We walk in silence the
rest of the way to church. I keep thinking about what she said. This woman I
just met, Grace, has said nicer things to me than mama has my whole nine years
of living.
When we arrive at the
church, many people are waiting in line outside. I stand in line with Auntie
Grace as she tells me more about Compassion. Every time she says the word, my heart
tingles and I smile a little. This program, this Compassion, sounds like an
answer to my prayers. But could it possibly be that good? Would people be nice
and helpful instead of mean and hurtful? Could this Compassion want a nobody in their special program?
Auntie Grace helps me
fill out my information sheet. I easily tell her my family, where I go to school
and what grade I am in. But then, Auntie Grace asks me what I’m good at. She
asks what my favorite school subject is. I don’t have any answers. I know I’m
not good at anything, I’m a nobody. I
used to have favorite subjects in school, but when I told mama about them, she
reminded me that I was stupid and didn’t know anything.
“I’m… uh… not good, I
can’t do anything.” I am close to tears. I realize that Compassion will never
allow me to be in their program, I am no one special.
“You must like
something. Everyone enjoys learning something.”
I take a deep breath
and tell Auntie Grace what I like to do, even though I know I’m no good at it.
“I like to read books.”
*******************************************************
I was accepted into the
Compassion program! Soon after that Saturday morning, I began attending the
activities held at the church. I even got a sponsor; a family from the United
States who chose to sponsor me. At the church, I learned proper hygiene, was helped with school work, given
medical checkup and best of all, I learned about Jesus! Mama always told me
Jesus didn’t die for ugly, unwanted girls like me. But at Compassion, they told
me Jesus died especially for ME! At first I didn’t believe them. Then I got my
first letter from my new sponsors:
Beautiful Princess,
I am so pleased to be your sponsor! My name is
Matthew and my wife, Janet, and I chose to sponsor you because of your name. We
have never been able to have children, so when we saw you, a lovely Princess of
God, we knew you were the one. The other reason we chose to sponsor you was
because we saw that you love to read. What a talent! Not everyone enjoys
reading. You are a smart girl! Princess, we will write to you often. Please
write to us because we care about you and want to be a part of your life.
We want you to know that Jesus loves you! Even when
you feel you don’t deserve His love, you do. Jesus will always love you! Janet and I love you too, Princess. We look
forward to learning more about you through letters.
With love always,
Matthew and Janet
The story of Princess
is fictional, but not so unlike the story of many girls around the world that
are told they don’t matter. Compassion can help change their self-image and
show them they are precious in the eyes of Jesus. But Compassion can’t do it
all. Please consider sponsoring a child, your letter may be the very thing she
needs to hear.
Give hope to the Princesses of our King.
