Manisha

Manisha, as painted by June Steckler

The air was hot that night, in spite of the cover of darkness. The heat's usual trailing-off into some semblance of comparative coolness didn't happen. I would have welcomed a breeze, however laden it may be with the unpleasant scents of the distant, feces-lined roadway... but it was perfectly still and perfectly stifling. My punjabi stuck to my back. My chuni was suffocating me as it wrapped delicately around my neck. I let it slip down to rest on my chest and arms as I sat on the concrete steps of the girls' hostel. My head leaned against the cool white wall, getting what little relief I could from the smooth stone. 

Everyone was a little sluggish because of the oppressive heat. The warden fanned herself thoughtfully as the older girls sat combing each others' hair, applying the slick coconut oil that keeps it so neatly in place in those shiny black braids they always wear. The little girls played listlessly on the swings, trying to generate enough movement to create a breeze, get the warm air blowing in their faces as they flew. 

It was a quiet evening. But a whimper was coming from around the corner, in one of the two bare-floored rooms shared by the 40 girls living at the children's home. One of the oldest girls led the weeping little Manisha out into the yard and, exhausted from trying to halt her crying, simply directed her to sit on the steps. 

Manisha's tortured face disturbed me. I stood and took her hand, leading her to my spot against the wall. We sat down as she chattered brokenly to me through her tears.

Manisha's English is sparse at best, and my Telugu just as limited. But I knew she was crying for her mother. "Amma," she whispered. What could I do for this girl who missed her mother? Manisha's father died, and her mother was sick and blind in one eye. She could not afford to feed Manisha even a single meal per day, so she gave her into the care of the children's home. 

Manisha is 9 years old. Often frightened. Shy and reserved. She likes sliding down the slide at the girls' playground, a gift from a Texan church. She loves beautiful things and always examines any jewelry I wear with her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open in wonder at the American fashion of my friendship bracelet or a locket. I see her crying more than most of the other girls.

What can I do for this child? I thought hopelessly. A broken heart is not easily healed. So many of us find ourselves faced with pain in others or in ourselves, and what can we do? So often I am paralyzed with a desire to "fix it" but no vision for how to make it happen. 

As Manisha's fingers wrapped around mine that night, I wiped the tears from her cheeks and held her. I whispered a prayer over her and stroked her hair. Her tiny body relaxed, the tension softening with a simple embrace.

I was so touched by what June Steckler--a dear friend, artist, and writer who was inspired by this little girl's photographs--wrote about her painting of Manisha:

"In the photos I based this portrait on, Manisha looks wide-eyed, scared, and fairly torn up for such a little kid. I tweeked that a bit to make her look less frightened and more angry. My hope for her is that she can channel her fears into a kind of righteous anger that will propel her to have the strength, courage and love that will empower her to rise above the fear-worthy circumstances of her birth."

Pain paired with hope nourishes courage. Sadness and fear can be vehicles for change, and the best leaders in history have turned their fear into opportunity for exercise of bravery. Manisha has the potential to lead her community with love as she grows into a beautiful, confident young woman.

Pray with me for Manisha and many others like her--across all continents--who are faced with harsh realities. Maybe we cannot "fix it" but we can be there for the hurting ones who need love, providing an embrace, a prayer, a look of love. Start with the person closest to you. Pray for hope to work strength and courage into situations that seem beyond redemption. 

For more information about June's painting of Manisha, visit her lovely website, junesteckler.com