Amy Courts

Two years ago, a friend came back from Africa and told me a story about a little 5 year old girl he met who rarely spoke or smiled. He asked what was wrong with her, and was told she'd likely been raped and molested dozens, if not hundreds of times. Of times more than once in a day. "That's just the culture here," they told him. He spent a week earning her trust and loving her the right way, the Jesus way, and at the end of the week she told him her name.... Mercy. In May 2009, I found out...

Two years ago, a friend came back from Africa and told me a story about a little 5 year old girl he met who rarely spoke or smiled. He asked what was wrong with her, and was told she'd likely been raped and molested dozens, if not hundreds of times. Of times more than once in a day. "That's just the culture here," they told him. He spent a week earning her trust and loving her the right way, the Jesus way, and at the end of the week she told him her name.... Mercy. In May 2009, I found out that one of my best childhood friends, a girl who lived right down the street from me and with whom I played every day, shared a similar history with Mercy. Only, in her case, her father was her abuser. I only recently learned that when she mysteriously disappeared from school in 7th grade, it was because she was pregnant with his child. Then, in October 2009 I journeyed to Gulu, Uganda, spending six days with hundreds of children and adults who've known only war and loss, who are displaced from their villages while escaping unfathomable terror, but who are now beginning to rebuild their lives. I came face to face with people like Mercy upon whom the unthinkable has been forced, but who have overcome and now live in Love. They're a people marked by war and violence, disaster and disease. Many are living with malaria and AIDS...but with Hope. But the thing is, these people who have more cause and right to live in anger and bitterness, dwelling in a broken history, exhibit greater joy than I can conceive. They choose life. They choose love. And all they want is for the world to know they aren't a people of war and disease, but one of love and peace and joy and victory. I used to sing and write songs about my sad, depressed life. About losing love. About feeling sorry for myself. About internal, spiritual battles with lies and hate and theological discrepancies between theology and reality. About things I though mattered most. Surely, I'll continue writing songs like that. But my reason for singing has changed, and I hope the content will keep changing too. Because people like these deserve a voice. I'll lend mine, and hope it will do. You can lend yours too. Join Mocha Club for $7/month (the cost of two mochas) and help rescue little girls like Mercy who swarm the villages of Africa. She's not alone, and you can do something. www.mochaclub.org Or, if you can't do that, find someone next door, down the street, or at the market who needs love. They're worth whatever investment you make. I promise.