We couldn’t help but notice a small group of giggling little girls as we carried water on our heads to the worksite in the Village of Ntcheu, in Malawi. It occurred to me that little girls everywhere seem to be the same. They huddled together, speaking rapidly in their native language of Chechewa, giggling, holding on to each other’s arms and covering their mouths to suppress their glee. Except for their bare feet and torn dresses, they could be any of our own little girls. They were there to see the “Muzugus," the foreigners with their white skin and their strange hair, speaking their odd language. As we walked alongside the village women, the children followed us in a group off to the side. Wanting to interact with us, occasionally a brave one would break away from the group, run up to touch us, squeal, and run back. It’s hard to imagine the circumstances of the village until you see it with your own eyes. Their homes are simple one room huts made of mud. There is no electricity and no running water. There are no toilets. Most of the people we worked with have never left their village. Most have never ridden in a car. The food they eat is prepared over an outside fire with kindling that has been gathered and cooked with water that has been carried for quite a distance. The women are responsible for the majority of the work. You can see in the eyes of the young girls that they know with a certainty that their way will not be an easy one. When visitors come to their country, it is an amazing honor. They want to interact at any level. They want to see you, make eye contact with you, listen to you talk, touch you. As we worked each day with the people in the village, the children continued to follow us. This was a typical scene and every day was like the day before … until Ester. As we walked back to the water with our empty buckets, a little girl broke out from the group wanting desperately to interact with us. As she stepped out, she stopped in front of us to get our attention. She said in our language, “Hallow. My name is Esta. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. I am eighty-eight years old. 88? Ester! She stepped out because she wanted to interact with us. She gave us a simple sentence that didn’t make much sense. She didn’t stop to think if it would be perfect. She didn’t stop to think what might happen if we answered her back in our language and she didn’t have a response. She wanted to interact and Ester knew something that we sometimes miss: sometimes you just have to step out. A ministry was born that day. When we returned, Ester stayed in my heart. We determined that we would take little dresses to the girls when we returned. Our mission is to distribute little dresses in the name of Jesus to plant in the hearts of little girls that they are worthy. We use the dresses as a way to get into their homes and villages to discuss such things as clean water, nutrition and sanitation, and to give them the hope that they are not forgotten. Little Dresses for Africa changes lives here and across the ocean as groups join together to help others, crossing culture, age, gender, and denominational lines offer encouragement to God's most vulnerable: little girls. Dresses from 50 US states arrive daily and our goal of 1,000 dresses for a little village in Africa to close to 2 million dresses distributed in 46 countries of Africa and other countries in need. Sometimes we have to be more like Ester. We have to step out. We know what we do does not stop the rush of AIDS across that land.We plant the seeds. God sends the harvest. We want to interact, so we distribute these dresses in the only name that brings real hope: Jesus. Sometimes you just give what you’ve got and leave the rest to God. Because you want to interact with him, you just step out.
