The Girl with No Name

By Cec Murphey

I don’t hear the term “a mother in Israel” used often these days. It appears only a couple of times in the Old Testament. When I was fairly young in the faith, I used to hear it regularly.

The term refers to a woman who wraps her arms around others and expresses nurturing, motherly love, or ministry to the hurting. She is not necessarily a birth mother.

I want to tell you about a mother in Israel. The story goes back to the days my wife, Shirley, and I spent in Kenya. After we had been there at least a year, Shirley, who had learned the Luo language, went to a women’s convention with Africans Margaret and Wilfrida.

After they arrived at Kadem in our VW Bug, Shirley saw a little girl sitting alone next to a fire outside a hut. She guessed the child was maybe eight years old. Her matted hair, dirty skin, and a dress that defied naming the color stirred up deep compassion in Shirley. She held out her hand to the child and introduced herself.

The girl stared at her mutely.

Shirley tried again to talk to her.

One of the women said, “Just ignore her. She doesn’t talk.”

“What’s her name?” my wife asked.

The woman shrugged. “We forget. She doesn’t have a name.”

She told Shirley that the girl had been normal as an infant, but when she was a toddler she fell into the cooking fire and her head struck one of the large stones. She also burned her back and still had scars. “Since then, she doesn’t speak. She points or gestures and we understand,” the woman said.

Although Shirley couldn’t put it into words, she felt a deep tenderness for the girl. She took the child’s hand and they walked together to the hut where the guests stayed.

From that time on, little No Name constantly stayed at Shirley’s side. When my wife stood to speak, No Name sat in her chair. As soon as Shirley returned, the little girl sat in her lap. Shirley hugged her often and spoke softly to her. No Name gave no indication she heard or understood.

At the end of the convention, Shirley, Margaret, and Wilfrida packed the VW and prepared to leave. Little No Name ran up to the car and jumped on the running board. “Aheri,” she said.

“She’s talking!” Margaret yelled. Soon at least twenty women gathered around and marveled at the words of the child. “It’s a miracle!”

And it was a miracle.

And perhaps just as great a miracle was what she said to Shirley.

“Aheri” means “I love you.”