Please Help Me

“Please help me,” she begged. Kneeling before me, tears running down her face, she asked again, “Please help me.”

It was three days before I would leave Bolivia, and I was visiting the home of one of our patients. After welcoming me into the one room where she and her six children slept, she had offered me a glass of juice and begun telling me her story.

She told me of past trauma, of secrets that she had only before revealed to her priest, of the predatory lender for whom she slaved. “Please, just give me the money to pay off my debt,” she asked. “I won’t ask for anything else; just give me the money to pay my debt.”

I didn’t know what to do. Her debt was $1,000, and she was asking me to pay it. I don’t have a thousand dollars just lying around. And, more than that, how was I to know if her story was true? How could I trust that she wasn’t simply trying to manipulate me, a (relatively) wealthy American?

I asked if I could pray for her, and she agreed. As I prayed I couldn’t stop thinking of James 2:15-16, which says, “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?” This question kept echoing in my head. What good was it for me to pray for her, if I did nothing to help her?

I gave her everything I had in my pockets, just reserving enough change for bus fare home. It wouldn’t do much for her and her family, but, if her story of her children going hungry were true, it would at least purchase food for a day or two.

As I left, I promised to pray and to talk to some people and to see what I could do for her. I couldn’t promise to give her a thousand dollars, but I promised to help if I could.

When I got home, exhausted from the effort of listening, praying, and trying to decide what to do, I called my friend Javier, a lawyer. I told him her story, of the 20% per month interest the lender was charging. I hoped Javier would help, as he’d told me before about his interest in providing legal assistance to the poor. I couldn’t think of a better case to start with.

When he heard about the exorbitant interest, Javier confirmed my suspicions. “That’s illegal,” he told me. “5 or 6% is okay, but 20% is not.” He promised me to help her, that he would start the legal proceedings necessary to free her.

I left the following Monday, praying that Javier would be able to help, that, if her story were true, he would be able to take on her opponent and win.

I don’t know what will happen to this woman and her family. Will they lose their home, as they fear? Will she give into the despair that has tempted her to take her own life and that of her youngest children? I pray that the answer to these questions is no. I pray that God will take up her cause, that he will bring justice and set her free. I pray for Javier, that he will be able to pursue this case and win it.

I think that I made the right decision in this case. I think that I have done what I could for this woman and her family, even though it isn’t what she asked me to do. But these are questions I may never know the answer to.

I wish I knew, but I don’t. All I know is that I have entrusted them to my Heavenly Father, and that He loves them and has the power to save them. In that, I put my hope.