I sit at a table with three 11-year-old girls. They all look at me expectantly. Waiting for me to give an answer. But I am speechless.

On the other side of the porch, the women’s group erupts in laughter as they work through the Bible study.

The young men’s group continues in the kitchen. I can hear Victor explaining the passage and telling the boys to look at their Bibles.

But as I sit with our small group of girls, I am overwhelmed and feel utterly unprepared.

These girls are warriors.

Each of them gave their lives to Christ just last year.

They are each the only Christians in their families.

And they each share the struggles of persecution in different ways.

That evening, as we opened our Bibles together and began to dig into Ephesians 1, the girls read about how they were chosen and adopted by God.

Then, one by one, they began to weep.

“If God chose me, will He not also choose my family?”

“Will God save my mom and dad as well?”

 “I just want my little brothers and sisters to know Jesus like I do.”

Here I sit, surrounded by three warriors of faith who are not even out of elementary school, but yet have experienced more suffering for Jesus and more passion for their lost loved ones than I’ve had in my decades of serving Christ.

I desperately search for words to encourage them.

God is good. God is in control. “We will all pray that your families come to know the Lord,” I say.

Hannah stirs at my side. In a soft voice and wisdom beyond her years, she says, “Sometimes God says yes, sometimes God says no, and sometimes God says wait.”

These are the same words that I taught her when she first started coming to church two years ago. When I saw her hunger to know Jesus, but the fear in her eyes when she saw her older sister not at all interested.

That was until she gathered up her courage to step out of her sister’s shadow and follow Jesus on her own.

I smile at her. “Yes, we can pray, but only God will decide what to do.”

There is a quiet pause. Perhaps they are considering the possibility that their families will never know the Lord.

Grace sniffles and wipes away a tear. “But I love my family.”

She had started coming to Bible study to escape her dad’s drunken rages. Bible study nights had given her a safe refuge for a few hours and something to eat while she waited for dad to sleep and home to be safe.

Now she weeps for this same man to come to know the Lord.

Eliza lifts a trembling chin in a show of strength.

For the first year she would come to Bible study without a sweater, shivering as the night air blew.

When I insisted on knowing the reason, she reluctantly admitted why. Her mom didn’t want her to come to Bible study and would give Eliza all sorts of extra chores to try to keep her from coming.

Eliza would get up early on Thursdays to do all her chores and then slip out unnoticed when time for Bible study came. If she went inside to get her sweater, maybe mom would notice and give her more things to do to prevent her from coming. So she came without and endured the cold.

I have no words. No promises to give to these girls whose hearts are broken for their loved ones.

“Even though you each may feel alone in your homes, you are not alone here,” I say. “You are sisters in Christ and need to build each other up.”

I take Hannah’s hand and with a thoughtful gaze she reaches out for Grace. Grace beams a smile through her tears and reaches for Eliza. Eliza hesitates, still fighting against the moister in her own eyes.

“You have each other.” I repeat.

Eliza glances at me and I nod. She heaves a sigh and accepts Grace’s hand.

Now bonded in more ways than one, the girls look at each other. Then at me.

Hope now shines in their eyes.

I smile even though I don’t know what to do. There is nothing I can do. But the same God who saved these three girls is still at work.

I take a breath. “Let’s pray.”