Sophie Hartman

Images of leaving my upper-class education and culture and stepping into the dusty lives of children deemed filth triggered thoughts of a scripture passage I had read time and time again. Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly. Defend the rights of the poor and needy. Proverbs 31.8.9

He has called me to Zambia. I was there and then he told me he wants me to move there. I'm still in college, but I'm leaving soon. He's called me to be a mother in this nation. He's called me to serve these children and to be a voice for those who have no voice. It's crazy. Most of my friends and family are trying to stop me from going, but I can't say no. I love Jesus. I love him. I love him.

Oh, I love him.

Walking through the streets of shanty Zambian compounds does something to me. These compounds are slums, squalid, densely populated areas where poverty and disease are rampant.

Whether I return home with mud between my toes because of the rains, with dust in every crevice during the dry season, or with soiled clothes because of a mixture of urine and diarrhea from all my little friends, something unexplainable happens. My heart is moved every time, and something in the depths of me yearns for Jesus.

You will find that I have loved you, Lord. I have loved you hard and with abandon. My eyes are on you, locked in. I'm gazing. You will find me fully and wholly in love with you. I will drink this cup, this double agony, this double grief, this searing pain, this deep anger and this hatred of injustice because of them.

And I will love you wholly as I drink this cup, sowing in tears, sowing in tears, sowing in tears."

One afternoon in late 2010, I was walking home through the compound where I lived, dialoguing with Jesus about my day. Drunken men directed profanities at me as I passed a tavern, but simultaneously my eyes fixed on three little girls playing in the dirt just a few feet in front of them. Their soiled dresses barely covered their bottoms, making it obvious that they wore no undergarments.

My heart burned and adrenaline shot through my veins as I recalled that three days earlier, a young child was severely raped in an alley nearby.

A fire rose within me as I recalled another very complex sexual assault case in which three precious young girls confessed that they had agreed to give themselves to a man for a gift, which turned out to be a single lollipop for the three of them to share.

The transition from my Southwest Michigan normal to my new Zambian compound normal was tough. It was now normal to cry myself to sleep every night, to be fondled and grabbed by men throughout the day, and to encounter severely abused women and children. It was also normal to hear heinous sexual comments by drunken men.

It was normal to have bruises and sore limbs from being dragged into an alleyway, to be threatened with stoning and being thrown in fire while fighting, to rescue children, and to be harassed and followed by individuals with legions of unrestrained demons possessing them.

It was normal to hold babies who had been dumped in sewers, to feed children whose bellies and bottoms were being eaten away by worms. And to listen to little girls replay the abusive events of the night prior.

One day, after I had completed my primary responsibilities, I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to visit a crisis orphanage. I had been there only once before, and since then I had repeatedly asked Jesus for another opportunity to go.

I declared under my breath that because Jesus made it clear in the Bible that visiting the orphan was true religion, I knew that more would happen during my time at the orphanage than would meet my eye. I walked in and there she was. As she wiggled beneath three blankets, I could start to make out her tiny frame.

It was obvious just by her face, though, that malnourishment had left her entire body skeletal. Her body came to a rest as I drew her near. I looked down, gazing into her eyes. I couldn't help but stare at such beauty. She pulls her little fist close to her face and she rubs her tired eyes. I've never seen something so precious. My hand supports her damp bottom.

The smell of urine meets my nose as the most fragrant glory.

A fierce fire started to burn in me with the knowledge that I had been born to fight for justice. The core of my God-given personality combined with the circumstances of my life had given me a unique skill set that seemed particularly valuable in Zambia's darkest compounds.

I took a few steps in Espina's direction. She immediately retreated backward and began shouting, almost barking. In that moment, I became certain that she was under a demonic influence, and I immediately felt a generous boldness to share the gospel completely unhindered. I began to share the gospel from Genesis to Revelation. Espina was now seated with intense anger across her face.

I calmly approached her and gently placed my right hand on her head. She pulled away, falling down in the dirt, and immediately I could tell that the little girl inside her was held captive by darkness. I got down in the dirt beside her and proclaimed freedom over her. I could hear her calling out, Jesus! Jesus! And then suddenly she would stop.

I made no retreat and simply continued to declare freedom in Jesus' name. Espina thrashed around on the ground for quite a while, sometimes extending her hands up to the sky but kicking up a dust storm. She screamed as if her entire body was chained, and I stood in agreement with Jesus as he ordered the demons to let go.

In 2019, King 5 first met Sophie Hartman after she adopted two sisters from Zambia. She told us one has a rare neurological disorder called alternating hemiplegia of childhood, or AHC. At the time, Hartman set up a GoFundMe page to raise money for a wheelchair vehicle. Today, she faces second-degree assault charges against a child, her own daughter.

Kent County prosecutors are accusing Hartman of subjecting her daughter to medically unnecessary surgical procedures and restraints. Records say the girl underwent more than 474 medical appointments since 2016.

The strong ache in my stomach that felt like homesickness was for another country. A land where children ran freely and dust filled every crevice. A place so different and foreign, yet one where heaven met earth more clearly than I had ever seen before.

Sina Kafui screams of a divine artist's touch, one that faithfully brings forth beauty each day. Within moments of setting foot on the soil that day in 2008, draped behind the fierce beauty of Kafui's landscape, I witnessed the torments of everyday life by the people who called this compound home.

I saw malnourished children ply their way through sewage drains, chewing on plastic bags, and my heart burned in my chest. Filthy, unclothed babies crawling alone in the middle of the street caught me completely off guard, their desperate, empty eyes gazing lifelessly back at mine. The dramatic and contrasting reality that was present every day in Kafui devastated me, and I've never been the same.

But maybe I had been missing something. Maybe beauty could always be found in places long thought to be dark. And maybe beauty could still surface in places of utter darkness. That is, if someone was willing to fight for it.

My big Zambian family, you have changed my life forever. Thank you for not just being eager, but ecstatic about this book. And thank you for letting me tell those stories. I'm so grateful we'll get to be together in the age to come. I look forward to amazing chocolates and the biggest pillow fights forever. You are beautiful to me.

A believer very near to me aggressively questioned my decision. What do you know about helping people in Africa? And how do you think you can handle all the poverty and the horrible situations when you have never experienced that? You will not be safe. And all I'll be able to say when you come home is, I told you so.

We need to start with genetic testing and we need to start with a gastric scan to see how fast Contents are moving in herself. Okay.

Okay, so they did those two things the gastric Stan came back that like a normal stomach is supposed to empty within like 90 minutes and After four hours, so it showed a delayed gastric empty which would explain that like Food even after 30 minutes of sitting in your high chair is not moving out of her stomach So she's throwing up so it made perfect sense. We were like, okay great so then

the gastric provider was like, we, this is pretty darn bad. We need to talk about kind of intervention. Um, yeah.

Um, he just said, I think his word was, this is like, he called me on the phone to tell me, and he just said, this is pretty marked.

So her bowels is another story, but her stomach, yes. She definitely has had times where... So... Further testing indicated that she needed a saccostomy tube. So her delay is all the way down her gut and not just her stomach. Right, because the gastric emptying is like more like... Getting everything out of your stomach into your intestine. Into your intestine, sorry.

So then we figured that out and great, let's help get movement. We got a G-tube. But then if your lower bowel is not moving, then that's going to cause problems because you're getting stuff to go down. So she ended up getting a saccostomy tube as well and that flushes out her bowel.

She has a wheelchair and she has a walker. We still utilize those absolutely when she needs it, but it's not a 24-7 thing.

Or you have people looking at me like I'm crazy, like she's fine. Like I've had a provider be like, she doesn't need a wheelchair. She doesn't need braces. Like she needs to be a kid. And I'm like, do you think she could have gotten all of those things if there weren't

several individuals who are professionals in their field of orthotics and equipment that need to see those things in order for it to be warranted to be paid for insurance. Just like you have to get pre-authorization for an MRI, you can't just go and get a $13,000 wheelchair without the specialist, all of the... You just can't. That's silly.

It's not like I'm buying a wheelchair off the street and being like, hey, my kid needs a wheelchair. It's like, no, you have to have so many things in line.

Jesus, thank you so much for who you are. Thank you, God, for this house and this family and the generosity that so marks each one of our hearts. I thank you that you are growing all of us in generosity. God, I pray that at the forefront of our minds would be just this understanding of the gift that it is to be able to be generous. Thank you, God, that we are a privileged people.

But I wanted to say thank you. For those of you who have been here and saw me grow, you knew that I was a spitfire from the start and that God was going to do something kind of wild in my life. And so in the process of... getting to know him as someone falsely accused, right?

In that process for me and in joining him in that intimacy to see the house of my youth and the community that my parents are still fully immersed in stand firm and contend, firmly believing the call on my life, the character and the godliness of my family. I cannot thank you enough.

And so I just, I'm not gonna read these, but I just wanted to read the names from where these came from, because it's a reminder that yes, we may just be this church in Kalamazoo, but this is a house that is, waging war on the kingdom of evil. And so, Clements, Vander Plaats, Fraza.

And countless more that maybe were addressed to my folks or notes on Amazon wish lists for Christmas for my children. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of my family's heart, for standing firm in the gospel and firm in faith that he who began a good work in me in this house would bring it to completion. We ask for your continued prayers as we pursue systemic change.

Thank you.

Thank you.

would be like you could watch it on one side of her body be like all the way limp and then so and if she could crawl she would be like crawling with that one side and then dragging the other side oh my god and then it would switch you know go to the other side I'm like I'm a crazy person like what is happening every time I go in like to the doctor she wouldn't be exhibiting those symptoms I'm like I know this sounds crazy but I'm not making this up this is not this is not yeah well you're the mom yeah

So anyways, we decided, we started with the neurologist at Seattle Children's to pursue genetic testing. And the neurologist had seen, so we decided to do genetic testing. At that time, then the neurologist, like right before she was putting in the order or she put in the order, she went on emergency maternity leave.

So when a provider has put in the order, if they're not there, then you have to either get approval from someone else on their team or you have to wait until they're back. Well, I think she went into labor really early or something because it was an emergency. It wasn't planned. I knew she was pregnant or whatever.

But so then once she went on emergency maternity leave, I was like, okay, we can't wait the three, four months that this is going to be. What other provider can we... I'm like, these are the things that are going on. I don't want to wait. There's more GI stuff. Nothing that they're doing is working. We're just trying medicine, medicine, medicine, and it's not working.

So can we have a referral to go to Mary Bridge Children's for a second opinion? So we got that. And is that Mary Bridge in Tacoma? Okay. So we got that, and I... Got on the phone with them and I was like, hey, I'm not super happy with our care at Seattle Children's. We are struggling because I just don't feel like they take things seriously.

Also because my daughter appears to have a pretty severe but episodic condition. And the problem is that if I can't get her in that day, then they don't see what I'm talking about. And I'm taking videos, I'm sending them videos and they're like, Oh, you know, what did they say about the videos? They were just like, Oh, that's odd. Or, Oh, that does look like dystonia.

But then nothing ever happened. Just don't just like abnormal positioning. So that's another type of episode, which is like, so you see like, um, kids who have really severe like cerebral palsy, their body position gets locked. That's from like high muscle tone.

Can I ask where your family is? My family's in Michigan. What brought you out to Washington? We had friends out here from Kirkland and I had come out to visit. When I moved back from Zambia, I knew I didn't really want to live in Michigan because it's freezing. And after living in Zambia, like also you're like having no talk, but I loved it out here.

I knew that Seattle Children's was like this renowned hospital.

We moved back to the States basically because I knew, because I was living overseas in Zambia. Oh, wow. And I knew that there was something medical going on and we just don't have access to care. We immediately were seen at Seattle Children's.

So basically we started at Seattle Children's and kind of the first diagnostic that they did was a brain MRI and that indicated some brain damage that they likened thinking it's like due to drug and alcohol exposures.

Okay. Yes. Okay. Okay. So that was initial like, okay. Then I was still noticing a very like episodic, like she's not herself. Like she's still so young, but she's not herself. She's not okay. But then the next day she's okay. The next day she's kind of not. So we started going through, um, like EEG tests. I'm sorry, I don't know anything medical.

EEG is where they like put up like stickers on your head and it kind of reads your brain activity like epilepsy or like an episodic disorder. Okay, that makes sense. So we went through a few of those. Nothing really came of it, but I just kind of kept pushing. I'm like, nope, something's going on here. I don't know what this is, but it's like one day she's paralyzed, one day she's not.

What does the paralyzed look like? That's so scary to me. So she will be like...

paralyzed basically like out of nowhere like a slow progression yeah or it'll be like one side and then it kind of goes to the other side oh my god anyways how does that is it something like she's kind of playing like walking and then it hits her it's usually like trigger it's usually like a trigger so like sometimes um like cold weather or exposure to water or high emotion.

So like if she's super excited like Christmas morning. Yeah. Almost always she goes into episode because she's so excited. Yeah. And then it's like you know so I have to like okay let's put the presents out all through the month of December so you can see so it's not this like explosive excitement. Yeah.

He has called me to Zambia. I was there and then he told me he wants me to move there. I'm still in college, but I'm leaving soon. He's called me to be a mother in this nation. He's called me to serve these children and to be a voice for those who have no voice. It's crazy. Most of my friends and family are trying to stop me from going, but I can't say no. I love Jesus. I love him. I love him.

Oh, I love him.

Walking through the streets of shanty Zambian compounds does something to me. These compounds are slums, squalid, densely populated areas where poverty and disease are rampant.

Whether I return home with mud between my toes because of the rains, with dust in every crevice during the dry season, or with soiled clothes because of a mixture of urine and diarrhea from all my little friends, something unexplainable happens. My heart is moved every time, and something in the depths of me yearns for Jesus.

You will find that I have loved you, Lord. I have loved you hard and with abandon. My eyes are on you, locked in. I'm gazing. You will find me fully and wholly in love with you. I will drink this cup, this double agony, this double grief, this searing pain, this deep anger and this hatred of injustice because of them. And I will love you wholly as I drink this cup, sowing in tears.

Sowing in tears. Sowing in tears.

One afternoon in late 2010, I was walking home through the compound where I lived, dialoguing with Jesus about my day. Drunken men directed profanities at me as I passed a tavern, but simultaneously my eyes fixed on three little girls playing in the dirt just a few feet in front of them. Their soiled dresses barely covered their bottoms, making it obvious that they wore no undergarments.

My heart burned and adrenaline shot through my veins as I recalled that three days earlier, a young child was severely raped in an alley nearby.

A fire rose within me as I recalled another very complex sexual assault case in which three precious young girls confessed that they had agreed to give themselves to a man for a gift, which turned out to be a single lollipop for the three of them to share.

The transition from my Southwest Michigan normal to my new Zambian compound normal was tough. It was now normal to cry myself to sleep every night, to be fondled and grabbed by men throughout the day, and to encounter severely abused women and children. It was also normal to hear heinous sexual comments by drunken men

It was normal to have bruises and sore limbs from being dragged into an alleyway, to be threatened with stoning and being thrown in fire while fighting to rescue children, and to be harassed and followed by individuals with legions of unrestrained demons possessing them.

It was normal to hold babies who had been dumped in sewers, to feed children whose bellies and bottoms were being eaten away by worms, and to listen to little girls replay the abusive events of the night prior.

One day, after I had completed my primary responsibilities, I was prompted by the Holy Spirit to visit a crisis orphanage. I had been there only once before, and since then I had repeatedly asked Jesus for another opportunity to go.

I started noticing just kind of weird things or times where her body would just feel really different. Like it would either be super, super tight or like really limp.

I declared under my breath that because Jesus made it clear in the Bible that visiting the orphan was true religion, I knew that more would happen during my time at the orphanage than would meet my eye. I walked in and there she was. As she wiggled beneath three blankets, I could start to make out her tiny frame.

It was obvious just by her face, though, that malnourishment had left her entire body skeletal. Her body came to a rest as I drew her near. I looked down, gazing into her eyes. I couldn't help but stare at such beauty. She pulls her little fist close to her face and she rubs her tired eyes. I've never seen something so precious. My hand supports her damp bottom.

The smell of urine meets my nose as the most fragrant glory.

Doctors visits filled the first few years of her life.

And right away they found pretty significant brain damage. And so she was diagnosed with CP at the end of 2015.

But Sophie quickly realized was experiencing something much more concerning.

Complaining to the neurologist saying, like, she's having seizures, so they would bring her in for an EEG, and it was nothing. They're like, no, we don't see anything. Maybe she is. Here's the walls.

Sophie admits she started to question her own instincts.

There'd be times where she was, like, literally totally paralyzed, and I'd go to her doctors and be like,

I know she's walking right now but like she was literally paralyzed all day yesterday and they'd be like no that's not possible I'm like but like it she couldn't move like I'm telling you and they're like okay but she can now and I'm like right I know but after seeking a second opinion and running through genetic testing she also has one on the ATP 1A3 gene which is associated with a disorder called alternating hemiplegia of childhood

A fierce fire started to burn in me with the knowledge that I had been born to fight for justice. The core of my God-given personality combined with the circumstances of my life had given me a unique skill set that seemed particularly valuable in Zambia's darkest compounds.

I took a few steps in Espina's direction. She immediately retreated backward and began shouting, almost barking. In that moment, I became certain that she was under a demonic influence, and I immediately felt a generous boldness to share the gospel completely unhindered. I began to share the gospel from Genesis to Revelation. Espina was now seated with intense anger across her face.

I calmly approached her and gently placed my right hand on her head. She pulled away, falling down in the dirt, and immediately I could tell that the little girl inside her was held captive by darkness. I got down in the dirt beside her and proclaimed freedom over her. I could hear her calling out, Jesus! Jesus! And then suddenly she would stop.

I made no retreat and simply continued to declare freedom in Jesus' name. Espina thrashed around on the ground for quite a while, sometimes extending her hands up to the sky but kicking up a dust storm. She screamed as if her entire body was chained, and I stood in agreement with Jesus as he ordered the demons to let go.

which is a extremely rare, one in a million genetic disorder.

Every time I go in, like, to the doctor, she wouldn't be exhibiting those symptoms. I'm like, I know this sounds crazy, but I'm not making this up. This is not, this is not.

Yeah.

And she's right. It affects one in one million children. It is progressive and has no cure.

Wow, Lord, you took me up to the fullest extent on what I told you I was willing to do.

I went to Zambia after my freshman year of college on a month-long mission trip. And when I was there, I just encountered the plight of an orphan. Adoption wasn't on my radar at all.

The strong ache in my stomach that felt like homesickness was for another country. A land where children ran freely and dust filled every crevice. A place so different and foreign, yet one where heaven met earth more clearly than I had ever seen before.

Scenic Kafui screams of a divine artist's touch, one that faithfully brings forth beauty each day. Within moments of setting foot on the soil that day in 2008, draped behind the fierce beauty of Kafui's landscape, I witnessed the torments of everyday life by the people who called this compound home.

I saw malnourished children ply their way through sewage drains, chewing on plastic bags, and my heart burned in my chest. Filthy, unclothed babies crawling alone in the middle of the street caught me completely off guard, their desperate, empty eyes gazing lifelessly back at mine. The dramatic and contrasting reality that was present every day in Kafui devastated me, and I've never been the same.

But maybe I had been missing something. Maybe beauty could always be found in places long thought to be dark. And maybe beauty could still surface in places of utter darkness. That is, if someone was willing to fight for it.

My big Zambian family, you have changed my life forever. Thank you for not just being eager, but ecstatic about this book. And thank you for letting me tell those stories. I'm so grateful we'll get to be together in the age to come. I look forward to amazing chocolates and the biggest pillow fights forever. You are beautiful to me.

A believer very near to me aggressively questioned my decision. What do you know about helping people in Africa? And how do you think you can handle all the poverty and the horrible situations when you have never experienced that? You will not be safe. And all I'll be able to say when you come home is, I told you so.

Images of leaving my upper-class education and culture and stepping into the dusty lives of children deemed filth triggered thoughts of a scripture passage I had read time and time again. Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly. Defend the rights of the poor and needy. Proverbs 31.8.9

Every time I go in, like, to the doctor, she wouldn't be exhibiting those symptoms. I'm like, I know this sounds crazy, but I'm not making this up. This is not, this is not.

Yeah.