Earlier this week, at around 11 p.m., I walked into my little girl’s bedroom.
She was asleep.
I picked her up from her bed, carried her into our room and put her in the bed with my husband and me.
Nothing had happened outside our house.
There was no immediate danger.
We live in Cape Town, thousands of kilometres away from where women were being found dead in and around Kempton Park.
But I didn’t want my daughter sleeping alone.
The next morning, I realised something that was difficult for me to admit.
Fear had entered my heart.
I am a woman of faith. I believe in the protection of God. I believe in the covering of the blood of Jesus. I believe that God is able to do exceedingly and abundantly above all that we could ask or imagine.
And still, that night, I was a mother who went to fetch her little girl from her bedroom because suddenly the world felt a little less safe.
This week has been dark for the women of South Africa.
We have watched the news unfold. We have seen the faces. We have read the stories. We have opened our phones day after day to more heartbreak.
And one story in particular has stayed with me.
A mother left her eight-year-old daughter at home and went for a run.
She never came home.
I keep thinking about that little girl.
Her mommy went for a run.
Something so ordinary.
Something a woman should be able to do.
And she never came home.
Gender-based violence and femicide has torn through our country for far too long. In November 2025, it was formally classified as a national disaster in South Africa.
And today, I don’t want to write another letter to women.
I want to speak to the godly men of South Africa.
Not to accuse you.
Not to make you responsible for the actions of violent men.
Not to ask you to defend yourselves by saying, “But not all men.”
I know.
There are good men.
I know because I am married to one.
And perhaps that is exactly why I am writing to you.
Good men, we need you.
We need you to step into the fullness of who God has called you to be.
We need you to understand that your life, your example, your voice and your presence matter perhaps far more than you realise.
I grew up in a home where I witnessed abuse.
My stepfather never abused us as children, but I watched my mother experience verbal and physical abuse.
My brother saw it too.
That was part of the picture of manhood placed in front of him.
My husband grew up very differently.
He grew up with godly parents who have now been married for 50 years. Not a perfect family. Not a family without difficulties. But he had an example.
And today, I get to experience the fruit of some of what was poured into him.
He has loved me well.
He has protected my heart.
He has been a beautiful, godly husband to me.
I watch him speak the Word of God into our children. I watch him father. I watch him lead.
But recently I have also been watching something else.
I’ve watched a beautiful relationship begin to develop between my husband and my brother.
Nothing dramatic.
No programme.
No stage.
No big announcement that says, I am going to mentor you now.
Just two men spending time together.
Talking.
Doing life.
And I have watched how simply being around someone who speaks to you differently can begin to shift the way you think.
And I wonder if sometimes we underestimate the power of that.
Maybe changing our country doesn’t always begin with a microphone.
Maybe sometimes it begins with one man looking at another man and saying:
Brother, I want to walk with you.
Because our boys need men.
Our young men need men.
Our husbands need other husbands.
Our fathers need other fathers.
And sometimes even a grown man needs someone to show him what he was never shown.
I see so many incredible women rising in South Africa.
Women gathering women.
Women mentoring girls.
Women creating spaces for healing, empowerment, prayer and growth.
I believe I am one of those women.
I know that God has called me to women and girls, and I want to spend my life being faithful with that calling.
But I am also raising a boy.
My little boy is 11 years old, and he gets to have a father who walks beside him. A father who teaches him, prays with him and shows him what it looks like to love God and to love his family.
And this week, I found myself thinking about another 11-year-old boy.
The one who doesn’t have that.
The boy who doesn’t have a father walking beside him. The young man who doesn’t have someone showing him another way. The husband trying to figure out marriage without ever having seen it done well. The father trying to become something he himself never had.
Who walks with him?
Because this week made me look at our boys.
And our men.
And think:
Who is walking with them?
Who is teaching the boy who has never seen a man love a woman well?
Who is walking with the young husband who doesn’t know how to be a husband because nobody ever showed him?
Who is speaking to the father who never had a father?
Who is reaching the young man before the world teaches him what being a man is supposed to look like?
Who is praying with him?
Who is showing him another way?
And perhaps, godly man, that person is you.
I don’t know what God has called you to do.
I don’t think it will look the same for every man.
Maybe it is one boy.
Maybe it is your son.
Maybe it is your nephew.
Maybe it is a young man in your church.
Maybe it is a struggling husband.
Maybe it is a friend.
Maybe God has placed something much bigger on your heart.
But I am asking you to ask Him.
Lord, what have You called me to do?
And then go.
Because Scripture speaks about the immeasurable greatness of God’s power toward those who believe, the mighty power He demonstrated when He raised Christ from the dead.
That power is not given to us so that we can live small, comfortable Christian lives untouched by the brokenness around us.
There is work to do.
There are men who need you.
There are boys who need you.
There are families who may look different one day because one godly man decided to show another man a different way.
So this is my plea to the godly men of South Africa.
Serve boldly.
Pray boldly.
Love boldly.
Step into the fullness of who God has called you to be.
Be the man who reaches for another man.
Be the man who says, Come, brother. Let’s walk together.
Be the man who shows a boy that strength and gentleness can live in the same body.
Be the man who demonstrates that leadership is not domination. It is responsibility. It is service. It is sacrifice. It is showing up.
And please know that this is not a woman standing across from you pointing a finger.
It is a woman standing beside you asking you to come.
Because we need you.
Our boys need you.
Our country needs godly men who are willing to stand up and serve other men.
A few nights ago, fear made me walk into my daughter’s bedroom and carry her into mine.
Somewhere else in our country, an eight-year-old little girl waited for her mommy to come home.
She didn’t.
I don’t have a neat ending for that.
I don’t think there should be one.
I just know that something has to change.
And so, to every godly man reading this:
Ask God where He needs you.
And when He shows you,
please go.