Last night I saw a group of young men and women, absolutely wasted, watching Thai women dancing on poles high above, laughing and making lustful jokes. If you had asked me a month ago what I would be thinking at that moment I would have said 'anger'. But I felt no anger last night, or any of the nights before. I felt no anger when I watched a young man exchange money with another man as he picked a woman for the night. I felt no anger when I witnessed a woman price herself, as though her worth could be bought for money.
There is no anger in me, only a mirror in front. From the first night I stepped onto Bangla, there has been a small but unavoidable mirror hanging just out of reach. It's ugly, and cracked in the corner, but absolutely clear. Every time a thought of anger, or frustration, or judgement enters my mind, the mirror is there, showing reflections of my past.
How can I feel anger when I was that person. The girl who looks fresh out of highschool, with a shot in her hand and a vodka on the table, watching the dancers with curiosity in her eyes, trying to catch the attention of the young man to her right… that was me.
Everywhere I look on Bangla I see my past. Women with a false confidence and no self-worth, seeking attention, looking for a man or woman to awknowledge them, using their bodies to define their identity, bound and locked in chains invisible to their blind eyes.
I see reflections of who I used to be in the ugly cracked mirror, and the closeset emotion to anger I feel is pity and sadness. But the emotions I feel most are grace and joy. And that's the lesson God has been teaching me. Grace.
God had tremendous grace for me. He watched me walk through dark places, the secret places I kept hidden from family but openly shared with equally broken friends. He held my hand as I went to youth group on Friday night, and He didn't let go when I had 3 shots to many and went 2 steps to far with a boy on Saurday. He listenened as I lied to my parents on Sunday, and rushed through a half-hearted prayer each night out of habit.
I can't imagine how His heart hurt for me, longed for me night after night, year after year, as I walked through most of my youth locked in chains. But even on the worst days, and worst nights, He had grace for me. He fought for me, and loved me, and picked me up when I finally broke down.
Now my life looks vastly different. I don't spend my weekends in a drunken stupor, or have an unhealthy sexual curiosity. I don't pray with half my heart, or find my worth in the eyes or arms of a boy.
But I still need grace. Sometimes I lie, and I struggle with greed, and once in a while I walk the line of gossip and slander. And God still has grace for me.
Right now He is teaching me how to feel and extend His grace to others. I don't feel anger on Bangla, because I can look in a mirror and not only see my past, but also the grace God showed me, and the love he gave me in the midst of my rebellion. I can replay every step of how I went from broken to whole… and in every step His grace and love was there pulling me forward.
I have no place to be angry, to hate, or to judge. I only have the right to give grace, and show love, and be an example to those around me. To pull them out of broken and walk them towards whole.
The ugly, cracked mirror, has started fading a little each night. Grace is slowly becoming a natural state. It's hard, and not always perfect, but it is beautiful, and filled with joy and redemption.
