I could feel shame underneath the skin. White men.
40-79. Dozens walked the dingy streets, laughing and grinning. MY disgust was tangible.
Nobody comes here for tourism.
We awoke to the humid Manila air and drove on towards the west. Today was the first day I would experience the sex industry up close.
By 9:00 A.M. we had arrived in the little area of Subic.
We had heard of trafficking in this town and came to start a new ministry. This was the first spying of the land. God saw fit to give a couple of us the chance to be part of that.
Shanty houses and a local cemetery melted away to reveal an astonishing view of Gods creation. Islands, ships, tourists. Behind the buildings lay a tropical paradise.
Inside the bright colored brothels lay deadened souls.
Hungry eyes, men thirsty for control and power.
We started driving through a small area filled with strip clubs, bars, night clubs.
Several said angels for sale.
There is an emotion stronger than disgust and more tangible than hate that welled up in me.
I wanted justice. I wanted redemption. I wanted them to be rescued.
Yet I was utterly powerless.
Bar Girls, my heart breaks for them.
They walk amidst the street, dolled up, calling out to foreigners. I wondered what I looked like to them. A rapist? A pervert? An abuser? A source of income? They beckoned to me with hollow eyes.
We came to Subic with Josie, one of the brightest lights in these dark places. The day before she prepped us for what we would see here.
Josie is an unsung hero. Over the last couple of years she has decided that the rampant abuse cases and broken homes should not be swept under the rug
It’s the most humbly jarring experience to meet a woman who has decided that skeletons shouldn’t stay in closets.
One afternoon we jammed into a small van and went to the home Josie started. It was beautiful. Scripture was written on walls, little dorm rooms speckled with pastel colors, polka dots, journals, and the things a young girl loves. A couple dozen girls lived at the home, and as they arrived from school I could see one thing. One priceless, unforgettable thing.
They were still little girls.
You see, dirty men with wretched hearts took almost everyone of these girls and robbed them. Innocence lost. Hope deferred. Life broken seemingly forever because of some evil men. My soul churned and wept as I heard the stories of these little ones.
Josie spoke of nights where they hadn’t been able to fully, and legally call this place a shelter. So at least one night a week the girls had to go home. Often they would come back, eyes darkened, souls blackened.
They didn’t go back to love and hope. They went back into a hell they had been rescued from.
One night a week they were sent to the wolves, everyone knew it would be a night of rape and tears. The darkest part is that the best scenario was that for most of the week the girls were safe. This awful concession scenario was a hopeful improvement over life before this.
Now a days, these girls can stay and live. They are Josie’s Angels. They will NEVER be sold again.
The afternoon we spent there, one would never guess what had happened. Some of them laughed and sang Katy Perry songs. They watched Step Up downstairs and swooned over Channing Tatum. They go to school and get an education. They are being daily restored and renewed. They are reclaiming that part of them that has been stolen. They are still little girls.
Justice has started being dealt as well, one of the rapists is now in prison. They are not forgotten either. As much as we want them so suffer, die, and bear the brunt of the evil they have done, Christ has called us to so much more. So a prison ministry reaches out to the hardest to love.
That is utterly not of this earth.
Alabaster – Rend Collective Experiement
That day at the home was the beginning of a journey into a new thing for me.
Powerlessness.
Josie has felt the deep struggle inside, I am now just beginning to enter into that.
Walking the streets of Subic, knowing I am only here for a brief moment, I find that I am utterly broken for these girls. Yet I have to leave behind these wounded souls. I am overwhelmed by everything.
Subic was a port city with an Air force/Navy base nearby. Amidst the town live old sailors and ex-patriots. Open perverts. For years it was a stop for Johns. A classic place of debauchery and guilty nights.
In our little journey to scout out the land, Josie talked to one man who told of all the girls he has had in the last two weeks. Prices. The things he did. And the hardest part of all is that to him, these broken women are being given opportunity.
The man was audacious enough to believe that funneling money into prostitution is helping them support families and fight poverty.
We heard of girls often sold for 300 Pesos. Less than 10 dollars.
As we walked the streets, bar girls called out to me. I felt ashamed to be an American. No one thought I was there for the beaches and Jesus.
I was sickened to think that these girls secretly associated me with the old men walking around. I was broken to know that they wouldn’t even understand the story of Jesus.
A man.
Who loved them?
How outrageous that must sound to a bruised body far older than its age.
I felt powerless.
The other day I wrote a story of Redemption (Right Here)
It amazes me that out of all the stories in the universe, we live out one of being bought and sold. It cost so much to buy us. Yet instead of being used and abused like long-forgotten property, we are restored and brought into an inheritance.
What a loving God we serve. How fearful we should be of being bought and sold under any tyrant, yet the love of God makes his ownership utterly comforting.
I feel powerless. Every day I see more and more injustice. My heart burns in agony. Knowing that as I sleep… Knowing I cannot change what is happening.
Yet I have hope, people like Josie are changing that. One day she hopes to funnel street girls into rescue shelters. To fight the injustice done in the name of lust.
I can see God in so much of this. Isaiah opens with the condemnation of Israel for forgetting the orphan and the widow, for ignoring justice. I see people and a generation here though that are awaking to that. We don’t want to be another generation that watches the world burn.
I am just a small voice crying out in the darkness here but know one thing…
I am not a lone voice. Josie, Jeff, and many others here have been fighting, pioneering, crying, praying, sweating, to see this world changed.
You can be part of that work too. Be it supporting those young girls, or the missionaries on both the World Race and abroad. Or by even coming out here to fight the things going on. Pray about it. Don’t let the sun go down without thinking…
Am I really doing anything to stop this injustice?
That night we drove through. I saw through rain covered windows the neon red lights as we exited Subic. I began to sob. Silently, unable to share my tears with the people filled van. A man passes me by, in his late sixties. He has a young girl around his arm. My heart breaks.
I may not have the power to change this, I may be broken to my core and unable to breathe through tears, but I know of someone with real power. So I pray, and I pray that this man will be brought to extreme conviction. He will be broken by a lover he doesn’t understand. A God who gave everything for him. I pray that girl will be rescued, redeemed, and see a good life.
When all you can do is pray, you at least know someone far greater than you is ready to move.
Love of A Jealous Kind – Jars of Clay
Josie's girls need support, if anyone wants to write letters and financially support one to love on, Jesus would commend you for loving the least of these.?
