On the first few days of class she went unnoticed before me. On day three, I found her placed in the corner of the second row. With three to a seat, her fragile body sat squished between her much larger classmates and the divider separating the garage into classrooms. Among a class full of raised tiny hands begging to shout out the answer to my prompted question, I called on her. All eyes shifted towards her, the chosen one. My eyes bared her reaction: head hung low in defeat and insecurities. Uncomfortable under the spotlight, she hid her face inside her backpack placed on the desk. I walked over to her desk and placed my arms on the desk, surrounding her, closing her off from the scrutiny of the other students. I reached into the bag containing her tools for success yet heavy around her and lifted up her chin. Distinct and set apart from the others, I saw something deep in her eyes: hopelessness. And my eyes were opened.
On the surface it appeared she’d rather hide under the shame the label “stupid” brought than risk the fear of failure by going a new path, but in the depths of her eyes I saw more than a fear of rejection in failure. I saw a trained response in her believing that she was incapable, worthless, defeated.
The deeper I chased the dark rabbit down the bunny hole of her eyes and into her soul, I feared what I saw, what I knew in my gut to be true without any need for evidence. I instantly knew the fragile human being sitting in front of me had her treasure stolen from her at an unbearably young age. Her attempt to hide her face in class revealed the shame she wore as a scarlett letter under her uniform. Her avoidance of eye contact revealed the fear of someone seeing the dark truths hidden on the inside. Her flight from pictures revealed her self-hatred and disbelief of her beauty from the filth she wore on the inside.
I understood the exploitation she had encountered this far had created in her a worthless, imprisoned, complacency.
I wondered how many others in the room were just like her but better at hiding it….
I knew the statistic in America, 1 in 5 girls and 1 in 20 boys are victims of childhood sexual abuse.
But in Cambodia, 5% of girls and 6% of boys admit to being sexually abused before age 18. 5% may not seem like a large number until you compare it to the estimated number higher than 5 million kids under the age of 15 in Cambodia. That’s (under) estimated more than 250,000 children sexually abused children.
In America and Cambodia alike, Dads, uncles, grandpas, cousins, and family friends are sneaking into kids rooms at night to “tuck them in for bed” or calling them over to come sit in their laps.
In Cambodia, Parents are trading their children to traffickers for dinner on their table at night.
In Thailand, girls are being forced into prostitution to provide for their family.
It all seems disturbing and disgusting and distant even… until we think about what we do, or don’t do.
We walk past prostitutes on the street or see skimpy dressed women and think “they deserve what they get. They’ve chosen this lifestyle.” What we don’t see or know is how they got there. We don’t see the little girl at school peering up into her teachers eyes begging for someone to look deep enough to see what happens in the dark locked rooms at night. We don’t know that her daddy took advantage of her and gave her up to his friends or never wanted her and her mom couldn’t handle her. We don’t know that she was slipped a roofie at a bar and never seen again by friends or family.
“It doesn’t matter who chooses into that lifestyle. No one choose to stay in it.” – Susan Cox, DaySpring Villa.
Sex trafficking/prostitution may look different in every country but the cold hard truth boils down to the exploitation of women. “Johns” who care more about fulfilling their desire for the night more than the amount of drugs in the girls body to mentally and emotionally meet her quota for the night. Men (and women) who browse restricted areas on the web late at night unknowing or unwilling to forfeit their addiction to admit that pornography is the number one demand that supplies the sex trafficking industry.
It’s something that needs to be talked about. It’s something that has to be stopped.
One of our World Race teams, Sculpted Unity, is working hands on with ST ministry in bars in Thailand this month. My team is working with a sex trafficking preventive ministry called Remember Nhu this month. One of my new friends, Kristie Reville, is starting a ministry in Cambodia called Painted White Ministries that rescues women out of prostitution and brings restoration and purpose through faith based healing and teaching trades. I worked with an awesome ministry called DaySpring Villa last summer based in Tulsa, OK. There are options out there.
Let’s get started. Let’s get talking.
There is freedom in bringing the darkness into the light. Without it, there can not be healing. Your story could change someone’s life. Your willingness to serve may save someone’s life.
“If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me, even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” Psalm 139:11-12
— out of the dark and into the light,
KP
