Written April 3, 2012
Up above the neon signs and the constant stream of tourists,
there she was.
Her eyes were covered by a colorful mask,
her dress flowing out behind her too-skinny frame as she twirled slowly on the pole.
She looked down at the world below,
a million people casually glancing at her as they make their way to the next alcohol induced high.
But no one really sees her.
No one can hear her screaming for help in her glass cage.
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I watched her blonde hair flow steadily behind her.
I watched her blank eyes stare straight ahead.
She twirled slowly, ignoring the millions of tourists who were content with ignoring her as well.
And it was there that my heart found His.
Many times in my life, since becoming a Christian, I have asked God to break my heart for what breaks His. Let me tell you, this is a dangerous prayer.
Because He will do it.
I can’t even tell you how much my heart has been destroyed for the girls in the glass boxes.
These beautiful girls that have been taken from their families, their homes, and sold to men who only use them for their unsatiable sexual desires.
The worst part is that I can see them,
but I can’t get to them.
I wish I could be Liam Neeson for two seconds so I could charge into that club and take them all away.
Tell them that they are beautiful and perfect and how much their Father loves them.
Standing under a glass box, watching this girl spin around, is where my heart met God’s
In that moment, my heart broke with His for this girl.
For all of the 1,500 girls who work on Bangla Road.
I can’t help but pray for that road to burn down.
Or be filled with churches.
Either one is fine.
