I had been living my life the way I'd always known it. Occasionally my world would get shaken up by an event or a short trip somewhere. My world would shift. The concepts of what I thought to be true and what I now knew were altered. The alterations were usually minor, but still set off chain-reactions that changed the course of my life. A paradigm shift. Everyone experiences these changes as they grow, but sometimes the shift is drastic enough to change the reality of your situation rather quickly. An example for me being the things I witnessed in Nicaragua that sparked the flame that brought me to the race. The race has been a God-given answer to fulfilling dreams I've had my whole life. At the same time it has also been some of the hardest months of my life. But, no one said it would be easy.
India was one of those hard months. I really don't think I will ever be able to describe or explain it in a way that will convey the true experience of it all, but I'll try. The stark changes in culture were abrupt for me this time. Everything was different; environment, food, smells, the way people looked at you, the way everyone dressed, the cultural norms and what was expected of me – not just as a foreigner, but as a woman. From our arrival to several days into the month, my mind was assaulted by fears and feeling threatened by this unfamiliar place.
This verse has become one of the themes of my life right now. I get scared and start flailing my arms around with all the worries that creep in and then God grabs my hand and reminds me that He's got it. It's reassuring, because without His help, overcoming hard months like this would not be possible.
My days were spent riding the train to different towns in Navi Mumbai. Dressed in traditional Indian clothes, we would hang off a speeding train as it took us to one of the many slums in the area. If we didn't go to a slum to visit with families and do home visits, we went to the red light district. When we were there we would play with the children of the women in a small rented room that they can come to and are transported outside their normal environment. It's a place they can learn about Jesus, eat a good meal, laugh, be hugged, and have a quiet place to take a nap. It's a white light in the red light district. Or sometimes we would step outside the door and talk to, pray for, or just sit with the women who live and work all along those alleys and walkways.
Hundreds of women line the streets. Some stand alone. Some are in packed groups waiting for motor traffic as well as foot traffic along the main street. Some sit outside the door to a room. They wear a lot of makeup and anything from traditional Indian clothes to whatever has glitter and will attract the most attention. They're waiting for a customer to pick them out of the crowd.
They've all been trafficked.
Primarily from different parts of India and Nepal. Some when they were very young. Some when they were older. By the time most of these women are my age, they consider their life as over. They have lost all hope of ever living anything else than what they know now. A lot of them don't have anywhere to go back to. Nowhere that would take them. By age thirty many of them will be unable to work any longer because their health is deteriorating from diseases like HIV. The disease ravages their body. Their arms and legs are completely emaciated and they burn with fever. They are tiny and look and feel like they would break if you bumped them. This is also true of the children who are born with the disease. Human trafficking has a name and more faces than I could count.
Sometimes eyes speak more than words ever could. Language barriers are irrelevant in those moments. Their eyes tell about pain, shame, anger, defiance, humiliation, defensive indifference, and surprise when you don't want anything from them. We tried to convey to them how they are loved, they are cherished, and they are beautiful daughters of the King.
I hated getting off the train and going up that hill. It hurt to step into that place and be assaulted by the fears, the pain, the anger, and the abuse. It was like a tangible wave that would hit. But they are worth it. The smiles, the firm holding of your hand, the tight hugs you were given back, knowing that you cared and didn't despise them, those are the moments that last.
