When I was younger, I had a skewed view of what the world was actually like, as most middle class Americans do. Raised in the Bible Belt, I assumed everyone aside from the Aborigines in middle-of-nowhere Africa had heard the Good News. Receiving a good education, I assumed everyone had access to the knowledge that was constantly at my fingertips. Having access to clean water, clothes, and essentially whatever else I wanted, I figured it shouldn’t be too hard for everyone in the rest of the world to have the same. I thought people were homeless because they made poor decisions and I thought that people in other countries were less privileged because they had crappy governments. And maybe some of that is true, but the point is that I thought; I didn’t see.
For me, the past six months have been a journey of becoming blind; not because my physical eyesight has gone downhill fast as I refuse to wear my glasses (they fog up in the humidity and that’s just annoying). My worldly, judgmental, biased eyes have become blind, and thankfully, I have found a new kind of prescription; not one that fogs up in the humidity, but one that allows me to see poverty, hurt, and suffering through the eyes of the Lover of our Souls.
This prescription change came to a culmination at our Parent Vision Trip at the end of January. My parents and I were presented with the task of bringing hope and a future to women and lady boys entangled in the chains of the sex trade. Our approach, especially for fairly conservative Free Will Baptists, was out of the ordinary and out of our comfort zones. But Jesus said “therefore go,” and therefore, we went.
The Walking Street. On this short strip of road alone, there are some 12,000 girls, mostly of Filipino descent, who were brainwashed into believing that selling their bodies is the only way to make ends meet and provide for their families. Through my former eyes, I would have argued that while it is terribly sad, surely they must know that they have other options. But through Jesus’ eyes, I saw corruption and generations of brokenness, poverty, and hopelessness.
We prayed as we strolled the Walking Street. We prayed for the broken girls and lady boys. We prayed for the broken mamasons- essentially, pimps who were formerly the broken girls dancing in the bars. We prayed for the broken men from all over Asia, Europe, and America that roamed the street hoping to fill the void that only Jesus can fill with alcohol, drugs, abuse, and meaningless sex. We prayed that the Lord would lead us into situations where, through His unconditional love manifested in us, we might offer some light to the darkness that these people are living in.
Being sensitive to the Spirit’s leading, we walked into each dirty bar, called a young woman down, bought her a drink, and proceeded to show her a way out. The organization we were partnering with, Wipe Every Tear, provides free housing and a free education to any girl or lady boy who is brave enough to leave.
Though many sweet relationships were formed, there was one girl in particular who stood out to me. Let me set the scene. When we walked into this particular bar, they were B L A S T I N G some killer karaoke music. Now, as I was praying before we left the hotel for the Walking Street, it was made clear that this ministry is not one where I can test the waters before I get in. It is one that must be dove into. As Christians, our joy and the light that we bring is a direct representation of Jesus; when He is our source of joy, it is so different that people notice it, so I figured I would let all of the joy He gives me flow out that evening.
Back to the bar. This music was bumpin’ and they were playing songs that are absolutely impossible to not sing along to… I’m talkin’ some Gloria Gaynor “I Will Survive.” So we sat down and I was holding my fake mic and singing at the top of my lungs to the girls who were on the stage that was situated in the middle of the building. Before I knew it, they (including the rest of my team and our Filipino guide) were encouraging me up there to join the girls on stage. So, of course, I went. When have I ever turned down an opportunity to make a fool of myself? I proceeded to teach these girls only the most essential dance moves: the lawnmower, the credit card, and the shopping cart. There was a certain girl who was really taking to my professional dance moves, so once I returned to my seat, I asked her to join me.
This girl was different from the others; she carried herself in a different way and exuded joy out the wazoo- it was clear that she hadn’t been in the business long. We began to talk and she told me that she was 19. My age. In a bar. Dancing and selling her body to survive. As we continued our conversation, we laughed and joked and discovered that we have so much in common. Speaking through me, the Lord asked my sweet friend to hold out her hand. I held mine out beside it. As we observed our hands, I explained to Lauren* that there is not much of a difference in our hands from far away. Essentially, she would have been my best friend if only she had been born into a family in America rather than in poverty in the Philippines. We were made in the image of the same God and our differences were purely situational. But, I continued, if she looks closely at her hand, she can see a fingerprint that is unique to her. And in that moment, the Lord verbalized through me something that I had always failed to completely conceptualize and grasp within myself.
And it was this simple truth: SHE’S JUST A GIRL. She is unique and worthy and loved beyond belief, just like you and I are. So what she was born into a super sucky situation in the Philippines? So what she was raised in a culture where generation after generation of women see this line of work as the only work that they can attain? So what that she works in a bar? So what? Does that change the fact that Jesus died on a cross for her? Does that change the fact that she is precious and worth the greater things that our God has in store for her? We’ve got to stop seeing the girl in the bar and start seeing the girl created by our Almighty, perfect, everlasting God.
It is time for us to stop looking at people living in poverty and walking in brokenness and trying to diagnose their deeper issues or figure out why they ended up in the situation they are in because IT DOESN’T MATTER!! My Jesus died for the pimp, the prostitute, and the man buying her for the night as much as He died for Billy who accepted Jesus at age 5 and is now attending seminary, and it wasn’t until I started becoming blind to my judgments and perceptions and put on the eyes of the Lord that I saw it. I see it now, and trust me, the world is a whole lot clearer through His holy prescription. Sure, because of His eyes, we see the brokenness and the hurt a lot more clearly, but we also see His beautiful plan to break the chains and set the captives free.
I am by no means seeing the world just like Jesus, but as I press deeper into Him, my prescription is getting stronger and stronger.
Whose eyes are you wearing?
*my sweet friend’s name was changed to protect her identity
