***My ministry this month involves working against
prostitution and human trafficking. Reader Discretion is advised.***
“What am I doing here?”
“God, is this really
where you want me?”
“God, why me? Are you sure you have the right girl? I am so
not equipped to do this?”
“What could I ever say to these girls that have gone through
so much heartache? How can I ever relate to them?”
As I walk down the bar street towards our bar, these
thoughts are always swirling through my mind. I feel so inadequate here. I
mean, I’m just a stereotypical, North American church girl. My life is not
perfect, but I’ve always had a loving family, a roof over my head and enough to
eat. I have grown up in a Christian home, and have had a personal relationship
with Christ since I was young. And I’m a virgin. And while that’s something I am
proud of, I do feel like it is a little ironic that God has put human
trafficking on my heart. I’m the virgin called to work with prostitutes.
As we are walking to the bars I am plagued with all these
questions. In their eyes my life must look perfect. I’ve never been sold by my
parents into sex slavery. I don’t sell my body every night to be able to eat
the next day. I don’t have to live the same hopeless routine day after day
after day, every day having to pretend to be interested in the next man that
starts to talk to them, when it all really just makes them sick.
What could I possibly say to
them?
What can I say to the girl we met who confessed on my first
night talking to her that she cries every day because of what she does? What
can I say to the woman who is 40, and is convinced that there is nothing else
that she can do that could make enough money to support her family? What do I
say to the woman who is here because her mother sold her to the bar owner to be
able to afford rice for the rest of her family?
God has dropped human trafficking on my heart like a bomb.
My heart breaks for them. I cry for them. I want to get them out of there; I
want them to understand their own value; I want them to know the love that can
only come from God.
But I have nothing to say to them.
But that’s okay. I think that might be part of why God has
laid this ministry on my heart so much. Because
I don’t have the words. I can’t fall into the trap of thinking I’m speaking
what God is telling me, but really speaking my own words, because I don’t have any words to say. I am in such a
place of complete dependency on God. I
simply cannot do this without Him.
And these girls don’t want to hear the gospel preached to
them .They don’t care about Bible verses. Even if they have even heard the name
of Jesus before, which is rare, they don’t know anything about Him. And they
aren’t interested in hearing about Him. So, in the end, our words aren’t even
the most important thing.
The important thing is our love.
We’re the girls that come into the bar and remember their
names. We’re the ones who invite them for lunch. Who ask them, genuinely, how
they’re doing today. Who remember that they have children, and ask when is the
next time they get to see them. We’re the ones to make them feel like they are
special. Like they count.
I’ll never forget the look on her face when I walked into
the bar and called her by name. And not her nickname of “Porn” that she tells
everyone – her full Thai name of “Wassiporn.” Wassiporn means “Good Luck” in
Thai, but in this industry she finds it advantageous to shorten it to a
convenient nickname.
My teammate Tiffany told us about a quote she read in a book.
It was saying that Jesus never talked to a prostitute. That is because he never
saw a prostitute – he just saw a
daughter of the king that he was madly in love with. Our team this month has
been striving to be of the same mindset.
These women are beautiful. Their generosity and friendliness
astounds me. And yet, they are trapped. Trapped in this industry that negates
their self worth. Trapped in a life without love. But we know that the love of Jesus
can break those chains, and that is why
we’re here.
