I wasn’t able to save her because I never saw her.
I wasn’t able to talk to her.
I wasn’t able to see where she worked.
In that small tight restaurant, selling food and parts of herself to make money.
I didn’t see her fake smile, her best attempt in a life she never expected to be placed into.
I didn’t see the eyes of the men, filled with their lustful desires, not caring that she had been promised more than her village could have provided, only to be trapped by the lies and deceit.
I didn’t see her, but I prayed for her.
As we walked up and down the city streets, praying over a place filled with such hopelessness.
A place filled with cabin restaurants, beckoning the men who have to come through to give over their hard earned money on a pleasure that lasts just long enough to make them spend it all.
To come out of their sinful fog to realize they now have nothing to bring back to their families.
They leave guilty, but don’t worry there are fresh faces coming in to see her.
A vicious cycle that keeps on turning.
I wasn’t able to see her but oh how I prayed I would.
50 of us jam packed onto buses to prayer walk around the city, 16 of us splitting off into two groups to go into the resturants.
I was excited to step inside, not knowing what to expect, but ready to jump in and save the day.
We prayed and walked and I prayed for her.
Prayed for her heart to be open to us.
To know about a Savior who loves her and wants more for her.
That there really was a way out if she trusted us. If she trusted Him.
We walked and walked and I thought of how far this place must be.
Until Maya stopped and said that “it looks like because of the festival none of them are open.”
Wait.
The restaurants aren’t open?
Hold on.
How many of have I walked past without knowing?
You have this idea in your head of what these wretched places looked like, but you don’t know.
You don’t know that these “restaurants” look just like the stores that you shop in.
And by store I mean a space the size of a small garage, the rusty sound of the metal door being lifted up to signal buisness.
A small tight space that manages to fit at least three wooden tables with dividers, enough privacy to keep the neighboring table guessing.
But the people passing on the street know.
Maya tells us this as we sit in a tea shop that eerily resembles one of these places.
And as my heart breaks from the stories she tells, I turn to God in frustration.
Why did you bring us here?
I can’t do anything if these places aren’t open.
I want to help! I want to rescue these precious women.
We aren’t going to be able to come back here again.
This was our only chance.
Why?
And like the powerful Father He is, He gently reprimanded me.
My child, why are you questioning me?
Do I not know what is best for you? For her?
She’s my child, I know she is worth more.
I hold her. I’ve got her.
When did this become about what you can do?
Don’t forget who I am, I choose to use you.
Trust Me.
And in the middle of a tiny tea shop He hands me a reality check.
Consumed by my own heroic intentions, comparing our ministry to racers around us.
I had lost sight of what I was here for.
I had made it about what I could do.
When it is all about Him.
When His ways are far greater than mine.
I am just a vessel that He uses to bring Him glory.
He has big plans for that city.
Plans for rescue and redemption.
For chains to be broken and for hope to be restored.
And that day as we walked away I was at peace.
We had come to simply coat the city in prayer.
And that was enough.
Because God is going to show up there in a mighty way.
It’s not my job to save her. God already has.
“ Look at the nations and watch- be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe even if you were told.” Habakkuk 1:5
