A couple days ago, Brittany and I went to Sasi Designs to order our final debrief t-shirts for the World Race J-squad. With a rough idea and design already in mind, we thought we were prepared for to create the masterpiece. Little did we know that we would be met with 20 different t-shirt colors, none of which matched our original intention – heathered charcoal gray and about 200 different ink colors, again none of which matched our idea of burnt orange. With so many choices before us, we were stunned; our minds were going through all the color combination possibilities and quickly became overloaded and overwhelmed. At the suggestion of our contact, Emmi, we narrowed our choices to 2 shirt colors and about 5 ink colors which made our decision more manageable. Although not exactly as we imagined it our shirts will hold true to the essence of the original design and we left Sasi an hour later satisfied with the choices we made. (We hope the rest of the squad will be too.)
Thinking about the possibilities and options available to me following the World Race, from where to live in Chicago for the next five years to when to go to Minnesota to visit friends to how long to stay at the beach in LA before having to make grown-up decisions after returning to Chicago, has been overwhelming and may have caused a headache or two already. Throughout the World Race, most everything has been decided for me and I’ve followed the team to board each airplane, train, and bus, rested my headed wherever they told me to, and eaten whatever I was served. Ministry activities have been organized and arranged with contacts before we’ve arrived. However, there are so many wonderful things that I get to choose for myself when I get home; everyday choices as well as real life big kid kinda choices. While I don’t want to allow all of these options to take over my thoughts while still in ministry, I cannot help but notice the drastic dichotomy between my life and those of the prostitutes to whom we are ministering.
Some of the stories we’ve heard from the ladies go something like this…
“I used to work at a hair salon in Bangkok before I got married 10 years ago. I have two daughters, 12 and 2 years old, but I am having problems with my husband. He refuses to go back to work even though I tell him to. I used to have a business in our town selling clothes, but business is bad because few people are coming. So I came here because my friend says I can come and make money quickly. My friend lives 4 hours away. I miss my girls. They are in my village about 12 hours away.” – Jane
“I own this bar for four years. Business is very bad now and many of the girls have gone home to their villages to work on the farm. I have a family – two children, but I am not married. I do not want my daughter to do this business, she is going to University now. I miss her.” – Da
“I have a 10-year-old son. We live together. He is a good boy. He calls me here to say goodnight and ask if it is busy. We go swimming only Saturday and Sunday. Here, let me show you his picture. We are just two here. The rest of family lives down there. Two days and two nights by train. I come here to work and I send money to my mom, but I get angry when she give money to family. I only send to her. She did not raise me. My grandfather raise me when I was a little girl. I come to Chiang Mai because I like and I can work. I came with my friend on a trip when we were teenagers.” – Mon
We hear stories of being forced into this business by exploitation, coercion, or even blackmail. When I hear these stories I thank God for the choices that I have. Instead of being born a couple generations ago in China and being forced to bind my feet and submit to my arranged match, I was born in America and given the freedom to choose my own husband with my big feet. Instead of being born in a rural village in Thailand where as a girl I am sold to earn money to support my family, my education affords me a profession where I can earn my own living. How many times do we we make choices without even thinking twice about the choice we’re making? How often do we just assume that we will always be able to choose? How many of us pass by a gentleman’s club or homeless person, thinking they made the wrong choice? but what if they didn’t have a choice? What if “choice” isn’t even a word in their vocabulary? What if?
