Simple, Sweet Freedom

The other day, someone looked at a group of our girls for the first time and asked “are these all the girls you’ve saved?” 

My friend, Ebie, replied sweetly “Oh no.  We don’t save anyone, it’s all Jesus.”

It’s true, friends.  We don’t save a single soul.  Sure, we work for an organization that helps women and ladyboys leave the sex trade through the opportunity to pursue an education.  But freedom, rescue, salvation?  That’s all a deeper, greater, more miraculous story than any human can manufacture.

Working in this kind of a ministry is honestly pretty stylish right now.  We are on the edge of an anti-modern slavery movement that is tackling this dark issue through the lens and strength of the Christian faith.  We see regular, tangible results from our efforts to talk to girls about freedom, hope, and a future, and that makes it extremely tempting to jump on the bandwagon.

And I’m not saying that everyone who desires to partner with Wipe Every Tear is here simply because it’s sexy.  I’m saying that it’s a short step over the line between passion and pride.  I’ve definitely been guilty of confusing the two. But to think that we, the employees and volunteers of Wipe Every Tear, are responsible for any one of these girls’ freedom is well, pretty silly.

Think of the odds a girl faces by leaving the bar.  To start, it takes enormous courage to even believe that our programs are true.  I mean really, a college education, room and board, and all supplies and personal needs offered for free?  Livelihood opportunities to make extra money?  Child support for her two kids?  Seems way too good to be true.  Often, she believes she is going to get trafficked again, because the last offer that seemed like a dream turned into a nightmare.

When she daringly says yes to our programs, she agrees to the long-term commitment of pursuing a college degree.  The commitment is even lengthier if the has to finish high school first.  She has to go from the ability to live a lifestyle however and whenever she desires, and moves into a home filled with other girls with just as complicated of stories, and has to learn the systems in our houses.  She now can’t just coast in her coping mechanisms.  Walking in true freedom here means facing the dark memories that haunt her.

These obstacles such as fear of hardship, the lies of potential failure, and the incorrect interpretation of her God-given identity scream into her ears.  Silencing those voices is not a task for human ability.  We can operate in the power granted by the Holy Spirit inside of us, and that moves us to do astronomical things.  Nevertheless, it takes the love of the Father, the pursuit of the Savior, the kindness of the King to calm the storm that rages in her heart for her to first believe that freedom is an option.

So then she leaves the bar.  And it’s beautiful.  It’s like she jumped into a white abyss, a trifecta of fear, hope, and opportunity, and she’s free-falling with the sweet trust that Jesus will catch her.  And even if she doesn’t really know His name yet, it takes enormous faith for her to make that leap.  Her boldness inspires me, and she doesn’t even realize how incredibly brave she is.

The freedom that comes from her leaving the bar is a literal liberation.  What comes next is something that many don’t often get to witness.  It’s the emotional and spiritual jail break that occurs in these girls’ souls as they determine to walk in freedom day by day.

When I see our girls in the houses, they seem like the strangers I pass on the street.  They all have intricate, quiet lives.  None without hardship, but still, so normal.  I’d never guess that they were the ones that once worked in a bar.  Our houses are filled with music as their freedom translates into picking up a guitar for the first time.  Our walls are covered with their artwork, adorned with flowers and mindful phrases like “just love” and “you are beautiful.”  These colorful reminders shower truth on the girls when an argument breaks out in the house.  Things are so normal here, and sometimes it takes the intentional remembrance of what the Lord is doing through these simple things to realize how incredible this all is.

Like the other night, we took the girls to see a Bethel worship concert.  Fifty of our girls got dressed up, put on their makeup, and pulled out their favorite pairs of shoes.  They took scores of selfies and giggled incessantly as they waited in line to enter the concert arena.  It was beautiful, the miracle of their freedom disguised as a 20-year-old girl waiting for her favorite band to play.

The phenomenal part wasn’t the donation of the tickets, though it was an enormous blessing.  The miracle was that three hours earlier, Ebie drew on one of our girls’ eyebrows in preparation for the concert.  It was no big feat (though any woman will concur that the perfect eyebrow creation is a true work of art).  Yet in conversation with Ebie and her husband, Zac, later that evening, we talked about the subtle act of drawing on someone’s eyebrows.  Before Jesus rescued her, we still might have done her makeup, but perhaps in preparation for her next shift at the bar, not a worship concert.  And that’s what gives me chills.

It’s just doing life together.  I learn more from them than I feel I could ever teach.  Jesus does all the hard work; he speaks to the hearts and heals the minds. Personally, I am blessed by every opportunity that enters my hands to paint a girl’s nails, or go on a walk with her, or see her for the first time in her school uniform. 

These 65 incredible lives have unknowingly stolen my heart and I’ll never forget them.  They don’t know it, but they change me for the better every time I encounter them. We at Wipe Every Tear are absolutely not saviors.  Instead, Jesus uses ordinary humans and regular, every day tasks to do the impossible.  It’s simple, sweet freedom.

Here’s the equation:  Jesus brings the power, the grace, the freedom.

And we just love.

Open Up the Cages

While I was preparing to leave for the Philippines, I got this question a few times: what sparked your passion for fighting against sex trafficking?  Well to be honest, there are number of reasons, yet when I was amidst my preparations to come to the Philippines to live out that passion, I was reminded of a dream I had a few years ago that I believe foreshadowed this current chapter of my story.

The setting of my dream began at church, where I was attending a women’s conference.  I was standing at the entrance of the building, and the guest speaker came out to meet me underneath a big overhang that leads up to the door.  Attached to the ceiling of this overhang were half a dozen cages—rusty, black cages so filthy that even the air inside looked dank, polluted, and grim.  And inside these cages were young girls, nearly unidentifiable with weathered faces that had seen three or four lifetimes in the span of the years they had walked this earth.  Their figures were more shadow and less flesh.  Their eyes were sunken and terrified.

The women in these cages were exploited.  Their bodies were sold for sex.  They had no choice in the matter; they were victims to poverty, poor circumstance, and the ugly things that sin can cause one human to do to another human being.

I felt every muscle in my body tense up at the horror of the sight, and all I wanted to do was unsee.  Just then, the guest speaker of the conference approached me.  She pointed at the cages and said,

“These girls are trapped.  Are you going to help them?”

“Yes!—”

And then I awoke.  I am awake.

Years later I am waking up again.  Upon my first visit to the Philippines, I learned that my dream was real, and that the cages are more atrocious than I had expected.  During my first experience on Filipino soil, I discovered that these iron capsules are actually entrapping hotel rooms, massage parlors, or run-down bars.  Sometimes they are even disguised as shiny night clubs, and those are always the trickiest because everyone seems happy and full of life there.  But you can always tell by the air.  Something is not right about the atmosphere.  The oxygen is undeniably soiled my monstrous cruelty.  How can one breathe freely in a place where souls are stolen and bodies, human bodies, are bought and sold with pocket change?  With one inhale of that poison, I knew that I had to do something about it.

So here I am in the Philippines, not as a hero or an answer to human trafficking as a whole.  To be honest, I am just one ordinary girl from Boise, Idaho with brown hair, green eyes, and freckles on her nose.  I’m not especially talented by my own right.  I’m sure there are more passionate, gifted, experienced, and knowledgeable people in the world who could do this job a whole lot better than me, but it’s me God chose and sometimes I cannot make sense of it.  And I don’t say that as false modesty; I’m not searching for compliments, because whenever someone tells me how brave I am for moving halfway across the world to live in a developing nation and work for an organization that is on the front lines of fighting sex trafficking in the Philippines, well sure I’m flattered, but I don’t necessarily feel brave.

When I think about the word “brave,” I think of the girls in our care who used to once identify with their prisons and are now are identifying with hope!  With love!  With the relish of materializing dreams!  With the trust that Christ knows them and sees them as daughters!  They are free now, but they first had to have the courage to leave their cages.  Some people will ask why they didn’t just leave in the first place, or choose another profession and avoid the whole tragedy altogether.  What is so crucial to remember is that prisons don’t lock from the inside, and once the door is closed, it often takes another person to unlock it.  These women have been pushed into their jail cells by poverty and lies.  They are all victims in one way or another.  These girls were so broken that they believed that captivity was their only purpose.  So yes, for leaving and saying “no” to the enemy’s lies, these girls are very, very brave.

These women inspire me.  Many of them are so thrilled at the joy of freedom that they come back to the bars with us to tell their old coworkers, their friends, and their sisters that there is more.  They choose to spread the joy that they found instead of being continually victimized by their pasts.  There is freedom, hope, and a future available in the arms of Jesus.

I love these girls so much.  And I am thrilled that God chose me to join them in their fight to find restoration and achieve their dreams.  It was not my ability, my charisma, or even my religion that got me here.  It was my ‘yes’ to God’s call, and the vision that God gave me that broke my heart and reformed it to look more like the Father’s.  My passion for human trafficking was sparked by God’s perspective when I wasn’t even really looking for it and by his effort to pave every single step of the way.  However, she is what ultimately ignited the flame.  “She” personified is the dozens of women I know personally who have new lives of freedom because of Jesus and his work through Wipe Every Tear.  She is worth it.  She is the reason we do what we do.

And there’s nothing quite like the moment of walking up to that dirty cage, turning the key inside the wretched lock, and swinging the door wide open.  To reach in and sit with her for a while, to remind her of the sunlight, to tell her that her dreams can come true.  To take her by the hand and spend time with her in the moment that everything about her life starts to change.  To lead her out of the prison with a glorious sunrise on the horizon.  To watch the light return to her eyes at the sound of the word…

Freedom.

 

 

Learn more about Wipe Every Tear and how you can #refusetodonothing about sex trafficking at wipeeverytear.org.

The Lion’s Battle

Before I left for the Philippines, I was sitting with the US staff for Wipe Every Tear retreat in the Idaho mountains when our founder, Coach Kenny, read us a text from our Filipino director that broke my heart.  The message detailed that one of our girls left our care that morning, with very little of an explanation except for her insistence that this was all too hard for her.  School had been challenging, and she had struggled to find the motivation to push through it.  Tearful, our director explained her sorrow over the loss of this girl, because she and all of us know the reality of leaving Wipe Every Tear’s care.  Sure, there are less rules and more freedom, but that soon proves to be deceptive without a well-formed plan of how she can make it on her own.  Without education or livelihood opportunities–which are difficult to attain if you’re even remotely poor or don’t have a network built for you–it is very likely that the girl will return to the bar scene.  It’s not an “always thing,” but we don’t deny the very enormous likelihood of it.

As Coach read the entirety of the text message, I remember feeling extremely discouraged.  I sat in quiet thought, and deeply wondered about this next season.  After a few minutes of allowing my heart to turn the situation over and examine it from every angle, I cried out to God, “Oh Lord, how can I do this next season?  How can I handle these battles on the front lines when I’m in the States right now, 7,000 miles away, and I can hardly keep myself together?  How will I walk day-to-day in the Philippines and find the grace to choose joy in the midst of very harsh realities?  How can I carry the burden of motivating our girls to press forward when all they want to do is give up?”

His response was perfect.  He said this:

“Dear daughter, this is not your battle to fight.  I may include you in this army that I’m assembling against the injustices of sex trafficking, but this is still my battle.  And I already won the victory.  Your job is to live in that promise and not give in to the lies of the enemy that try to trap you and cause you to feel defeated.  I will fight for you, and I will definitely fight for these girls.  They are my daughters, too, and I am pursuing them relentlessly.”

That response gave me a better handle on the situation, but then God revealed an imagery to me that overwhelmed me with a peace beyond my understanding (which is another promise of God, as stated in Philippians 4:6-7).  The vision was this:

I was reminded of a story that resonates in my heart very deeply.  I thought of C.S. Lewis’ book, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  There’s a point in the story where Peter and Edmund are fighting the battle against the Witch and her army,  while Aslan—the perfect Lion who stood in place of Edmund to pay the consequence of his betrayal—is resurrecting from his sacrificial death on the Stone Table.  Lucy and Susan had been near him since his execution the previous evening, and are relishing the un-capped joy of watching their hero come back to life.  Aslan knows about the battle that is occurring only a short distance away, but before he joins the fight, he builds his army.  Lucy and Susan climb on his back, and he gallops away to the Witch’s castle, so he can breathe life onto all the creatures who had been turned to stone by the Witch’s wicked power.  One by one, he awakens his troop.  He sends them into a functional formation, and this is the part that stands out to me.  Aslan commands,

Those who are good with their noses must come in the front with us lions to smell out where the battle is.  Look lively and sort yourselves.

And with a great deal of bustle and cheering they did.  The most pleased of the lot was the other lion, who kept running about everywhere pretending to be very busy but really in order to say to everyone he met, ‘Did you hear what he said? Us lions. That means him and me.  Us lions.  That’s what I like about Aslan.  No side, no stand-off-ishness.  Us lions. That meant him and me.’  At least he went on saying this till Aslan had loaded him up with three dwarfs, one Dryad, two rabbits, and a hedgehog.  That steadied him a bit.

I love this passage.  It shows that when God breathes on us, he gives us a new identity.  He calls us to stand alongside him in this battle.  He doesn’t see our flighty, easily excitable characters as a weakness, he sees us as lions.  He simply uses our passionate energy to carry those who do not have the strength to charge into battle, but are nevertheless needed.  He doesn’t name himself the greatest warrior, though he undeniably is.  It’s as if he takes us by the shoulders and says “You, dear child are a lion!”  Then he takes another, and another.  “And you, are a lion!  And you, and you, and you too, are indeed a lion!  And you are meant to fight this battle.  I’m strengthening you for this Kingdom work.  I’m empowering you for this war.  The same power that is in me is in you as well!”

(At this point in this post, I have to issue a spoiler alert, though if you are picking up the metaphor that Lewis brilliantly displays and if you know the Bible’s ultimate resolution, you’ll know the end of this story.)  By the time the second troop of warriors arrives on the battlefield, the first of the soldiers along with Peter and Edmund are tired and nearing defeat.  Many have mortal wounds.  Some already seem past the point of no return.  The situation appears bleak, but then Aslan roars, and oh, does he roar.  He shakes the ground with his thunderous growl and every creature—good and evil—stops in their tracks.  Swords silence their clashing, and hearts melt in terrific awe.  Aslan leaps from his mountainy ledge onto the Witch and finishes her, once and for all.  He uses his breath to soften the bodies of the warriors turned to stone, and sends Lucy on a quest to use her cordial to heal those with wounds.  The entire troop of evil is completely eradicated, whether killed or far off in retreat.  Aslan could have done it all in one mighty act of power, but instead he used those he called with his life-filled breath.  The dogs exercise their teeth, the giants squash enemies with their feet, and every single creature is using their divinely-created ability to be instrumentally victorious in the way they do best.  Aslan uses the ordinary, the broken, and even the traitor to defeat the greatest enemy of Narnia.

And like Aslan, God is doing the very same thing in the Philippines.  He is using simple, ordinary people in their unique abilities to conquer the evil here.  Revival is spreading as God breathes life into his army.  Sure, the struggle is very much present, and there are moments where it appears that our heads will not stay above water.  But I know that the Lion is coming.  I know that he is constantly feeding his troops.  He is empowering us to say a resounding “no” to the face of extreme evil.  And though I’ve only been here a week so far, I know in my core that my God will never, ever fail his children.  So even though there are days when our hearts break in seemingly endless routines for these girls, I trust that the Lion will breathe into us and build us back up and strengthen me again for another day.

So, we as Wipe Every Tear are not afraid.  This will never be our battle, but because of the Lion, we will always be able to claim the victory.  We advocate for the victory of freedom, hope, and a future even when we don’t feel like we are gaining any ground.  Disappointments don’t set us back, and hardships don’t leave us staggering.  God is strengthening our feeble knees and reinforcing us with an abundance of provision, even if it comes at the very last minute.  He is roaring confidence into our bones.  We know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is so for these girls that he will continue to fight for them and pursue them relentlessly.  We believe in the Lion of Judah, the one who never tires, the one who never fails, the one who was, the one who is, and the one who is yet to come.

Broken Beauty

sat down on a bunk bed that was scooted to the side of the living room where our team gathered. The sweltering Filipino heat and the scarcity of air-conditioning in nearly every structure defeated my legs. I told myself “I’ll only sit down for a minute.” It was day two of my time in the Philippines, and though it was considered winter and Christmas had just passed, I marveled at how two different geographies can have such opposite ideas of the cold.

Our team listened to Coach Kenny as he talked about the girls living in the safe house. Most of the Filipina girls took the tour of their own home with us, beaming with pride over their adorable DIY decorations (which really impressed me, as these precious ornaments adorned the home with beauty and intricacy that radiates from the girls themselves). As beads of sweat assumed formation along my hairline, I remember feeling a soft presence at my shoulder. I looked to find one of the girls resting her head on me, assuming the intimacy of friendship before I had the chance to ask her for her name. We exchanged that small detail as she proceeded to speak one short sentence that broke me. “I can’t wait to be happy again.”

These gorgeous girls. You walk in the doors of their homes and the sense of dignity and elegance that they carry is a mark of their freedom. They accept you with warm hugs or shy giggles and they play with your hair as if running their fingers through new, spring grass. They are goofy and spunky and witty and intelligent, and you never would guess that they had a life any different. But their battles don’t simply end at the bar. They fight daily to remember the worth that they have in Christ Jesus and that He is madly in love with every stitch and seam of their expertly woven existence.

In the Philippines, I worked with an organization called Wipe Every Tear. Being a part of their remarkable team is a true honor because I can see tangible evidence of their influence in the Philippines.  Wipe Every Tear is a non-profit organization started out of Boise, Idaho by a man named Kenny Sacht, or more endearingly known as “Coach.”  A journey that started in 2012 has produced the fruit of a fully functioning organization which cares for close to 80 girls in 5 homes in the Philippines and Thailand.  Once a girl is received into WET’s care, they receive aid in finishing their education, whether that be graduating from high school first before pursuing a degree, or finishing up any amount of higher education a girl received prior to entering the bar scene.  These girls are received into a supportive, non-judgmental environment where they are fed three meals a day and are provided an allowance to help fund their transportation or even send home to their families.  Any of the girls’ medical needs are met as they enter the homes, and some even receive orthodontic care. Some have been permitted to bring their precious children to live in the home with them.  Worship, prayer, and devotion time is offered daily to the girls, and nearly all of them find a relationship with Christ to be the most comfort and peace they can find as they rehabilitate into their life outside of the sex trade.  The purpose of all this is to give these girls a chance at their dreams and the opportunity to work hard to achieve them.  As I write this, one girl in particular has recently turned in her thesis to graduate from college, an opportunity that would have been impossible without God moving through Wipe Every Tear’s work.  Coach’s motivation for beginning this ministry wasn’t out of a desire to do something fulfilling or “good” for the world, but rather, out of his true love and brokenness for these girls enslaved in Filipino bars.

Something that Coach engrains in his volunteers and employees is a proper vocabulary.  He never allows the girls we interact with to be identified as “prostitutes,” “whores,” or any other derogative term that puts a restrictive label on them.  He sees them as God’s daughters who are ensnared in the ropes of injustice, and he implores all who are on his team to adopt that mindset.  And after interacting with these beautiful sisters, it is impossible to perceive them as less than my friends who are unconditionally loved by Christ and covered by His unfathomable and endless grace.  They may work or have worked in a bar, but they deserve just as much of a chance at life as I do, and that’s why what Wipe Every Tear does is so important.  Though entering a Filipino bar is tiring and terrifying, when I remember that a girl’s life could change with one conversation, it all becomes worth it.

The first time I ventured down Walking Street, the red light district of Angeles City, I quaked like a daisy in the wind. My freckled nose and green eyes met face after face of deep brown eyes and radiant smiles. But their eyes didn’t smile. They tugged on my arms, pleading me to come in to their bar and “join the fun,” but I almost felt as if they were begging me to lead them out.

My team of Americans and Filipinas sat down in the first bar we could decide on, a scummy place in the corner of an alley pooled with freshly fallen rain. You could still smell the cigarette smoke through the Filipino storm. We took our seats as Taylor Swift screamed through a grainy sound system, and I paused to take in my surroundings. Girls who appeared younger than me wore almost nothing on their bodies. Some of them eyed potential customers while most avoided eye contact with anyone, seeming all too ready for their shift to end, as if morning couldn’t come quickly enough. I tried to appear as if I was having a good time in attempt to shake off any suspicion of my intent for being there, but I was ready for my plastered smile to crumble off my face at any minute.

Bar after bar, we took our seats and scouted for any girl who looked desperate for a way out.  The girls would most often be corralled on a stage or dance floor, wearing hardly anything except maybe a bikini, short shorts, tape, and of course a number or name tag that clearly was used to say “I am just a number.”  With the air-conditioning on full blast, the girls would rub their bare arms to warm themselves as they danced half-heartedly in their stilettos. Once we determined what girl we wanted to talk to, we would tell the waitress or mama-san, and she would shine her laser on the girl’s stomach, the girl’s command to come down.  It was as if that tiny light was a leash made out of the strongest chains.  It tattooed this label on the girls of being merely a piece of property.  The terrified girl would do her best the march off the stage with pride, all the while trying to hide her darting eyes which seem to beg “please, don’t pick me.”  She would sit down, tell us her name, and we would order her something to drink.  We would always tell her that she didn’t have to order alcohol.  Though some girls still resorted to a beer, others gratefully requested juice or even chocolate milk.  Most of the time, the girls aren’t allowed to eat while they work so that they will be weaker and more intoxicated for their customers.

When we would talk to the girls, we would invite them to our Christmas party held at the church down the road where we would have the chance to love them, celebrate them, and offer them a way out.  We would ask them about their lives back home and about their families. Nearly every girl was from the province, or the poor countryside, and a member of a family with more brothers and sisters than there was enough food on the table to nourish them regularly. College was a distant dream forgotten about as they woke up to the harsh reality that without an education, life at a bar was the only shot at a job. So many of the girls were providing for their families at home, or even working to feed the children they’d had on their own.

We would also talk about their dreams. This is the part that really got me. I take my career for granted.  I am treated well, receive paid time off, have solid friendships with my coworkers and superiors, and my physical and mental safety is always a priority in my workplace.  I strive to do my best at my job here in America, and it pays off. These girls want to travel, heal the sick, serve others, or work in the technical field, but without getting out of the bar, working hard only drives them deeper into their prison.  Without an education, they have to dream from inside the jail cell of the sex trade.

After four, taxing nights in the bars of screaming over loud music and breathing in clouds of smoke, your voice is shot.  Your mind is stretched in every way.  You try to come up with more creative ways to invite the girls to our gatherings to talk about Wipe Every Tear and the freedom that this organization brings.  You scavenge your mind for the perfect questions to ask the girls and the perfect responses to every heartbreaking response and story you hear.  You suppress the agonizing, burning urge to scream at their customers—most of whom are middle aged to elderly white men from first-world countries—that use the red light district as a twisted tourist attraction.  You try to stifle the daunting fact that you are one person, trying to fight for justice in an ocean of atrocity and you wonder if the sex-trade will ever reach extinction.  You struggle to remember that God is using your life in these moments to talk about freedom, even if only to a few girls.  You choke down tears at least 50 percent of the time you swallow.  Your heart feels like it’s been trampled.  And yet at the end of your time in the bars for the day, when you come back to the hotel in the early hours of the morning, you sit back to reflect and think Wow.  I have it so good.

Bar outreach is quite possibly, one of the most heart-wrenching experiences I have ever lived.  Visiting my sisters in the bars was also one of the most exhilarating, remarkable, and life-changing things I’ve ever had the privilege of doing.  Not only that, but I was inspired by the girls who have been rescued already.  These young women who have every right to shut the painful memories of the bars out of their minds instead vigorously led us through the dark pockets of Walking Street, urgently telling their friends and previous coworkers about their miraculous freedom.  Their paintbrush of emotions holds every color, from rage at the customers, to sadness at the sight of injustice and ugly memories, to joy when an imprisoned girl catches the fire of hope in her eyes.  These strong Filipinas fight through it all to tell anyone they can that it’s okay to have hope again.

In the midst of darkness that breeds on Walking Street, there were countless times where I experienced Jesus’ atmosphere-altering presence.  On the third night in the bars, a few members of our team remembered that a young lady in one of the bars had just celebrated a birthday, and they pooled their Filipino pesos together to buy her a delicious cake to bring to her at work.  A bar that once felt like a human zoo where tangible evil put a heavy, metallic taste on your tongue, now hosted a party that celebrated these gorgeous, intelligent, and remarkable women.  We danced and laughed in a war zone.  We talked about dreams and drank chocolate milk, and repeatedly proclaimed the beauty of these sisters in the midst of their brokenness.  Coach said to walk into every bar knowing that Jesus was walking with us, but when I entered the bar that night, I knew Jesus was already there.  He had been working in that bar just as long as every single girl that was imprisoned there.  He had been holding their hands before they knew His name.  He was the real host of the celebration that night, and He was the one that determined their worth before another man ever dared to lay a hand on God’s precious daughters.

That’s why I went to the Philippines. The sex trade is real, it’s hard, and in the Philippines, it screams in your face. It’s un-ignorable to me. I walked down a street the stretch of barely a mile, surrounded by thousands of girls my age trapped by poverty, trickery, and the false idea that their worth is defined by selfish men.  I want to prove to girls that they are much more than an object for someone’s pleasure, but I know that I am not the hero of these girls’ stories, and I never will be.  In perspective, I am just one person and I am not capable of talking to every girl trapped on Walking Street.  But Christ, the real hero, is infinitely capable.  He can touch and break the hearts of those who can make a difference, and open their eyes to the harsh reality of human trafficking.  He revealed to me that these girls’ circumstances have never once tainted their value.  And with that, I pray that these few thoughts and experiences compel you to open your eyes to what God is doing in the Philippines.  He is making beauty from ashes, and showing His daughters that they will be joyful once again.  He does that in every story—in mine, in yours.  Has Christ set you free?  Has he exchanged your pain for joy?  Are the tears that once streaked your face only a memory?  Have your prison doors been flung open by the love and redemptive power of Jesus?  Has your life been changed at the moment of your encounter with the Savior?  Then make your story known; speak up for those who don’t have a voice and fight for the oppressed.  It’s time to live the story of broken beauty that marks the human life.  It’s time for the injustice of human trafficking to become extinct.