Standing in the Space of Injustice

 For some time, something has been heavy on my heart. As I stare into the eyes of these children, I can hardly handle the silence that fills the air. No one wants to talk about it. It isn't that no one cares, but it makes us uncomfortable, and so we ignore it. When it is brought up, we quickly change the subject. We look around nervously as we quickly sweep it under the make shift rug, hoping to hide the facts before anyone notices that we really are informed. It's easier that way. We don't have to be responsible if we pretend as if we never knew. But we do know, and yet we still turn a blind eye.

Let me tell you a story. Let me shed some light.
*It is estimated that there are approximately 27 million slaves around the world. *According to some estimates, approximately 80% of trafficking involves sexual exploitation, and 19% involves labor exploitation.* Around half of trafficking victims in the world are under the age of 18. *  There is only one shelter in the U.S. designed specifically to meet the needs of trafficking victims, and it currently only houses a total of seven to nine victims. * Approximately 20,000 Individuals Are Trafficked INTO The United States per year. * The average age of a trafficked victim is 12-14 years old.

If you aren't stunned, I think there is something wrong with you. These facts are a part of the story of every trafficked little boy and girl (or adult, but I want to focus on the children for now). I wonder how I ever slept at night unscathed by the horrors of what is going on around me. How could I sleep at night not thinking about the little ones who lie on a brothel floor, shivering in the cold. How could I crawl into bed at night knowing that I had a full belly of the finest foods, but somewhere in the world, these little ones are going to sleep in a dirty cell with no food. This is real life. We don't like to talk about real life.

To be honest, maybe some of us are bothered by this information. Maybe a handful of us are actually willing to talk about it. But I wonder, are we willing to DO anything about it? Let's take it a step further. Maybe we are willing to talk about it AND do something about it...what is there to do? I can't say that I know the answer to that, but let me share a little bit more about what I have learned. 

Recently, I came across a statistic (for the life of me, I can't remember where I saw it, but I'm sure you could find it online if you searched) that stated that over half of the children who are trafficked each year are orphans. This makes a lot of sense to me. In a class I took in college, which was specifically about human trafficking, I learned that a lot of children being trafficked are promised a better life by the trafficker. The children believe that they will be taken to the city and given a good job. They believe that though they are orphaned, they will be able to survive with a job. The children put their trust in the trafficker, not knowing what will really happen to them. Before long, however, these young ones find themselves locked in a room being brutally abused, unable to escape. Horrid. What happened to their 'dream' of a better life?

 

 

As I think about these little ones, my heart is ripped out of my chest and I feel as though all of the blood my body contains is seeping out of my chest. I am horrified by the injustice that these little ones face. I get this image of running up to a brothel door, kicking it down and standing in the space between the little girl who huddles on the ground and the man who is about to injure not only her body, mind, and spirit, but rather a man who is going to seer her soul and change the course of her life forever. I see the image of a rescuer filling the space between captivity and freedom, taking literal blows to the face, nearly dying but still shouting, 'You will not touch her! I will take her place! I will take her place! Set her free!'. I see a saint bravely picking up those children and rushing into the sunlight outside, dodging bullets to save thier lives.  Who will stand in that void? Who will fill that space? Who is willing to take a blow for her? I want to be.

 

 

Over the past several years, I have felt as though God has put a calling on my life to go into a career and ministry of counseling. I never really knew what part of that I wanted to work in. I love kids, so for a time I thought I would be effective working with children. For a season I thought I could be effective working with families, because I believe in strong families and want to be used in that aspect. But I knew where I was being led...I just didn't want to go. I told God I would do whatever He wanted, but I did not want to work with victims of trauma. That could get too messy; that could be too much for my heart to handle. That was some heavy junk to deal with. But I could not get away. I could not get these thoughts out of my head. I couldn't stop thinking about those who have dealt with the most horrific traumas. I kept thinking about how we, as humans, often like to put messy circumstances and experiences in little boxes, store them in the attic and never peer into the boxes again. I like to do that. I am human. I want things to be nice, clean, pretty, and easy to look at with little effort in the way of healing. I cannot run any more.

 

So here I am, knowing that I have a call on my life to get into the messy situations; to deal with the things that no one wants to talk about or acknowledge. It has never been more clear to me than it is now. I suppose my call has always been clear, I just didn't want to listen. But here I am, ready to kick down some doors, blow the lid of this box of messy horrors and throw all the papers out of the attic window. I cannot sit back and say that people matter to me if I am not willing to care for the least of these. If I am not willing to care for the orphans, the widows, the sexually exploited children, the ones who could never repay me monitarily, than my work is in vain. I must pursue the call that is placed on my life. I want nothing more than to be that person that God sends into the darkest places of this world.

 

When I was a young girl, I used to pray to God "Lord, please send me to proclaim your name to the most dangerous parts of the world. Send me to the scariest parts of the world to bring Your healing to the brokenhearted and the weak." I never knew, as a little girl, that God would grow a passion and desire so intense I could not quench it. I never knew that God would ask me to sit down and hear the stories of horrific tradgedies; things no human being should ever go through. I don't entirely know where to start, but maybe my start is now. Maybe my start is realizing that I can no longer keep silent on a topic that no one wants to talk about or do anything about. Frankly, I am tired of apathy.

 

Here is my plea: That we would begin to care for other human beings as if they were our own children being ripped to pieces. That we wouldn't just sit back and talk about how sad things are, but rather that we would do something. I pray that I will go running to bind the wounds of the broken and bring rest to the minds of the weary. I pray that I would be bold and stand in the space of injustice, willing to take the force of the hits meant for another.

 

I may not know the way now, but I will find one...this is my declaration: I will not rest until I have served in this capacity...too many lives are at stake!

Untamed Blessings

     It's been a few years since I felt like I was dying but the difficulty and the pain are still fresh in my mind. The agony of pounding on Abba's chest still haunts me and the silence in the midst of severe trial sometimes leaves me feeling chilled. However, on the other side of this raging river of hell on earth, I've experienced what I like to call 'untamed blessings.'

     Many of you may know the story of my battle with Lyme Disease. Left undiagnosed by numerous doctors (for years!), when the diagnosis finally came at fourteen, my family and I were both relieved and afraid. They were years of exhaustion, several missed days of school, intense pain in my body and fevers so ferocious that it wasn't uncommon for me to be wearing a sweatshirt in ninety degree weather. The feeble state of my body (and spirit) by the time I was diagnosed was such that the doctor who diagnosed me was highly concerned about me. Dr. Fein, (whom I am convinced is the BEST doctor this earth has seen) got right to work. I would need intravenous medication multiple times a day and a picc line inserted into my arm immediately. There was no time to waste, so literally, within one week of a diagnosis I was in her office again having my IV line put in my arm. There I was, fourteen, unable to function like a fourteen year old girl and unable to do the things a normal teen could do. I was devastated to say the least.

     Devastation not only hit my body and made me feel crippled, but it also took over my mind. All I wanted to do was die and I wondered why God would make me go through such a horrid disease. I remember waking up one night in particular having absolutely no idea where I was. While this happened several times during my battle with Lyme, I woke up this particular night in a panic. In the darkness of my room I began to search for something familiar. My hands became clammy and sweat began to form on my chest. Where was I? Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the dull glow of my small fish tank in my room and my mind was eased. I was safe in my room. The panic subsided for that night, but as I lay awake in the darkness, I wondered if the feelings I experienced were feelings that an elderly dementia patient would feel...always kind of 'lost'. My mind wandered to several places that night, and ever so softly,  I began to speak to God.

     It started in my head and became a dull whisper. I said 'God, I don't want to die...' as I struggled to forget about the intense pain my entire body experienced. Again, a soft whisper floated out of my gently parted lips 'What did I do wrong, God? Why is this happening? I'm trying to be good, I really am. I swear.' Tears began to form in the corners of my eyes and ever so lightly began to roll down my face. 'I just...I just don't understand' I said so softly it was barely audible. I waited for an answer; as if I believed God would speak to me in a loud beaming voice. I expected the normal answer that everyone around me had been giving me saying, 'Oh honey, you'll feel better soon...I'll pray for you!' Silence. It was so quiet I swear I could have heard a pin drop on my carpeted floor. The only noise I heard was my breathing. As I turned over to my side, I gave up on hearing God say anything and attempted to sleep. But I couldn't. After what seemed like hours, I finally dozed off as I attempted to figure out what I had done to deserve being this sick. It was all my fault and I knew it. Somewhere deep in my heart I knew God loved me but intellectually I felt like He had spat in my face. Somehow, in the midst of all my confusion, I continued to seek God. I was hoping for some answers.

     Several months passed with many experiences like the one I just described. In the midst of being sick, I faced tragedy all around me. There is literally too much to recount but I watched one grandfather face open heart surgery and another deal with the brutal disease ALS and pass away suddenly. I watched my great grandmother go through breast cancer, a young friend pass away from a brain cancer, and the loss of my horse. Each thing hit me harder than the last and til it was all said and done, the devastation of all of these things and even more, I was left wishing I had never even existed. Sure, I believed God created me for a reason but I began to look at Him as if He was playing chess with my life. I began to believe that He got some sort of pleasure out of my pain and that somehow I was too sinful and that's why He had brought all these trials into my life. Of course I grew up in church and had heard so much about 'trials' and 'God's love' and 'grace' and 'mercy,' but as far as I was concerned, God was a God of love but He just didn't love me. I felt unworthy, unloved and broken beyond repair, but most of all, I was angry. Very angry.

     My journey with Lyme (well, the worst of it) lasted over two years. With over twenty months of IV treatment, sometimes three times a day, I tried to live life as normally as possible...whatever that is. I finished high school and entered my first year of college. Because of my school schedule and IV medication, I would wake up every morning at 5AM, hook the IV to my picc line - which transported the meds directly to my heart - in order to make it to class by 8AM. I pretended I was happy and some days I really was, but deep down I felt wounded by God.

One morning in particular, I remember waking up at 5AM and complaining to God. I was tired and didn't want to get out of bed to get my medication or hook up my IV. In a gruff voice (thank God I didn't have a roommate!) I said 'You know, God, this sucks!! I don't want to get up and do this!! Can't you just heal me already?! I think I've done enough 'sick' time by now!' I scoot out of bed, yanked the refrigerator door open and slammed it shut. 'I HATE this!' I thought. Again, I yelled at God; 'This isn't fair! How could you do this to me?!' God answered. Out of nowhere, God spoke. He said 'Do what?' Furious at the question I felt Him asking I threw the IV bag on my bed. 'THIS!! Why did you let me get so sick! And for this long?!' 'Because I trust you.' 'You trust me?!?! What a stupid response! Trust me to be sick?' 'No.' 'Then what?! Trust me with what?!' 'I trust you with this gift.' All of the air suddenly left the room and I struggled to breathe.

     Fury danced in my eyes as I glared at the IV and tube sticking out of my arm. I quickly retorted to God's answer: 'If this is Your opinion of a gift, take it back!!! I don't need it!! What kind of gift is being deathly sick?!' Once again hot, fiery tears fell from my eyes. They were angry tears; frustrated tears. I couldn't understand. All I wanted was the pain to stop. I just wanted to be normal...so I told God that. Spirit broken I plopped on my bed and silently hooked up my IV. 'But I just want to be normal for once, God. I just want this to be over...' Again, God spoke. In the most gentle, most calming way, God said to me 'Kaitlyn, I didn't call you to be normal...I chose you to be greater than normal.' And I wept.
I wept because I didn't understand. I wept because I was heartbroken and didn't know how to be whole again. I wept because for a moment I remembered that God had a plan for me (Jeremiah 29:11). I wept because I knew I shouldn't have been worried (Philippians 4:6). I wept because God chose me. I wept because for the first time in so long, I actually felt the love of God in a new way. I just wept. Somehow, in the midst of it all, that day changed me. Did I instantly understand? No. Do I totally 'get it' now? No, I don't think so, but now that I'm on the other side of this thing I can see more clearly now.

     Did you ever stop to ask God 'Why?' I know I sure did. It's so evident that in the midst of the things I described above and the rest of my journey through Lyme and the pain that surrounded it, God was still at work. It did something to me. Today, I am absolutely closer to God than I ever have been before. I've learned so much. I've learned that even in the midst of trials, God is still 100% loving and good. I've learned that sometimes God entrusts us with difficult things because He knows that with Him, we have the strength to come out the other side alive. I've learned that God is always trying to teach us something. For me, I learned how to be a whole lot more compassionate and empathetic. I've learned to listen and not speak. I've learned that through my sufferings, people can get a glimpse of Christ. I've learned that healing is possible and wholeness is possible after complete brokenness. I've learned that I am nothing, but Christ is everything. What I do today can bring Him the glory He deserves. I've learned that God is a God of forgiveness and not of punishment. I may sin daily, but God did not allow me to be sick as to punish me, but rather to bring me closer to Him. The list could go on and on as to the things that I've learned through my struggles with Lyme, but the biggest thing I've learned is that God is love and He's got a plan for me. He's got a specific plan to prosper me and I don't have to worry about tomorrow because He's already got tomorrow under control.

     People have asked me many times 'Why does God allow bad things to happen?' and I am convinced that it is meant to get both our attention and the attention of those around us. Maybe it's so we realize that our lives, without Him, are pointless and drudgery. Maybe instead of Him pushing us away, He wants us to come closer to Him in times of trial so He can show us first person how much He cares. Was I afraid? No doubt. Do I understand fully? Absolutely not. But what I do know is that despite the trials of life, I am closer to God than ever before and I am happier having had these experiences of growing with Him than if I hadn't ever had them. I know that He has chosen me for great things and in my suffering, I am blessed.

     I believe, that with the help of God, we can change this world for the better, but we must cling to the cross when death is near and dance in the shadow of the cross. Let us sing praises to Him in both the good times and difficult because our Savior lives. Let us hold fast to the garments of the King and know that we are under His protection. Let us look for the joy and the blessings in hardship. Perhaps, being a Christian isn't about going to church and giving to the poor and having all sorts of programs-these things are good, but rather, maybe being a Christian - a Christ follower - is about living our lives by the fire and in the flame or learning to exhibit Christ in a world full of untamed lions. Maybe, just maybe, those trials and difficult times we face are really just 'untamed blessings'...blessings in disguise...blessings far beyond our tame imaginations if we'll only surrender completely to Christ and allow Him to show us the plans He has for our lives. Yes, maybe we all need more 'untamed blessings' in our lives...

     Truth is, God understands our suffering and understands our legitimate cries for help. He also knows what is best for us. I believe that everything happens for a reason; that God has a marvelous plan for each of His children. I believe that His plan is best, even if I don't understand and that I don't have to worry about anything. God will take care of us. So in the midst of your suffering, cling to God. Don't be afraid...He is with you always. And trust me, on the other side of the trial, you'll find blessing beyond your wildest imagination.

May His face always shine upon you...