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!
No comments:
Post a Comment