A few years ago I watched "Born into Brothels" and "The Day my God Died". These films brought me to tears. My immediate reaction was to book a flight, jump on a plane to India, walk into the red light district, into the buildings that imprison the women and children, take their hand, and walk them out. I thought I had it all figured out. In a sense, it was way easier then, when a screen kept me safely separated and gave me the ability to ignore it at the click of a button.
Now there are faces. Names. Conversations attempted to be had over the loud music. Prayers being said. I think, in a way, I walked in here thinking myself some sort of hero. Dreaming about all the women I would rescue and give a bigger life. I thought I had it all figured out. My perfect plan was to walk into the bars, engage in an amazing life changing conversation with the women, offer to help them get a better job, they say yes, and just like that I can be a hero....What I didn't plan on was the fact that most of the time they look with sad eyes, a smile pasted on because their bar manager is watching, and tell me they like working there. What do you do then? When you put all your marbles in the being a hero basket and that falls? When a girl tells you she likes working there and you know she's lying, and you want to keep asking questions, but you notice the bar manager eyeing you suspiciously so you hurry away in order to keep favor with the bar? What do you do when you feel the Spirit leading you to a bar girl, who you end up chasing down the street in hopes of an amazing conversation, and you find out she's drunk and doesn't speak English?
God is teaching me alot. Mostly I`m just learning to trust Him. I was prayer walking down the road where we do ministry at night, and I just felt the Lord saying His fingerprint is on this place. If you look at your hand, you can`t see the details of your fingerprint until you look closely. In the same way it can be so hard to see God on this road. As I walk down the road, I am approached by multiple vendors selling things of the abominable sort. I choke on the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and weed. I pass many bars, and many girls dancing on poles. I sit at a bar and have a conversation with a girl whilst trying not to be distracted by the man grabbing the girl at the next bar. I try not to get sick as I see her disgust, her hands pushing him away until he shoves money in her bra, and then she must oblige.
God is showing me His heart. I think I have seen more cleavage in my 2 weeks here than in my entire life. My human mind is prone to think these women that dress like this lack alot of self-respect. But God shows me His heart - these women are the real heroes. Many of them only put themselves thru this because they want to create a better life for their kids. They are not strippers, they are not prostitutes. They are children and daughters. I watch many men eye these women like objects, not people, and grab them in ways that makes me want to punch them in the face. God shows me His heart - His love for them runs deep. They are children and sons. This is their cry for intimacy with the Father.
Often a bar girl will say no to prayer. She will say no to a coffee date. No to a better job. And my time is up, and I have to walk away from the bar knowing some man is probably going to buy her tonight, and that she will have no choice but to oblige.
What can I do then? I pray. I commit her to the Father and release my judgement and frustration.
I trust Him because He is the ultimate hero.
Now there are faces. Names. Conversations attempted to be had over the loud music. Prayers being said. I think, in a way, I walked in here thinking myself some sort of hero. Dreaming about all the women I would rescue and give a bigger life. I thought I had it all figured out. My perfect plan was to walk into the bars, engage in an amazing life changing conversation with the women, offer to help them get a better job, they say yes, and just like that I can be a hero....What I didn't plan on was the fact that most of the time they look with sad eyes, a smile pasted on because their bar manager is watching, and tell me they like working there. What do you do then? When you put all your marbles in the being a hero basket and that falls? When a girl tells you she likes working there and you know she's lying, and you want to keep asking questions, but you notice the bar manager eyeing you suspiciously so you hurry away in order to keep favor with the bar? What do you do when you feel the Spirit leading you to a bar girl, who you end up chasing down the street in hopes of an amazing conversation, and you find out she's drunk and doesn't speak English?
God is teaching me alot. Mostly I`m just learning to trust Him. I was prayer walking down the road where we do ministry at night, and I just felt the Lord saying His fingerprint is on this place. If you look at your hand, you can`t see the details of your fingerprint until you look closely. In the same way it can be so hard to see God on this road. As I walk down the road, I am approached by multiple vendors selling things of the abominable sort. I choke on the smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and weed. I pass many bars, and many girls dancing on poles. I sit at a bar and have a conversation with a girl whilst trying not to be distracted by the man grabbing the girl at the next bar. I try not to get sick as I see her disgust, her hands pushing him away until he shoves money in her bra, and then she must oblige.
God is showing me His heart. I think I have seen more cleavage in my 2 weeks here than in my entire life. My human mind is prone to think these women that dress like this lack alot of self-respect. But God shows me His heart - these women are the real heroes. Many of them only put themselves thru this because they want to create a better life for their kids. They are not strippers, they are not prostitutes. They are children and daughters. I watch many men eye these women like objects, not people, and grab them in ways that makes me want to punch them in the face. God shows me His heart - His love for them runs deep. They are children and sons. This is their cry for intimacy with the Father.
Often a bar girl will say no to prayer. She will say no to a coffee date. No to a better job. And my time is up, and I have to walk away from the bar knowing some man is probably going to buy her tonight, and that she will have no choice but to oblige.
What can I do then? I pray. I commit her to the Father and release my judgement and frustration.
I trust Him because He is the ultimate hero.
