Broken

There comes a point when God takes your own little picture of what life and reality are like and he shatters it.  I have thought that has happened in my life before.  Little did I know that every glimpse of the bigger world was only preparing me for something more.

Over the past nine months I have been working with street-dependent youth.  What does this mean?  I thought this meant I was learning how to help a population in need, how to rally the community into action, and how to make a mark on social injustice.  However, I am learning something much greater.  I am learning that the face behind the sign on the corner is an individual with a story.  An individual with pain, needs, and desires.  Who am I to judge that person without knowing their story? 

The past months I have heard stories of trauma and survival.  Stories I had read about in books, but now can match with a face.  Many of these are victims of horrible crimes and the sad part is they often don't realize it. 

Today was different.  Today I heard the story, not of a victim, but of a survivor!

I cannot think of his story without tears in my eyes and the realization that I have had a blessed life.  My heart breaks for this 21-year-old brilliant individual with only a 3rd grade education.  At 8-years-old his father made him kill his loved dog with his bear hands and then sold him to a Russian mob for a months worth of meth.  He was then placed in a cage to fight other children for entertainment.  He had to do unimaginable things simply to survive.  At night he was chained in a basement until one day he took a marble statue and crushed the chains around his wrists in order to escape.  He tells me this as he shows me his bent and scarred hands.  He story goes on to tell of selling drugs for a place to sleep, being kicked out by his mother for simply looking like his dad, and then his dad driving him into the middle of the desert only to leave him to die. 

I cannot believe the many stories this one individual told me through the tears.  How can one life suffer so much?  He tells me he is unlovable and everyone that should have been there for him has never cared.  He tells me he forgives them because the hate will only "rot me from the inside out."  With a smile on his tear streaked face he tells me he knows what his purpose is.  To help people like him.  To help them avoid the pain, stay off the drugs, and not sever relationships with the ones they love. 

I am unable to give this story justice and to express the emotion that it deserves.   This one individual has opened awareness on so many different levels for me today.  Don't forget to say I love you today, don't forget to thank the Lord for all He has provided and especially the lack of pain!  I urge you to think twice next time you see an individual asking for food on the side of the road.  Remember, each of us has a story and most of all, each of us are children of God!

Whoever closes his ear to the cry of the poor will himself call out and not be answered.  Proverbs 21:13

Sex Traffickers and the Craziest Day… Ever

I had to share this story with you.  It is a post found at SheIsPriceless.com.

Today, we meet a psychologist to girls who have been rescued from the sex-trade.
As we walk down the street, she tells us she has a “surprise” waiting at our destination. I’m up for surprises. In fact, I kind of flow with them. The day is clear, a slight breeze is blowing, and for the first time I don’t even need my Northface jacket. We sit down in an outdoor cafe with green umbrellas and Ahmad tea signs all around. Reminds me of Kiev and the sun feels good
“Do you want to know why I brought you here?” Nothing to fear, no need to worry. Of course we do. The black stuff in my cup isn’t real good so it’s not the best espresso in the city. “Why are we here?”
“One of the girls you will meet was trafficked from this restaurant.”
What…did…you…say? At that moment, my world changed. The crowded city street was a different place. A man from the Middle East appeared over Anne Jackson’s right shoulder. Something about him, it wasn’t right.
“In fact, they’re here right now. And so are the girls who are being trafficked. They lure girls here for a job. Then they are sent to Turkey, Israel, and Russia.”

I saw them. Teenagers draped with blond and brunette curls. You’ve got to be kidding me. And I’ve brought Anne here? I mean Simon and Brad are one thing, but a girl? Someone I’m responsible for, and I’ve brought her into the midst of a den filled with sex-traffickers? I looked to the right and saw two more men emerge out of the restaurant. They weren’t Moldovan. Simon’s camera didn’t help things. He was shooting pictures and video faster than Usain Bolt runs the hundred yard dash.
Now we’re the center of attention. We tried to play it cool, acting like we belonged there and were just shooting a plain ‘ol video about life in the big city. My chest got a little bigger, my sixth sense a little stronger. If there was ever a time I longed to be a CIA agent.
An overweight, middle aged man sits down with a young girl at a table ten feet from us. She might be seventeen. We captured the photo. She bats her eyes and tries to impress her. He hands her a wad of cash for last nights exploits.

I’m sickened beyond explanation. And then I realize, this happens every single day. What am I suppose to do? Turn a blind eye? Pretend this evil doesn’t exist? Go back to my comfortable life and wish that young girls aren’t trafficked like this right in front of my eyes?
Something inside tells me I can’t. I’ve been exposed and I’ll never be the same.
At least ten traffickers sniff us out. They’re behind us, in front, to the right and left. We’re absolutely surrounded. But were not in prison like the young girls who fill the chairs. We have a choice. Their choice had already been made for them.
This place has the heavy-weight title of the highest rate of trafficked women in the world. Tens of thousands simply disappear. Our psychologist friend pulls out a local newspaper.
“This is how they trap them. Local ads promising well paying jobs abroad. Everyone wants to leave so all young girls are potential victims.”

I look to the left and to my utter shock, see two girls reading the same kind of newspaper. Once your eyes are opened, it’s everywhere in this place.
“I brought you here so you can see the realities in our country. It doesn’t do you any good if I only show you what most people want to see. This is the reality.“
Tomorrow, we will be with five of the girls who have been rescued from this nightmare. I want to be a real presence in their live and fight back the evil that had control over their life. Thank God there are people here who go to the front lines every day.
I have to do something, I can’t sit on the sidelines and hope this goes away.
We’re in Moldova. Who would like to join us?  We stood up from our table and walked out of that hell hole. The beautiful blonde girl didn’t have that choice.

By Tom Davis