Two weeks ago, I and the other summer staff at DaySpring spent an evening at a meeting about trafficking in the Tulsa area. The presentation consisted of the usual - definitions of trafficking, lots of overwhelming statistics, information and anecdotes about how people get caught up in trafficking. Every part of the information given in the presentation we were intimately familiar with. None of it surprised us. After all, we work with it every day.
But some things did shock me.
I was shocked by how naive the general public is concerning trafficking. I know that even with increasing awareness, not everyone is familiar with the issue, but the sheer lack of understanding behind some of the questions ("are adults trafficked too?" "is trafficking a brand new thing?") blew my mind.
I was shocked by how jaded the police officers are. I know this isn't uncommon, especially after 29 years on the job. Especially after seeing the same teenage girl return to a pimp even after being rescued 3 times before, or when a pimp slips away to another city. But it was almost painful to hear the despondency in the officer's voice as he spoke.
When one woman asked how they could help, the officer was struggling not to tell her that there was nothing she could do. He even said that he disliked making these presentations because of how futile it was. He sounded hopeless.
And I wanted to stand up in that room and tell everyone that there is hope. That even when it seems like police officers and attorneys aren't able to make a difference, that even when statistics tell us that things aren't getting better, that even when our prayers seem to change nothing, there is hope.
I know this because I was there when a woman who has been abused and hurt in so many ways committed her life to Jesus as her Savior. I was there when six women were baptized and filled with so much joy for Christ.
I'm there when these women come to us asking for prayer for the struggles in their lives. I'm there when they approach us with genuine questions about the Bible. I'm there when they share their favorite passage of Scripture and how it has impacted them.
And I'm there when they encourage us as fellow sisters in Christ. I'm there when they express how thankful they are for us and for DaySpring, and the changes living at the shelter has brought in their life.
I've been there when women have gotten back on their feet - whatever it takes - and find their own place where they can live with their children. They're free from their abuser with a new life ahead of them.
And I wanted to tell that officer that it is so important that he be there sharing about what he does because everyone needs to know that trafficking is real today. We can not allow it to live in the shadows any longer, because that is how it thrives. And even if one person in that room will be able to help with the knowledge they have been given, then it is worth it. The prayers uttered by the people in that room matter, and they're worth it.
Yes, there will always be people suffering in this lifetime. There will be women returning to their abuser - I've seen it. I know the reality of trafficking. I know how many lives it changes forever or utterly destroys - I've seen that too.
But I believe in a God who has power over it all. I know that He can work change in any life, no matter how devastated. I've seen it with my own two eyes. I know that because of Him, there is hope.
There is always hope in His unfailing love.
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
When You Can't Fix It
I like to help people. I like to fix things. When my niece stubs her toe, I kiss it better. When a friend is struggling and needs comfort, I give her a shoulder to lean on and some (occasionally unwanted) advice. When a complication arises at work, I stick with it until it's solved.
But sometimes there's nothing I can do. Sometimes in my humanity, I am weak and powerless; utterly unable to lift a hand in help. In times like these, the only way help will be found is through God. But what about when He seems to withhold it?
One day someone walks into the shelter who is more damaged than the rest. She has experienced tragedies more terrible than most have. I can see it haunting her eyes. I can see it in the way she shies away from touch, the way she startles when the door opens, the way she keeps her head lowered.
And as she sits three feet away from me telling me the horrors she has suffered through, things that I had only heard about as distant stories before that night, it's so easy. It's so easy for the doubt to seep into my bones, for its ugly tendrils to begin to wrap around my soul. As darkness falls and I sit up late into the night, it continues to spread. And when I rise the next day, greeted with clouds of gray and a sheet of rain, it still lingers in my mind, hurting to my very core.
Why, God? Why do You allow someone to suffer so much pain and so many horrors at the hands of her fellow humans? Why do You allow such great injustices to be done to her by the system that is supposed to protect her? Why do You have me be one of the first people she's talked to in days who doesn't want to hurt her when You don't give me any way to help her? When all I can do is listen and give her a cup of coffee so she can sleep through the night?
I'm angry.
I'm angry at myself for not being able to do more. I'm angry at God for not enabling me to do more.
I'm angry at Him for not healing her, for not keeping her from abuse and pain, for not delivering justice for her. It was well within His power to do so; why wouldn't He?
And I'm humbled that even when I feel so much despair, He continues to be faithful. I'm humbled when He gives me peace at the start of a new day, even when she chooses to leave and return to where she has been damaged and used and abused. I'm humbled that, just as His eye is on the sparrow, He watches over all of us, and He guides her not back to those who hurt her, but to another safe place nearby.
I'm joyous when I learn that two of the guests have come to know Him personally, and two more have rededicated their life to Him. What a beautiful reminder of His everlasting grace and love for us.
I'm overwhelmed when a guest approaches me asking for prayer, and I get to lift her up to our Father above. When she shares about her day and her life and her dreams with me. What a precious confidence from a sister in Christ. What a wonderful God to allow this kinship.
Yes, I have felt anger and despair. Yes, I have questioned God and His purpose. And yes, I have been granted a glorious peace, a peace that passes understanding, a peace that would not exist through my own power.
Because sometimes I can't fix it. Sometimes there is absolutely nothing I can do. But even in those moments when I am completely helpless, God is still here me, even when it seems that He is withholding His power. Because His strength is made perfect in my weakness, even if I can't see it. So when I am weak, I will continue to trust in Him.
Because He Is who He Is. And oh how He loves us.
But sometimes there's nothing I can do. Sometimes in my humanity, I am weak and powerless; utterly unable to lift a hand in help. In times like these, the only way help will be found is through God. But what about when He seems to withhold it?
One day someone walks into the shelter who is more damaged than the rest. She has experienced tragedies more terrible than most have. I can see it haunting her eyes. I can see it in the way she shies away from touch, the way she startles when the door opens, the way she keeps her head lowered.
And as she sits three feet away from me telling me the horrors she has suffered through, things that I had only heard about as distant stories before that night, it's so easy. It's so easy for the doubt to seep into my bones, for its ugly tendrils to begin to wrap around my soul. As darkness falls and I sit up late into the night, it continues to spread. And when I rise the next day, greeted with clouds of gray and a sheet of rain, it still lingers in my mind, hurting to my very core.
Why, God? Why do You allow someone to suffer so much pain and so many horrors at the hands of her fellow humans? Why do You allow such great injustices to be done to her by the system that is supposed to protect her? Why do You have me be one of the first people she's talked to in days who doesn't want to hurt her when You don't give me any way to help her? When all I can do is listen and give her a cup of coffee so she can sleep through the night?
I'm angry.
I'm angry at myself for not being able to do more. I'm angry at God for not enabling me to do more.
I'm angry at Him for not healing her, for not keeping her from abuse and pain, for not delivering justice for her. It was well within His power to do so; why wouldn't He?
And I'm humbled that even when I feel so much despair, He continues to be faithful. I'm humbled when He gives me peace at the start of a new day, even when she chooses to leave and return to where she has been damaged and used and abused. I'm humbled that, just as His eye is on the sparrow, He watches over all of us, and He guides her not back to those who hurt her, but to another safe place nearby.
I'm joyous when I learn that two of the guests have come to know Him personally, and two more have rededicated their life to Him. What a beautiful reminder of His everlasting grace and love for us.
I'm overwhelmed when a guest approaches me asking for prayer, and I get to lift her up to our Father above. When she shares about her day and her life and her dreams with me. What a precious confidence from a sister in Christ. What a wonderful God to allow this kinship.
Yes, I have felt anger and despair. Yes, I have questioned God and His purpose. And yes, I have been granted a glorious peace, a peace that passes understanding, a peace that would not exist through my own power.
Because sometimes I can't fix it. Sometimes there is absolutely nothing I can do. But even in those moments when I am completely helpless, God is still here me, even when it seems that He is withholding His power. Because His strength is made perfect in my weakness, even if I can't see it. So when I am weak, I will continue to trust in Him.
Because He Is who He Is. And oh how He loves us.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
The Reality of Safety
Most of us move through our lives in total freedom. We drive or walk many miles to our school or place of employment and never feel fear. We don't have to look over our shoulder as we go. We come home to a nice house in a quiet, suburban neighborhood, lock our doors, and go on with our evenings.
At DaySpring Villa, security precautions are a constant factor in daily life. Locked doors, security cameras, and intruder alerts are present everywhere. Only staff members carry sets of keys and know the access codes. Every person who enters the shelter to volunteer must complete training and sign confidentiality forms. The whereabouts of guests are known at all times - whether present in the shelter or out working or apartment hunting.
These security measures exist not out of paranoia, but because of the very real need to provide a safe place for our guests. See, for most of these women, danger is reality. They are here because someone - abusers or traffickers - wants to find them. Someone wants to hurt them again. These women need a safe place to stay while they recover from trauma and work towards their next steps in life, such as finding employment, learning child management skills, or getting a divorce.
Many of these women go out every day to a job or to work towards their goals. As soon as they leave DaySpring, they feel fear. They feel unsafe. They know all too well that there is someone out there who has hurt them previously and will do so again given the chance. They go through their day afraid of what could happen to them or their children.
But when they are at DaySpring, they can feel safe. Here they can actually sleep through the night. They know their children are safe, that they will receive three meals every day, and that they have a bed to call their own.
The reality of living life with this potential danger didn't make sense to me until I came to DaySpring. Here confidentiality and safety have been thoroughly impressed upon all of us - do not take pictures of guests. Do not share the names or situations of the guests. Do not open the door unless you can identify the person.
It is so important that these women feel safe here at DaySpring. If they do not, we have to find them another home. So we uphold the procedures and make safety a priority, even if it takes time (leaving someone on the doorstep while we determine who they are) or inconveniences us. Their safety is what we're here for.
I don't write about this to cause concern. I share this because I think that many of us completely fail to grasp how very real the threat of harm, violence, and even death is to some people. But here, danger is a reality, so we must make safety an equal reality for these women. In providing a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and ears to hear, we not only help these women towards recovery, but we show the love of Christ and in doing so, can point them towards Him, the only One who can truly save.
At DaySpring Villa, security precautions are a constant factor in daily life. Locked doors, security cameras, and intruder alerts are present everywhere. Only staff members carry sets of keys and know the access codes. Every person who enters the shelter to volunteer must complete training and sign confidentiality forms. The whereabouts of guests are known at all times - whether present in the shelter or out working or apartment hunting.
These security measures exist not out of paranoia, but because of the very real need to provide a safe place for our guests. See, for most of these women, danger is reality. They are here because someone - abusers or traffickers - wants to find them. Someone wants to hurt them again. These women need a safe place to stay while they recover from trauma and work towards their next steps in life, such as finding employment, learning child management skills, or getting a divorce.
Many of these women go out every day to a job or to work towards their goals. As soon as they leave DaySpring, they feel fear. They feel unsafe. They know all too well that there is someone out there who has hurt them previously and will do so again given the chance. They go through their day afraid of what could happen to them or their children.
But when they are at DaySpring, they can feel safe. Here they can actually sleep through the night. They know their children are safe, that they will receive three meals every day, and that they have a bed to call their own.
The reality of living life with this potential danger didn't make sense to me until I came to DaySpring. Here confidentiality and safety have been thoroughly impressed upon all of us - do not take pictures of guests. Do not share the names or situations of the guests. Do not open the door unless you can identify the person.
It is so important that these women feel safe here at DaySpring. If they do not, we have to find them another home. So we uphold the procedures and make safety a priority, even if it takes time (leaving someone on the doorstep while we determine who they are) or inconveniences us. Their safety is what we're here for.
I don't write about this to cause concern. I share this because I think that many of us completely fail to grasp how very real the threat of harm, violence, and even death is to some people. But here, danger is a reality, so we must make safety an equal reality for these women. In providing a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and ears to hear, we not only help these women towards recovery, but we show the love of Christ and in doing so, can point them towards Him, the only One who can truly save.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Journey to the Start
In less than a week, I'll be arriving in Sand Springs, Oklahoma, to work in a women's shelter. DaySpring Villa is the place I am privileged to call my home for the next 75 days. DaySpring is Oklahoma's only faith-based, certified shelter for women who have been domestically abused, as well as the first of its kind in the state for adult victims of human trafficking. This shelter exists to provide a safe place for these women as they heal, and to help them start on a new path for their life. This shelter is where God is sending me for the summer.
Why Summer Missions?
People have asked why I'm spending my entire summer working in a shelter, when I could be spending my vacation with friends or even making a few extra bucks or taking classes. Truthfully, this is what I would normally do over a summer. But this year, God has a different place for me.
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