Annie Dieselberg's Notes
Annie's Profile
Last night’s outreach started out on the wrong foot – literally. A team member tripped over a wire strung across the sidewalk and fell flat on her face. She was determined to continue but when she started feeling intense pain one of us took her back to her room. Heading to the red light area I began to cross the main street when a huge pink tour bus made a sudden illegal u-turn and came charging toward us barely missing the woman behind me. “Oh God, get us back in sync with your plans. I’m not sure what is going on here,” I prayed.
We reached the main entertainment plaza and I heard my name. Turning around, I saw “Gomer.” The white fluffy party dress and faux-pearls around her neck didn’t hide her weariness. We hugged her as a mother does a child, drawing her into a safe space. She said she had been in the hospital for three days getting treatment for mental illness. She stopped talking and reached into her big pink handbag. I waited, expecting to see the doctor’s report but instead she pulled out a mask and put it on her face. Assuring us it wasn’t the H1N1 flu, she continued her story. She was sore from shots and her stomach was in pain. “You need to go home and rest,” I told her. She said, “Oh, I won’t have sex tonight. I can’t. The doctor told me not to.” She was hoping for customers who would pay her 500 baht ($15) just to be a companion and talk. She had no place to go. No room. She would sleep on the street but she needed money to get her social medical card renewed.
Sounds easy enough; take her in. Put her up in the shelter. But Gomer has been coming and going for three years. The last time we took her back she went out, got drunk and returned the next morning with the customer. When told the customer could not enter the shelter, she left with him. There is no full-time house mother and there are children in the shelter. Who would look after her? Emily tried calling the volunteers who help us to shelter victims. No answer. Gomer has been gang-raped before on the street and I didn't want her sleeping there in this condition. Finally Emily got through so we waited with her until she was safely picked up. A Thai vendor was watching curiously. She walked up to Gomer and asked her, “what’s wrong?’ Muffled by the face mask, Gomer answered, “Psychologically I’m not doing well.” That convinced the Thai lady that she should warn us off of getting involved. As Gomer left with the volunteer we explained to the lady, “Yes we know she drinks alcohol; yes, we know she sleeps with men every night; yes, we know she has some psychological problems. We have known her for years. We love her very much. She is our sister - our daughter, and we will keep on loving her for as long as it takes.” She nodded not quite sure what to think. Gomer was in good hands and safe for another night and our work was just beginning.
We reached the main entertainment plaza and I heard my name. Turning around, I saw “Gomer.” The white fluffy party dress and faux-pearls around her neck didn’t hide her weariness. We hugged her as a mother does a child, drawing her into a safe space. She said she had been in the hospital for three days getting treatment for mental illness. She stopped talking and reached into her big pink handbag. I waited, expecting to see the doctor’s report but instead she pulled out a mask and put it on her face. Assuring us it wasn’t the H1N1 flu, she continued her story. She was sore from shots and her stomach was in pain. “You need to go home and rest,” I told her. She said, “Oh, I won’t have sex tonight. I can’t. The doctor told me not to.” She was hoping for customers who would pay her 500 baht ($15) just to be a companion and talk. She had no place to go. No room. She would sleep on the street but she needed money to get her social medical card renewed.
Sounds easy enough; take her in. Put her up in the shelter. But Gomer has been coming and going for three years. The last time we took her back she went out, got drunk and returned the next morning with the customer. When told the customer could not enter the shelter, she left with him. There is no full-time house mother and there are children in the shelter. Who would look after her? Emily tried calling the volunteers who help us to shelter victims. No answer. Gomer has been gang-raped before on the street and I didn't want her sleeping there in this condition. Finally Emily got through so we waited with her until she was safely picked up. A Thai vendor was watching curiously. She walked up to Gomer and asked her, “what’s wrong?’ Muffled by the face mask, Gomer answered, “Psychologically I’m not doing well.” That convinced the Thai lady that she should warn us off of getting involved. As Gomer left with the volunteer we explained to the lady, “Yes we know she drinks alcohol; yes, we know she sleeps with men every night; yes, we know she has some psychological problems. We have known her for years. We love her very much. She is our sister - our daughter, and we will keep on loving her for as long as it takes.” She nodded not quite sure what to think. Gomer was in good hands and safe for another night and our work was just beginning.
"For every day that our work is delayed, a woman, child or juvenile is forced to suffer in the chain of human trafficking for an additional 1440 minutes. Therefore we must work as quickly as possible, working in terms of minutes not days."
This statement written on the wall at the Anti-Trafficking Department in Bangkok has convicted me. I complain a lot that there is not enough time in a day to do what I need to get done. I forget the luxury I have to choose and yet too often, the things that eat up the 1440 minutes are not the things of significance, but rather those that make my life more organized, comfortable and manageable. 1440 seems inadequate and insignificant in my busy schedule.
A victim of trafficking and sexual exploitation does not own her minutes. They do not belong to her to manage. A few minutes can be hell or a moment of escape through alcohol but the endless1440 minutes day after day are not hers to choose.
Last night the outreach team went to a bar we had been to many times. Women were dancing on the stage trying hard to look sexy for the few customers scattered around the bar. One young woman reminded me of an eleven year old in heels and a bikini trying to be an adult. The sexy poses seemed out of place in her seemingly undeveloped body. She was working hard to entertain a man. Her minutes were already owned by the man groping her.
We bought drinks for 4 other women, buying their minutes to speak to them. "One" was already tipsy and had a dazed "I'm not really here" look on her face. She asked me if I liked the sexy show. I struggled with how to answer this question. I don't want them to feel ashamed and yet the truth is no, I don't. I paused and I told her, "Thai women are beautiful but I don't come to see the show. I come to make friends. I want to give honor to women." She grinned and she gave me a big thumbs-up. She said, "Women are better than men. Men have dark hearts." "Not all men," I told her. I have a husband and he is a good man. He gives honor to women." Another enthusiastic thumbs-up. I added, "But men who come here and pay for women are acting selfishly." She nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that I understood but then told me that she had one American who was nice. “It is easy to be nice while on vacation and spend lots of money but what is he like back home?” I asked. She nodded. She wants to go to massage school. She got up to dance but her eyes increasingly dulled by the alcohol stared at me off and on throwing her off balance. I tried to look back with hope and acceptance but the alcohol was doing its job of erasing these minutes from reality and she was switching to the seducer.
Om had a feisty personality. She wasn't used to doing the sexy dancing and doesn't like it. She had been in a bar where she rode a mechanical bull while in a bikini to entertain the men. She explained that the men didn't like her as much because she is big and it is harder for her to get money. She's been doing this for three years since leaving computer classes. She is hoping to finish the classes but is afraid she has forgotten a lot already. At 20, she has a lot of potential. But the minutes turn to days and then to years and her time is slipping away. I encouraged her to do it so she can have a better life than this. She asked me to bless her. I gave her hug and a prayer asking God to bless her and show her the way out so that she can finish her schooling and live a better life than this. She grinned and waied me in the Thai way of expressing gratitude.
On the street, two African women stood waiting for customers. My co-worker asked, "How are you?" "Not good," one answered, "I don't have a Bible." I laughed as "E" pulled one out of her bag and handed it to her. Word gets around. The African women always ask for a Bible. "Thank you, you have given the best gift of all," she said. "Pray for me. My boyfriend is in jail on drug charges." I prayed for her, the other woman and the man in jail and gave them hugs.
"Syl" another African stood near the street. I almost missed her. Her sadness made her almost invisible in the consuming darkness. I took her hand. She looked around nervously. "Are you being watched?" I asked. No answer. I reminded her I had given my number and told her "When you feel safe call me. We can help. You don't have to stay in this. There is a way out." I hugged her. As I began to move away, she grabbed my hand. A longing, a grip, a reluctance to let go of those few minutes in which she is a human and not a commodity. She was afraid to talk. A deep sadness made me linger. "Call me."
A few minutes. That's all we really have with them on outreach. Just a few minutes to bring hope, restore vision and dreams, and remind them of their value and humanity. But just a few minutes is enough for a hug. Just a few minutes is hope in the midst of hopelessness, a word to reclaim their true identity, a light in the darkness. A few minutes is just enough time for the door of freedom to crack open. 1440 minutes. It can feel like eternity to a victim. A few minutes on the other hand can intercept darkness and bring hope to the rest of those 1440 minutes. When darkness engulfs the women they will have hope because they have seen the door to freedom. Given a few more minutes of our time and they just might find courage to walk through the door to freedom. 1440 minutes. Its nothing or its endless. What we do with it makes all the difference.
Do you have a few minutes? Just a few? If so, lift up a prayer for all these precious women. If you have a few minutes maybe buy some jewelry that is created by the survivors. (www.nightlightbangkok.com
This statement written on the wall at the Anti-Trafficking Department in Bangkok has convicted me. I complain a lot that there is not enough time in a day to do what I need to get done. I forget the luxury I have to choose and yet too often, the things that eat up the 1440 minutes are not the things of significance, but rather those that make my life more organized, comfortable and manageable. 1440 seems inadequate and insignificant in my busy schedule.
A victim of trafficking and sexual exploitation does not own her minutes. They do not belong to her to manage. A few minutes can be hell or a moment of escape through alcohol but the endless1440 minutes day after day are not hers to choose.
Last night the outreach team went to a bar we had been to many times. Women were dancing on the stage trying hard to look sexy for the few customers scattered around the bar. One young woman reminded me of an eleven year old in heels and a bikini trying to be an adult. The sexy poses seemed out of place in her seemingly undeveloped body. She was working hard to entertain a man. Her minutes were already owned by the man groping her.
We bought drinks for 4 other women, buying their minutes to speak to them. "One" was already tipsy and had a dazed "I'm not really here" look on her face. She asked me if I liked the sexy show. I struggled with how to answer this question. I don't want them to feel ashamed and yet the truth is no, I don't. I paused and I told her, "Thai women are beautiful but I don't come to see the show. I come to make friends. I want to give honor to women." She grinned and she gave me a big thumbs-up. She said, "Women are better than men. Men have dark hearts." "Not all men," I told her. I have a husband and he is a good man. He gives honor to women." Another enthusiastic thumbs-up. I added, "But men who come here and pay for women are acting selfishly." She nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that I understood but then told me that she had one American who was nice. “It is easy to be nice while on vacation and spend lots of money but what is he like back home?” I asked. She nodded. She wants to go to massage school. She got up to dance but her eyes increasingly dulled by the alcohol stared at me off and on throwing her off balance. I tried to look back with hope and acceptance but the alcohol was doing its job of erasing these minutes from reality and she was switching to the seducer.
Om had a feisty personality. She wasn't used to doing the sexy dancing and doesn't like it. She had been in a bar where she rode a mechanical bull while in a bikini to entertain the men. She explained that the men didn't like her as much because she is big and it is harder for her to get money. She's been doing this for three years since leaving computer classes. She is hoping to finish the classes but is afraid she has forgotten a lot already. At 20, she has a lot of potential. But the minutes turn to days and then to years and her time is slipping away. I encouraged her to do it so she can have a better life than this. She asked me to bless her. I gave her hug and a prayer asking God to bless her and show her the way out so that she can finish her schooling and live a better life than this. She grinned and waied me in the Thai way of expressing gratitude.
On the street, two African women stood waiting for customers. My co-worker asked, "How are you?" "Not good," one answered, "I don't have a Bible." I laughed as "E" pulled one out of her bag and handed it to her. Word gets around. The African women always ask for a Bible. "Thank you, you have given the best gift of all," she said. "Pray for me. My boyfriend is in jail on drug charges." I prayed for her, the other woman and the man in jail and gave them hugs.
"Syl" another African stood near the street. I almost missed her. Her sadness made her almost invisible in the consuming darkness. I took her hand. She looked around nervously. "Are you being watched?" I asked. No answer. I reminded her I had given my number and told her "When you feel safe call me. We can help. You don't have to stay in this. There is a way out." I hugged her. As I began to move away, she grabbed my hand. A longing, a grip, a reluctance to let go of those few minutes in which she is a human and not a commodity. She was afraid to talk. A deep sadness made me linger. "Call me."
A few minutes. That's all we really have with them on outreach. Just a few minutes to bring hope, restore vision and dreams, and remind them of their value and humanity. But just a few minutes is enough for a hug. Just a few minutes is hope in the midst of hopelessness, a word to reclaim their true identity, a light in the darkness. A few minutes is just enough time for the door of freedom to crack open. 1440 minutes. It can feel like eternity to a victim. A few minutes on the other hand can intercept darkness and bring hope to the rest of those 1440 minutes. When darkness engulfs the women they will have hope because they have seen the door to freedom. Given a few more minutes of our time and they just might find courage to walk through the door to freedom. 1440 minutes. Its nothing or its endless. What we do with it makes all the difference.
Do you have a few minutes? Just a few? If so, lift up a prayer for all these precious women. If you have a few minutes maybe buy some jewelry that is created by the survivors. (www.nightlightbangkok.com
The African woman greeted me. The beer she was drinking was hidden in a plastic bag. Her face was glamorous; her hair braided and colored with highlights. Seductive clothing and body language gave her away. Carin slumped and sighed, “My body is tired. I hate this work. I don’t f--- for love you know. I don’t enjoy any one of them. I’m tired. My body is tired.”
I smiled at the irony. They continued to explain to me that it would cost $250 a month to rent a small space for a boutique. “In our country, which you whites call “developing” it would take another 100 years for us to have 20% of what you have in America.” They were clearly offended and shaking their heads at my obscene suggestion.
“I’m tired, Carin said. My body is so tired.”
The above summarizes an intense discussion with two Ugandan streetwalkers in Bangkok.The assistance we had once offered was not what they wanted though they always asked for prayer.
What started as a means of survival has now become a pursuit of the American Dream. They started penniless, desperate, trafficked, and exploited. Now, before they are used up and tossed aside, they want some benefit to come from all this suffering.
In the movie “Civil Action,” a lawyer takes on a lawsuit and ends up losing everything in his pursuit of truth and justice. Empty-handed he appears before his creditors and the judge who says, “After all these years as a lawyer you expect us to believe you have nothing? Where did it all go? You know, all those things: the house, the car - the things that measure a person’s life?”
Carin and Tracey stood there on the curb in Bangkok’s red light area, soliciting; selling their tired bodies. Above selling tomatoes, they were gambling everything they had left in pursuit of their dream. Somehow, somewhere, they caught a glimpse of the “American Dream” and believed the lie that it is the things that measure your life. Exploited, used, abused, Carin and Tracey now believe that it will only be in accumulating those things that they will be redeemed. If they have those things, then their lives will be measured and found to still be of value. Sadly, there is truth in the lie.
You see, if Carin and Tracey go home with nothing after all they have lost, their lives will be measured. They will be appraised and they will not come out above selling tomatoes but as: prostitute. The thought is unbearable. Deep down they know they are better than that; deep down they are afraid they are just that. Their bodies are tired; the dream is still out of reach. Nevertheless, they pursue it relentlessly because it is not God they are afraid of answering to. They believe God forgives. It is society they fear. Society measures us by the things we have then judges those who lose themselves seeking those things. No one wants to be measured by society and appraised as nothing but a prostitute.
As long as Carin and Tracey are pursuing the dream they can believe they are above that and above selling tomatoes. If they fail . . . well, they can’t risk it. The appraisal of their life hangs in the balance and if the scales of justice tip it won’t be in their favor. Unless . . .they were to discover the Truth.
“So when are you going to quit, Carin?” I asked her.
“I don’t have enough money. You know I had to pay the agent $30,000 (it had gone up from $22k in the last conversation). I did all that for nothing. Why should I sell my body and give all the money to someone else? Now, I do it for me.”
I looked at her sympathetically but I asked, “How much is enough? When is it going to be enough?”
“When I have enough to start a business - $7000, enough for a small boutique and I can travel and buy things to sell.”
“7000? That’s a lot for your country. Why don’t you start small,” I asked her. “Why not start with $500 and work your way up?”
“500?” She and the other woman got excited. They started gesturing and their voices raised, “500?” “You know what you can do with 500? You can sell tomatoes with 500.”
“What’s wrong with selling tomatoes? I asked them.” Carin looked at me shocked. She looked off to the side with her head high and said, “I am above selling tomatoes.”
I smiled at the irony. They continued to explain to me that it would cost $250 a month to rent a small space for a boutique. “In our country, which you whites call “developing” it would take another 100 years for us to have 20% of what you have in America.” They were clearly offended and shaking their heads at my obscene suggestion.
“We have priorities,” Tracey said, “When I have a house, a car, and money to travel then you will not see me here on the street. Pray to God for us to get the money we need so we can stop doing this.” They felt the need to remind me of a prostitute in the Bible whom God forgave.
“God does forgive,” I agreed. “But God also asks us to change our ways. Money is not going to make you happy. No matter how much you get, it will never be enough. You are suffering for your priorities. Your bodies are suffering; your soul is suffering.”
“I’m tired, Carin said. My body is so tired.”
“I’m sure it is, Carin. Quit before your body quits on you. I will pray to God to provide what you need and to provide good jobs in your country.”
The above summarizes an intense discussion with two Ugandan streetwalkers in Bangkok.The assistance we had once offered was not what they wanted though they always asked for prayer.
What started as a means of survival has now become a pursuit of the American Dream. They started penniless, desperate, trafficked, and exploited. Now, before they are used up and tossed aside, they want some benefit to come from all this suffering.
In the movie “Civil Action,” a lawyer takes on a lawsuit and ends up losing everything in his pursuit of truth and justice. Empty-handed he appears before his creditors and the judge who says, “After all these years as a lawyer you expect us to believe you have nothing? Where did it all go? You know, all those things: the house, the car - the things that measure a person’s life?”
Carin and Tracey stood there on the curb in Bangkok’s red light area, soliciting; selling their tired bodies. Above selling tomatoes, they were gambling everything they had left in pursuit of their dream. Somehow, somewhere, they caught a glimpse of the “American Dream” and believed the lie that it is the things that measure your life. Exploited, used, abused, Carin and Tracey now believe that it will only be in accumulating those things that they will be redeemed. If they have those things, then their lives will be measured and found to still be of value. Sadly, there is truth in the lie.
You see, if Carin and Tracey go home with nothing after all they have lost, their lives will be measured. They will be appraised and they will not come out above selling tomatoes but as: prostitute. The thought is unbearable. Deep down they know they are better than that; deep down they are afraid they are just that. Their bodies are tired; the dream is still out of reach. Nevertheless, they pursue it relentlessly because it is not God they are afraid of answering to. They believe God forgives. It is society they fear. Society measures us by the things we have then judges those who lose themselves seeking those things. No one wants to be measured by society and appraised as nothing but a prostitute.
As long as Carin and Tracey are pursuing the dream they can believe they are above that and above selling tomatoes. If they fail . . . well, they can’t risk it. The appraisal of their life hangs in the balance and if the scales of justice tip it won’t be in their favor. Unless . . .they were to discover the Truth.
A woman I've known for years who has come through and survived prostitution, her daughter's survival from prostitution, become a Christian, baptized, in a good position of leadership has been set up with the possibility of a foreign husband.
A relative living in Australia arranged it for her. He is 62, drinks a lot, disabled, doesn't have many friends. Other than that, she doesn't know anything about him. I asked her why he isn't married, or if he is divorced what the reason is. "Oh, I don't know. I thought that was his business." His business!! It will be yours," I told her. "You had better ask."
He came to Thailand once and they met. She didn't care for him. But, since then he has sent money to her account to pay for ticket and costs to get there and "check him out." "I just want to see if he really has what he says he does." What if he does?" I asked her. What if he has a huge house, car, lots of possessions, money . . .what will it be like to be in bed with him?" What if he is abusive? What if you need help? Different language, different culture. She can't drive a car. He doesn't have internet although he plays computer games (???) "ARen't you scared?" I asked her. I would be. "I just want to find out," she says. Well, what if an older guy in Thailand contacts you and invites you to go stay with him for a couple weeks, check him out. Would you go?" "Of course not," she laughed. I don't know him." Exactly! What's the difference? Her relative arranged it. If it doesn't work out she can go to her relative's house. No amount of warning seems to be shaking her determination to go. She wants to see another country. Wants a vacation. This guy is willing to pay for it on the chance she may like him enough to come back and be his maid or his wife.
It is frustrating. This idea in Thailand is rampant and dangerous. Throughout rural villages, young women (and not so young) are gambling their lives on the farout chance that one of these guys will turn from frog to prince. The belief that a foreign guy will treat them better, will have enough money to improve life, will bring approval from family. . .it is the lure that draws so many into situations of trafficking.
I don't believe this one will be trafficked. She may not even get her visa. She needs a letter from me as her employer and I told her that it goes against the goals of NightLight. I cannot in good conscience write it for her. If she goes, she will probably get scared enough to stay with her relative and come back happy to be back in her native land in a safe good job. That's what will probably happen. On a remote chance in a thousand, he could turn out to be a nice guy (not prince - he didn't charm her the first time). She could just clean his house and make enough money to send home. She might find a Thai community, church, thai food - enough to comfort her. Maybe.
There is the other chance though that happens to 700,000 to 2 million per year. She could end up locked up as a sex slave unable to return home to the country she loves.
Why are so many willing to take the gamble? I don't understand. But I haven't walked in her shoes. Maybe she grew up listening to fairy tales like I did where frogs turned into princes. She found her prince and married him. Only her prince turned into a frog and so now she is looking for another prince. One from a foreign land.
My fairy tales all ended with "and they lived happily ever after." Maybe they do in Thailand as well. Maybe someone needs to start writing reality tales.
A relative living in Australia arranged it for her. He is 62, drinks a lot, disabled, doesn't have many friends. Other than that, she doesn't know anything about him. I asked her why he isn't married, or if he is divorced what the reason is. "Oh, I don't know. I thought that was his business." His business!! It will be yours," I told her. "You had better ask."
He came to Thailand once and they met. She didn't care for him. But, since then he has sent money to her account to pay for ticket and costs to get there and "check him out." "I just want to see if he really has what he says he does." What if he does?" I asked her. What if he has a huge house, car, lots of possessions, money . . .what will it be like to be in bed with him?" What if he is abusive? What if you need help? Different language, different culture. She can't drive a car. He doesn't have internet although he plays computer games (???) "ARen't you scared?" I asked her. I would be. "I just want to find out," she says. Well, what if an older guy in Thailand contacts you and invites you to go stay with him for a couple weeks, check him out. Would you go?" "Of course not," she laughed. I don't know him." Exactly! What's the difference? Her relative arranged it. If it doesn't work out she can go to her relative's house. No amount of warning seems to be shaking her determination to go. She wants to see another country. Wants a vacation. This guy is willing to pay for it on the chance she may like him enough to come back and be his maid or his wife.
It is frustrating. This idea in Thailand is rampant and dangerous. Throughout rural villages, young women (and not so young) are gambling their lives on the farout chance that one of these guys will turn from frog to prince. The belief that a foreign guy will treat them better, will have enough money to improve life, will bring approval from family. . .it is the lure that draws so many into situations of trafficking.
I don't believe this one will be trafficked. She may not even get her visa. She needs a letter from me as her employer and I told her that it goes against the goals of NightLight. I cannot in good conscience write it for her. If she goes, she will probably get scared enough to stay with her relative and come back happy to be back in her native land in a safe good job. That's what will probably happen. On a remote chance in a thousand, he could turn out to be a nice guy (not prince - he didn't charm her the first time). She could just clean his house and make enough money to send home. She might find a Thai community, church, thai food - enough to comfort her. Maybe.
There is the other chance though that happens to 700,000 to 2 million per year. She could end up locked up as a sex slave unable to return home to the country she loves.
Why are so many willing to take the gamble? I don't understand. But I haven't walked in her shoes. Maybe she grew up listening to fairy tales like I did where frogs turned into princes. She found her prince and married him. Only her prince turned into a frog and so now she is looking for another prince. One from a foreign land.
My fairy tales all ended with "and they lived happily ever after." Maybe they do in Thailand as well. Maybe someone needs to start writing reality tales.
If the majority of the world's Christians spent more time and money sacrificially loving and serving, I suspect that change would be so great there would be few people left to blame for all the violence, prejudice, crime, and immorality. We've become so good at finger-pointing we've forgotten to blame ourselves for sins of omission. (Isaiah 58:9-10) I fear we are becoming known for our words rather than good deeds.
Richard Stearns in "Hole in Our Gospel" says the total income of American churchgoers is $5.2 trillion. 2% of 2% goes to overseas mission. 6 cents a day per person. 1% of total income could lift 1 bil. from extreme poverty.
Imagine the change - Less evil and more of the kingdom. Dare to truly love. 1%!! If everyone did their part it could save the world.$168 billion is the extra money that would be available if all American churchgoers tithed. wow! Even in a bad economy, we can change the world. 5 loaves, two fish . . .God can multiply it. He loves what we bring to Him and multiplies it. He loves to reward faith. He loves to use us to see His kingdom come.
Americans spent $65 billion on jewelry in 2008 (Hole in Our Gospel) NightLight needs to sell $600,000 in one year - that's only .00001%!!!Responsible buying can save lives. So far, over 130 women have had their lives changed at NightLight through our wholistic jewelry business. We have a waiting list of 10. I have hope! It is humanly possible but God always does more than what is humanly possible!
Richard Stearns in "Hole in Our Gospel" says the total income of American churchgoers is $5.2 trillion. 2% of 2% goes to overseas mission. 6 cents a day per person. 1% of total income could lift 1 bil. from extreme poverty.
Imagine the change - Less evil and more of the kingdom. Dare to truly love. 1%!! If everyone did their part it could save the world.$168 billion is the extra money that would be available if all American churchgoers tithed. wow! Even in a bad economy, we can change the world. 5 loaves, two fish . . .God can multiply it. He loves what we bring to Him and multiplies it. He loves to reward faith. He loves to use us to see His kingdom come.
Americans spent $65 billion on jewelry in 2008 (Hole in Our Gospel) NightLight needs to sell $600,000 in one year - that's only .00001%!!!Responsible buying can save lives. So far, over 130 women have had their lives changed at NightLight through our wholistic jewelry business. We have a waiting list of 10. I have hope! It is humanly possible but God always does more than what is humanly possible!
Jar didn’t call the entire weekend. On one hand I trusted God that she was so clearly in His care that she must be okay; on the other hand she had been suicidal and I didn’t know for sure. She didn’t show up on Sunday as arranged, so I hoped for Monday. Monday morning there was still no sign. I prayed for her and then got busy. The afternoon brought an intense tropical storm. I looked up and there standing at the door of my office was Jar. She was dripping wet so Pon took her to change. Jeff, called with the bad news that our roof and ceiling at home were not holding up because of the termites and the house was flooding. I was alarmed but more excited about Jar than anything. I ran to hug her and felt her shivering so we got her a towel. She was quite chatty and she looked rested. She then began to tell her story.
The very first night Jar went to work at the bar she went up the stairs and saw a very large figure in a white gown standing there. She couldn’t see the top. It was very bright and it was holding out a hand towards her. She thought to herself, “What is that? Is it a spirit? It can’t be. They are dark, not light.” An hour later, we entered the bar.
Jar did come to look for us on Sunday afternoon but couldn’t find us. The Thai church we use for daily worship during the week is just around the corner so Jar asked someone if it would be okay for her to go in. It was quiet and no one else was there so she sat down in front of the cross. A very tangible presence sat down next to her. It was light and peaceful. She felt herself being held in arms and she leaned into the presence. As Jar rested she heard a voice, “not a woman’s; not a man’s but a beautiful voice.” Jar said the voice told her not to be afraid. “You are not alone. Your life has value. You are on the right path. Follow this path and I will lead you to good things.” There was much more. Jar stayed and listened for 30 minutes. She said she felt as though all her burdens had been wrapped up and thrown away. She felt light, peaceful, and strangely happy. She said she felt as though she had a mother and a father at the same time. When Jar walked out of the church she was smiling and laughing and she figured people would think she was crazy. The voice directed Jar and she ran into the employer her mother had worked for the last 20 years. As a favor to her employee’s daughter, the employer offered Jar a free room. Jar was amazed at how things were working out for her all the sudden. She figured it had to be God and it had to be because she had opened her heart to God.
It was amazing listening to her as she talked about her experiences and asked questions about God. Pon had gone out of the room and I was sensing this girl already knew Christ and was ready to make a decision. I asked her if she wanted to. I assured her that we don’t require anyone to become a Christian at NightLight. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t doing it to ensure a job. She said she really believed she just didn’t know what to do. I called Pon and we went into the prayer room. Lyndsey arrived and I ran out to tell her, “Jar is here, in the prayer room and she’s accepting Christ right now!” Lyndsey hurried in to join in the celebration. I was leaving for the airport in about 15 minutes but this was something I did not want to miss. Jar told Pon the whole story and Pon looked at her stunned, “Wow, God loves you so much!!” Jar was amazed and glowing, “A few days ago I wanted to kill myself but today I feel peaceful, I know my life has value and I am not alone.”
Pon lead Jar in a prayer to accept Christ. Then we anointed her with oil and blessed her. I hugged her over and over before I ran out to catch my plane. ImJai!- Thai for a full heart. Wow God! So much joy my heart could not contain it. We always pray for divine appointments and for God to send angels to minister and protect. God answered those prayers for Jar before we even knew her name. We had the incredible privilege of being brought into the story and once again witnessing first hand God’s incredible amazing love and redemption. The news is out now: Jesus and His angels have been spotted at the bars. Stay tuned! There will be more to come! Thank you God!
The very first night Jar went to work at the bar she went up the stairs and saw a very large figure in a white gown standing there. She couldn’t see the top. It was very bright and it was holding out a hand towards her. She thought to herself, “What is that? Is it a spirit? It can’t be. They are dark, not light.” An hour later, we entered the bar.
Jar did come to look for us on Sunday afternoon but couldn’t find us. The Thai church we use for daily worship during the week is just around the corner so Jar asked someone if it would be okay for her to go in. It was quiet and no one else was there so she sat down in front of the cross. A very tangible presence sat down next to her. It was light and peaceful. She felt herself being held in arms and she leaned into the presence. As Jar rested she heard a voice, “not a woman’s; not a man’s but a beautiful voice.” Jar said the voice told her not to be afraid. “You are not alone. Your life has value. You are on the right path. Follow this path and I will lead you to good things.” There was much more. Jar stayed and listened for 30 minutes. She said she felt as though all her burdens had been wrapped up and thrown away. She felt light, peaceful, and strangely happy. She said she felt as though she had a mother and a father at the same time. When Jar walked out of the church she was smiling and laughing and she figured people would think she was crazy. The voice directed Jar and she ran into the employer her mother had worked for the last 20 years. As a favor to her employee’s daughter, the employer offered Jar a free room. Jar was amazed at how things were working out for her all the sudden. She figured it had to be God and it had to be because she had opened her heart to God.
It was amazing listening to her as she talked about her experiences and asked questions about God. Pon had gone out of the room and I was sensing this girl already knew Christ and was ready to make a decision. I asked her if she wanted to. I assured her that we don’t require anyone to become a Christian at NightLight. I wanted to make sure she wasn’t doing it to ensure a job. She said she really believed she just didn’t know what to do. I called Pon and we went into the prayer room. Lyndsey arrived and I ran out to tell her, “Jar is here, in the prayer room and she’s accepting Christ right now!” Lyndsey hurried in to join in the celebration. I was leaving for the airport in about 15 minutes but this was something I did not want to miss. Jar told Pon the whole story and Pon looked at her stunned, “Wow, God loves you so much!!” Jar was amazed and glowing, “A few days ago I wanted to kill myself but today I feel peaceful, I know my life has value and I am not alone.”
Pon lead Jar in a prayer to accept Christ. Then we anointed her with oil and blessed her. I hugged her over and over before I ran out to catch my plane. ImJai!- Thai for a full heart. Wow God! So much joy my heart could not contain it. We always pray for divine appointments and for God to send angels to minister and protect. God answered those prayers for Jar before we even knew her name. We had the incredible privilege of being brought into the story and once again witnessing first hand God’s incredible amazing love and redemption. The news is out now: Jesus and His angels have been spotted at the bars. Stay tuned! There will be more to come! Thank you God!
Last night as we were leaving for the bars, the thought crossed my mind that I should take a Bible with me. But . ..they're heavy . . .and we haven't seen the African women lately who wanted one. . .and . . .well I passed on it; I only had my small purse and didn't want to carry another bag. We went to the bar and had some great conversations. One young woman, Sandra talked to on Tuesday. She's been here two months and doesn't like it at all. She has a 10 month old baby but her husband divorced her for another woman. Nut is 19, finished high school and would love to continue but she has no money. Her mother cried and cried about her working here. She has only gotten 3 customers towards her quota of 10 which means she won't get most of her salary. She just can't bring herself to try harder to compete for the men that she doesn't want to have sex with in the first place. Nut told me that sometimes she doesn’t even make enough money for her ride home. After getting off work at 2am she has on several occasions walked 2 ½ hours to get home. She said it is scary because men approach her trying to solicit her. I told her that one of my ideas in the past was to offer a ride service to the bar girls so they would get home safely. I had let the idea fade but listening to her I realized it is still a need. Maybe we could have a van service to meet the women at 2 am and get them home safely. I told Nut about NightLight and encouraged her to check us out. She was grateful.
The young server was friendly and cute. 16 years old. She proudly said that she and two others are the only ones who don't go with customers. They are on school break making money for uniforms and school expenses. She was feisty. She asked me, "So are you enjoying this?" I told her "No." She was surprised and I explained to her that it is demeaning to the women. She asked me if I thought they were pretty. I think the women are beautiful. She said, "I don't. I think they are normal." I told her they are beautiful but not so much like this. In beautiful Thai clothes they would look their best. She liked that answer. She ran off to greet a man coming in.
On the stage, directly in front us two young women were really working it. Their masks were hiding any emotion but their bodies were saying they were desperate for a customer. In spite of that and in spite of the mamasan's desperate sales tactics, the Japanese man next to me declined and left. A foreign man came in and one of the women lit up. They knew each other. He greeted her and she was excited; the mask dropped from her face. But there was a Thai prostitute following him from outside and they went to a corner where they started making out. The young woman's mask had fallen. She was exposed. I saw disappointment. I saw hurt. She looked like she could cry. Her seductive dancing abruptly paused and she rested against the mirrored pole. She started dancing again but it took a minute before she regained her composure and put her mask back on, dancing seductively again. I felt sad for her. Yet, another reminder to her that she is a prostitute. It was just a good time and there are plenty of women to be had.
Young Popeye (her nickname - honestly) came back chatty. She had a balloon sculpture which the DJ had thrown down. It was a phallic. The young school girls were being silly with it. I made a gesture to pop it and as she undid it I told her to make it into a heart for true love. I told her to wait for true love. She was curious and I explained. Then she wanted to know if I thought that foreign man was handsome. I told her NO! I told her don't trust any of the men who come here. You can't buy love with money. These men have problems; these men are selfish; these men do not respect women or care about your lives. She asked about my husband and I told her I have a wonderful husband who respects women and cares about them. She asked if he comes to the bars and I said, "No, he doesn't like this. He wants to see women living good lives with respect." She said I was lucky. Men like that are hide to find. I assured her there are still good men in the world but they don't come to the bars. I told her that we are Christian.
"My family is Christian," she said. "I'm Christian. I pray." Her parents know she is working here but she is not allowed to take customers. I encouraged her not to come back next school break but to get a safer job. If she comes back she will begin to get used to the environment and the likely demands on her. I gave her some tracts to read and turned my attention back to Nut who had returned to sit with me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Popeye and her friends making the sign of the cross and lifting their hands as they would in a Catholic church. They were school girls just playing around but at the same time remembering where they came from and conspicuously unaware of the grave contradiction.
We headed out and decided to take a quick walk to the other area where trafficked women hang out. Immediately we ran into two African women. One of them I knew and chatted with her. The other one was new. She looked very solemn and depressed. Amy was talking with her. I sat down next to her and asked her how she was doing. “I’m okay but I need a Bible!” Wow – direct! I had to laugh and I told her that I was supposed to bring a Bible with me tonight but I didn’t obey. However, if she wanted it tonight I would go get it for her. She kept saying, “I really need a Bible.” Alright, we’ll go get one and meet you back in front of a certain hotel. We’ll wait until about 10:45 but won’t wait all night in case you change your mind. Amy pointed out the girl’s watch was still on Ugandan time. The young woman adjusted it although still about 10 minutes off. I made note to wait an extra 10 minutes.
We got two Bibles and went to wait at the hotel. She didn’t come. Amy and Lyndsey took one Bible and went across the street to look for her. The Swedish visitor and I stayed on this side to wait with the second Bible. The Swedish lady is new in town on her way somewhere else to do relief work. She informed me the first night she came that she does not have faith but her heart is in the same place and she really wanted to join our outreach team. I said okay if she joined us for the prayer time. She agreed to try it although she told Emily she was afraid it would be hypocritical of her. Lyndsey overheard her saying she finds the prayer time relaxing and she really likes going out with us.
As we waited in front of the hotel she asked me about the culture and religion in terms of prostitution. We had a good discussion about how fatalism and merit making fits into the whole picture and why there is not a strong movement for women’s rights. Amy and Lyndsey came back – no sign of Marissa. Since I had disobeyed God in the first place I really didn’t want to give up too quickly. We decided to take another walk around the block in hopes of finding her. We walked through the Arab-African neighborhood. A bunch of kids running barefoot in the street were begging. Amy stopped to buy them some orange juice. We played with them for a few minutes and went on. There were a lot of Uzbek women out but not ones we knew by name and we were on a specific mission.
Around the corner we met up with 4 African women. We knew two of them. One of them I remembered from a year ago. We chatted and asked if they knew Marissa the new girl. The one said she would pass the Bible on to her. Lyndsey gave the second Bible to Rita who hugged it to her. The other two women asked us where theirs were. I said “We’ll bring a truckload next time.” On down a ways we saw Marissa with yet another woman. She got her Bible and the second woman asked if she could have one. “Next time,” I told her.
We rounded the corner and there were two more Africans. We knew them by name. Camilla was standing there with a big bottle of alcohol and when she saw me she said annoyed, “Where is my Bible? You said you would bring me a Bible. Everyone else has one but I don’t. I really need a Bible!” I told her I hadn’t run into her for awhile but if she wanted to have one tonight she could come with me to pick it up. “Where?” “How far?” she asked. I told her where. She wasn’t sure she wanted to walk that much. Finally she said, “Okay, if it’s for God, I guess I can do it.” The two of them left with us back towards NL. A Thai vendor nearby tried to motion to me not to go with these women. I said in Thai, “Never mind. They’re friends.” I stopped at the curb for the light to change. The Swedish woman was keeping up. I laughed and joked with her, “You probably never imagined you would be walking the streets of Bangkok to give out Bibles!” She laughed and exclaimed “Never.” The African women didn’t wait for the light to change but took off to cross the street. We hurried to catch up double-checking for cars.
As we walked down the street towards the Thai church, Camille stopped in her tracks. “I can’t go.” Then she took another swig of her beer and set the bottle down against the wall. “I will not take beer to the church.” I laughed. It’s funny how we can be strict with ourselves about one sin while blatantly participating in another.
At NightLight, we sat down in the comfortable living room area. Camille breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s so quiet and peaceful, not like all that out there.” I got the Bible and the other one Maria asked if she could have a second one for her friend. Maria asked for water and Lyndsey brought back a bottle for each of them. Camilla asked for another two Bibles. Then, she asked for a marker. Amy gave her a red pen. She began to inscribe in the Bibles, To . . . God Bless . ... “I am so happy.” She said. “The word of God is so precious. More than anything. I love Psalm 144. This one helps me.” I turned to it, “Lord protect us from evil men, from violent men.” She told us that one of her African clients had forced her to participate in cutting themselves and drinking the blood. She cringed. She said she had prayed a long time about that one.
We talked about family, about Africa, about faith. I started an African song. Camille then sang an African song in their language. The she began to sing, “God will make a way where there seems to be no way.” I joined her and finished it for her as she choked up. She said, “You keep pushing me. Stop Camilla. Don’t do this! I think you are starting to get to me. Maybe not too much longer. I pray God give me something else.” But . . . so many buts. . I assured her God has a better plan. Maria wanted to know if we could help her find a sponsor for her kids schooling. She has 5 kids who live with her sister and another 5 kids. I told her that we would work on it by contacting organizations in Uganda and find out what is possible. Camille has a four year old son. “He gives me a headache,” she said.
Camilla was having a good time. We asked if we could come join the African women sometime for worship. She would love that, she said. She loves worship so much.
She said she wanted us to pray tonight though. Then she turned to the Swedish woman and said, “Would you please lead us in prayer!” The woman gasped in shock and politely said “No. . .” I stepped in and said, “Let’s pray.” Camilla interrupted, “In Africa we always get on our knees to pray. She got down and Maria followed. “This is how we do it in Africa.” Everyone followed although my injured knee wasn’t taking it well. I began to pray. We all prayed. Except for the Swedish woman who was joining in posture but I’m sure was somewhat overwhelmed. Camilla cried and prayed, “Oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy. Oh Father God. Cleanse me. Make me pure.” It was a beautiful time of prayer. Maria looked like she was worried about losing customers and feeling restless. Camilla asked for three more Bibles and a bag to carry them. Camilla said, “I want to give out the Bibles and tell people about God.” We got up. Camilla said, “I feel God all around. Thank you. I feel full. I love this so much.”
They left and went out in the night back to the streets with bags full of Bibles. Tonight Camilla’s identity is not a prostitute. She is a daughter of God and an evangelist. She is renewed in hope and cleansed. She is going back to the streets and after giving out the Bibles she may take a customer but tonight she just might remember that her identity is not in that act but in Christ and He will make a way where there seems to be no way. Even if it means bringing together an odd mix of Americans, Swedish, Africans, Thais, Christian missionaries, non-believing relief workers, Christian prostitutes, Bibles, beer, and a wild and crazy place called Bangkok!
The young server was friendly and cute. 16 years old. She proudly said that she and two others are the only ones who don't go with customers. They are on school break making money for uniforms and school expenses. She was feisty. She asked me, "So are you enjoying this?" I told her "No." She was surprised and I explained to her that it is demeaning to the women. She asked me if I thought they were pretty. I think the women are beautiful. She said, "I don't. I think they are normal." I told her they are beautiful but not so much like this. In beautiful Thai clothes they would look their best. She liked that answer. She ran off to greet a man coming in.
On the stage, directly in front us two young women were really working it. Their masks were hiding any emotion but their bodies were saying they were desperate for a customer. In spite of that and in spite of the mamasan's desperate sales tactics, the Japanese man next to me declined and left. A foreign man came in and one of the women lit up. They knew each other. He greeted her and she was excited; the mask dropped from her face. But there was a Thai prostitute following him from outside and they went to a corner where they started making out. The young woman's mask had fallen. She was exposed. I saw disappointment. I saw hurt. She looked like she could cry. Her seductive dancing abruptly paused and she rested against the mirrored pole. She started dancing again but it took a minute before she regained her composure and put her mask back on, dancing seductively again. I felt sad for her. Yet, another reminder to her that she is a prostitute. It was just a good time and there are plenty of women to be had.
Young Popeye (her nickname - honestly) came back chatty. She had a balloon sculpture which the DJ had thrown down. It was a phallic. The young school girls were being silly with it. I made a gesture to pop it and as she undid it I told her to make it into a heart for true love. I told her to wait for true love. She was curious and I explained. Then she wanted to know if I thought that foreign man was handsome. I told her NO! I told her don't trust any of the men who come here. You can't buy love with money. These men have problems; these men are selfish; these men do not respect women or care about your lives. She asked about my husband and I told her I have a wonderful husband who respects women and cares about them. She asked if he comes to the bars and I said, "No, he doesn't like this. He wants to see women living good lives with respect." She said I was lucky. Men like that are hide to find. I assured her there are still good men in the world but they don't come to the bars. I told her that we are Christian.
"My family is Christian," she said. "I'm Christian. I pray." Her parents know she is working here but she is not allowed to take customers. I encouraged her not to come back next school break but to get a safer job. If she comes back she will begin to get used to the environment and the likely demands on her. I gave her some tracts to read and turned my attention back to Nut who had returned to sit with me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Popeye and her friends making the sign of the cross and lifting their hands as they would in a Catholic church. They were school girls just playing around but at the same time remembering where they came from and conspicuously unaware of the grave contradiction.
We headed out and decided to take a quick walk to the other area where trafficked women hang out. Immediately we ran into two African women. One of them I knew and chatted with her. The other one was new. She looked very solemn and depressed. Amy was talking with her. I sat down next to her and asked her how she was doing. “I’m okay but I need a Bible!” Wow – direct! I had to laugh and I told her that I was supposed to bring a Bible with me tonight but I didn’t obey. However, if she wanted it tonight I would go get it for her. She kept saying, “I really need a Bible.” Alright, we’ll go get one and meet you back in front of a certain hotel. We’ll wait until about 10:45 but won’t wait all night in case you change your mind. Amy pointed out the girl’s watch was still on Ugandan time. The young woman adjusted it although still about 10 minutes off. I made note to wait an extra 10 minutes.
We got two Bibles and went to wait at the hotel. She didn’t come. Amy and Lyndsey took one Bible and went across the street to look for her. The Swedish visitor and I stayed on this side to wait with the second Bible. The Swedish lady is new in town on her way somewhere else to do relief work. She informed me the first night she came that she does not have faith but her heart is in the same place and she really wanted to join our outreach team. I said okay if she joined us for the prayer time. She agreed to try it although she told Emily she was afraid it would be hypocritical of her. Lyndsey overheard her saying she finds the prayer time relaxing and she really likes going out with us.
As we waited in front of the hotel she asked me about the culture and religion in terms of prostitution. We had a good discussion about how fatalism and merit making fits into the whole picture and why there is not a strong movement for women’s rights. Amy and Lyndsey came back – no sign of Marissa. Since I had disobeyed God in the first place I really didn’t want to give up too quickly. We decided to take another walk around the block in hopes of finding her. We walked through the Arab-African neighborhood. A bunch of kids running barefoot in the street were begging. Amy stopped to buy them some orange juice. We played with them for a few minutes and went on. There were a lot of Uzbek women out but not ones we knew by name and we were on a specific mission.
Around the corner we met up with 4 African women. We knew two of them. One of them I remembered from a year ago. We chatted and asked if they knew Marissa the new girl. The one said she would pass the Bible on to her. Lyndsey gave the second Bible to Rita who hugged it to her. The other two women asked us where theirs were. I said “We’ll bring a truckload next time.” On down a ways we saw Marissa with yet another woman. She got her Bible and the second woman asked if she could have one. “Next time,” I told her.
We rounded the corner and there were two more Africans. We knew them by name. Camilla was standing there with a big bottle of alcohol and when she saw me she said annoyed, “Where is my Bible? You said you would bring me a Bible. Everyone else has one but I don’t. I really need a Bible!” I told her I hadn’t run into her for awhile but if she wanted to have one tonight she could come with me to pick it up. “Where?” “How far?” she asked. I told her where. She wasn’t sure she wanted to walk that much. Finally she said, “Okay, if it’s for God, I guess I can do it.” The two of them left with us back towards NL. A Thai vendor nearby tried to motion to me not to go with these women. I said in Thai, “Never mind. They’re friends.” I stopped at the curb for the light to change. The Swedish woman was keeping up. I laughed and joked with her, “You probably never imagined you would be walking the streets of Bangkok to give out Bibles!” She laughed and exclaimed “Never.” The African women didn’t wait for the light to change but took off to cross the street. We hurried to catch up double-checking for cars.
As we walked down the street towards the Thai church, Camille stopped in her tracks. “I can’t go.” Then she took another swig of her beer and set the bottle down against the wall. “I will not take beer to the church.” I laughed. It’s funny how we can be strict with ourselves about one sin while blatantly participating in another.
At NightLight, we sat down in the comfortable living room area. Camille breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s so quiet and peaceful, not like all that out there.” I got the Bible and the other one Maria asked if she could have a second one for her friend. Maria asked for water and Lyndsey brought back a bottle for each of them. Camilla asked for another two Bibles. Then, she asked for a marker. Amy gave her a red pen. She began to inscribe in the Bibles, To . . . God Bless . ... “I am so happy.” She said. “The word of God is so precious. More than anything. I love Psalm 144. This one helps me.” I turned to it, “Lord protect us from evil men, from violent men.” She told us that one of her African clients had forced her to participate in cutting themselves and drinking the blood. She cringed. She said she had prayed a long time about that one.
We talked about family, about Africa, about faith. I started an African song. Camille then sang an African song in their language. The she began to sing, “God will make a way where there seems to be no way.” I joined her and finished it for her as she choked up. She said, “You keep pushing me. Stop Camilla. Don’t do this! I think you are starting to get to me. Maybe not too much longer. I pray God give me something else.” But . . . so many buts. . I assured her God has a better plan. Maria wanted to know if we could help her find a sponsor for her kids schooling. She has 5 kids who live with her sister and another 5 kids. I told her that we would work on it by contacting organizations in Uganda and find out what is possible. Camille has a four year old son. “He gives me a headache,” she said.
Camilla was having a good time. We asked if we could come join the African women sometime for worship. She would love that, she said. She loves worship so much.
She said she wanted us to pray tonight though. Then she turned to the Swedish woman and said, “Would you please lead us in prayer!” The woman gasped in shock and politely said “No. . .” I stepped in and said, “Let’s pray.” Camilla interrupted, “In Africa we always get on our knees to pray. She got down and Maria followed. “This is how we do it in Africa.” Everyone followed although my injured knee wasn’t taking it well. I began to pray. We all prayed. Except for the Swedish woman who was joining in posture but I’m sure was somewhat overwhelmed. Camilla cried and prayed, “Oh daddy, oh daddy, oh daddy. Oh Father God. Cleanse me. Make me pure.” It was a beautiful time of prayer. Maria looked like she was worried about losing customers and feeling restless. Camilla asked for three more Bibles and a bag to carry them. Camilla said, “I want to give out the Bibles and tell people about God.” We got up. Camilla said, “I feel God all around. Thank you. I feel full. I love this so much.”
They left and went out in the night back to the streets with bags full of Bibles. Tonight Camilla’s identity is not a prostitute. She is a daughter of God and an evangelist. She is renewed in hope and cleansed. She is going back to the streets and after giving out the Bibles she may take a customer but tonight she just might remember that her identity is not in that act but in Christ and He will make a way where there seems to be no way. Even if it means bringing together an odd mix of Americans, Swedish, Africans, Thais, Christian missionaries, non-believing relief workers, Christian prostitutes, Bibles, beer, and a wild and crazy place called Bangkok!
A woman called me late last night. I've known her a for a few years since she was on the streets. She's left the streets but the experience makes prostitution always a potential option for last minute cash. Last night she called and said that her mother is dead; she just found out. She sent the last of her money to her children yesterday and has no money to go home to the north for the funeral. She was on the street looking for customers and dreading it. If she could just get two customers she would have enough to go home and return. If she sold her phone then she would only have to take one customer. What should she do, she was asking me? Of course, I said don't do it. Just go home with what you have, borrow money from your dad . . . Not options - the funeral will cost enough already. She can't borrow from them.
She just borrowed 500 baht from me during the riots when she couldn't sell make-up on the street and was out looking for a customer so she could eat until the riots were over. So, is this just a scam. Am I an ATM for quick cash? How do I know? This woman is smart, beautiful, speaks English extremely well and has been around. Small in stature but strong. A Muay Thai boxer in competitions at time. Her dream was to be a police officer and she is proud that she can handle a gun. She calls me at least twice a year saying she misses me and wants to see me. Only recently after breaking up with her husband who was forcing her to continue prostitution have I seen and heard from her more regularly.
She started crying. Why do other women leave prostitution for good and why do I have to come back and sell sex? Okay - enough. I don't know for sure but I can't take a chance here. Its late so I tell her to borrow the money from me. She says she feels Greng Jai - the Thai phrase for a considerattion not wanting to impose. Never mind I tell her, this is more important. Besides there are fewer customers and more women out these nights. I told her to come meet me at the hotel next door to my home. Jeff doesn't like it that she will know where we live but I trust her. Anyway I don't tell her exactly where I live.
She's on the phone when she arrives. I hear her talking about the corpse. She looks teary. I want to fully believe her but I also know that survival drives people to all kinds of schemes. I ask her how she is feeling about her mother's death. She said, "I want to die. Better me than her. She diddn't love me but she's my mother and I love her." I gave her the money she needed along with three Christian tracts. She already had one and I reached out to take it back but she quickly pulled it back and said she wanted to keep it too. I told her God loves her and has a plan. She said, "I hope so." I said, "Hey, you found me that's part of it!" She said, "Actually you found me." "yeah, but my God brougth me to you."
I gave "J" a hug, told her I love her. That was a phrase she was all too familiar with. She could say that back loudly and boldly. She left but as I looked back I couldn't tell . . .was she still looking for a customer? Who knows.
Maybe she took advantage of my mercy; maybe her mother died and she is in shock and on the bus at this very moment. I don't know but I've decided I would rather be taken advantage of than risk leaving her alone on the street with no other option than selling her body to go to her mother's funeral.
She just borrowed 500 baht from me during the riots when she couldn't sell make-up on the street and was out looking for a customer so she could eat until the riots were over. So, is this just a scam. Am I an ATM for quick cash? How do I know? This woman is smart, beautiful, speaks English extremely well and has been around. Small in stature but strong. A Muay Thai boxer in competitions at time. Her dream was to be a police officer and she is proud that she can handle a gun. She calls me at least twice a year saying she misses me and wants to see me. Only recently after breaking up with her husband who was forcing her to continue prostitution have I seen and heard from her more regularly.
She started crying. Why do other women leave prostitution for good and why do I have to come back and sell sex? Okay - enough. I don't know for sure but I can't take a chance here. Its late so I tell her to borrow the money from me. She says she feels Greng Jai - the Thai phrase for a considerattion not wanting to impose. Never mind I tell her, this is more important. Besides there are fewer customers and more women out these nights. I told her to come meet me at the hotel next door to my home. Jeff doesn't like it that she will know where we live but I trust her. Anyway I don't tell her exactly where I live.
She's on the phone when she arrives. I hear her talking about the corpse. She looks teary. I want to fully believe her but I also know that survival drives people to all kinds of schemes. I ask her how she is feeling about her mother's death. She said, "I want to die. Better me than her. She diddn't love me but she's my mother and I love her." I gave her the money she needed along with three Christian tracts. She already had one and I reached out to take it back but she quickly pulled it back and said she wanted to keep it too. I told her God loves her and has a plan. She said, "I hope so." I said, "Hey, you found me that's part of it!" She said, "Actually you found me." "yeah, but my God brougth me to you."
I gave "J" a hug, told her I love her. That was a phrase she was all too familiar with. She could say that back loudly and boldly. She left but as I looked back I couldn't tell . . .was she still looking for a customer? Who knows.
Maybe she took advantage of my mercy; maybe her mother died and she is in shock and on the bus at this very moment. I don't know but I've decided I would rather be taken advantage of than risk leaving her alone on the street with no other option than selling her body to go to her mother's funeral.