.Hope. is to Brothels as Chocolate is to Cookies

We walk into Lollilop, our favorite strip club on the coast, and immediately all heads turn. Cries ring out from around the room and whether from a pole on the stage or from the lap of John, the girls greet us with smiles and the whole room welcomes us for the night.


“Just a minute,” One of the girls says to her client and runs over to me for a hug. I hold her close, she’s perfect. A young vivacious girl with dreams that seem to slip further away from her with every lap dance.


I love hope. I love how quickly a situation can be turned when Jesus walks into the room. We laugh, we chat and we reawaken hearts that seemed frozen in time. Then we arrange coffee dates, tea times and plans for “church”- our upcoming venture for working street girls before they start their nights with clients.


I love how hope finds us. One night while sleeping in a shady hotel room, (you know the ones that make your stomach turn as you lay on it’s dirty sheets) it woke me. We were overnighting in the brothel and as most of the team worshipped in our beautiful Nevaeh Center, I slipped away to crash for a couple hours. Most find it hard to sleep here. Closing my eyes I heard at least 3 different clubs BLASTING music and I swear something was crawling on every inch of my body. But then I heard it. Between my dreams, hope called out: “Let it rain, let it rain… open the flood gates of heaven, and let it rain”

The most beautiful unexpected sound erupting through the streets and into the hourly rate rooms. And there it was. Through my exhaustion - I was reminded that I’d been found.


I love how hope pursues us. We have a million stories, from girls searching us out during Nevaeh worship sets and begging us to pray for them, to Jesus walking into rooms of women as they service clients and in an open vision he invites them to leave with him. He’s after their hearts. I’m undone. Absolutely undone time and time again at how tangible it is. How real his pursuit of them, of me, it’s perfect.


Every girl we speak to says the same thing, “I feel so unclean, how could he stop for me?” And every single time, it never gets old when they meet him and realize he sees them as flawless.


I love my busy crazy life in the brothels. It’s been such a treat to share it with a couple dozen visitors this month from Bethel students to Iris Alumni to YWAM friends and so on. It’s been a blast!



The time is quickly wrapping up for a minute and I can feel my heart shifting as I prepare for the Middle East. Only a few days now and I’ll arrive in Jordan, ready to see hope manifest itself in another war zone! My heart comes alive at the thought!!


I hadn’t had as much prep time as I would have liked, so last night I stole away to a hotel room on the beach. In the silence of crashing waves and praising palm trees, I processed our time in the red light districts and got my heart ready for the next venture. Thank you for those who gave for “me” and let me value REST and take a moment for my heart. The hotel had hot water and in my 13 hours off I took 4 showers. :) Jesus is goooood.


This blog feels rushed as I could go on forever about the beauty that’s being unveiled here. Maybe another time though. Please be watching out for posts on my time with IRIS Relief in Jordan, loving on Syrian Refugees. (April 14th-May 4th) I still can’t believe all that’s going on there and consider it the biggest honor to be apart of a small group responding to history unfolding.


(If you want to still give to the work in with Syrian Refugees see the “Contact” page or see the IRIS relief page on the Iris Global site)

Mother May I and the Middle East

So… raising teenagers huh? I now have a new respect and appreciation for all you parents out there as another one of our girls seems to have reached adolescence overnight!


There are so many sides to every story. One side of this story sounds romantic. Heroic almost. Rescuing young girls from prostitution or boys out of the army. I had dreamt of it for years. Busting down doors, sneaking down back alley’s and while I never imagined Kumbaya by the fire, I did probably have a few more rainbows and quiet nights in there.


And though at times, that may be a part of the story, I’m learning that a large part is quite different. A 5:15am alarm clock wakes me from my short night’s sleep and calls me to make breakfast for our sweet daughters. Suddenly my life, is no longer my own.


Time is rushed doing homework checks and though I’m absolutely obsessed with loving our girls, I breathe a happy sigh when we finally get them all out the door with school bags and uniforms together. Any other mother’s relate?


  

(Photos with our youngest babe on what we affectionately call “Afro Sunday”)

 

I know my life is different and I have the privilege of seeing them raised alongside a few other ‘house parents’ who carry it year round. They are amazing and I am SO grateful for them! I love the adventure and am very aware that I am learning A LOT. Wow. A lot about love and truly laying your life down for someone else. A lot about patience! And understanding adolescent girls, especially those with harder backgrounds like our own babes.

It’s been a beautiful time and I’m so thankful for every moment I have with them.

 

Along with everyday life in Bella House, things are also growing and developing here with new opportunities, not only in Kenya but also…the Middle East.

 

A large part of my passion is war zones. It’s bizarre sometimes, as I can spend hours dreaming of the transformation to be had in lands of war lords and grenade explosions. To places where my purity, not to mention my very breath can be on the line, yet somehow something draws me. Like a renewed version of Sirens calling; “There is hope. There is transformation available. Who will go for me to bring home the desolate and the dying?”

 

It was in November that my heart got really wrecked for what was happening in Syria and area. I started praying “God, let’s do this thing, let’s shift atmospheres. I’m not sure how but if I can be apart the answer to my own prayer, please send me!” In December he finally answered with: “For your 26th birthday, I’m sending you to the Middle East.”

I was in Nashville during a worship set and I couldn’t even respond, I could only laugh. See, Jesus and I LOVE exchanging gifts, always trying to “out give” the other. (I’ve learned the best way to love Him are two things - Quality time, and sitting with the poor aka: Matt 25) So this felt absolutely about right. Trumped again! ;)

 

The funny thing is I had utterly no clue how I’d get there. Just thrown into one of those “trusting gigs”. Days passed and eventually turned into weeks and soon two months had gone by, but then at the end of January the beautiful Skype call came. I connected with others from Iris Global and a relief team was forming with an extra extended portion into the most needy places we could find. I now leave Mtwapa, Kenya for Amman, Jordan April 13th and return to Kenya May 4th (My 26th birthday being May 5th. Sweet right?!)

 

Here are some articles on Syria. There are currently over 4 million internally displaced people in Syria. FOUR MILLION. And over 1 million displaced internationally. Currently they’re predicting over 3 million refugees by the end of the year!! I can’t even imagine that.

 

Syrian Internally Displaced Reaches 4 million

 http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-21676542

 

Immediately my pioneer heart hears this and switches to: “Ok, after years working throughout African war zones I’ve seen what works and what doesn’t, so let’s go in and develop education programs! They can be partnered with counseling, art therapy and sponsorship. We can scout now, implement by the summer and have something launched by fall!!”

And then he spoke again. “Just listen. Love. And let’s get a little dirty. For now.” I watched a TED talk (God LOVES to speak through TED) about dead aid and the power of actually listening first. (By Ernesto Sirolli) Ok God. Agenda’s aside, let’s go in, hearts on the table and without reservations, love the Syrian people in Jordan!

The team plans on bringing in relief supplies and therapy programs, I’m excited.

 

I hope to tweet as often as I have internet. Hashtag #hopetosyrianrefugees Follow

 

If you’re interested in donating to the costs of this trip, to supplies or to my ground fees, you can donate HERE and sow into the refugees.

 

If you’re interested in helping Justice Rising Projects in the Kenyan brothels, we have a new venture!! “Pads with a Purpose”. Start collecting new Always Pads and we give them to young girls in the brothels who are normally kept out of school when they have their period. (Making them vulnerable to sexual abuse) Brilliant right!? We then take them back to Africa with us and give them to a sweet young girl that we work with here. :)

Transition! And a road-trip across Kenya...

I took 5 showers over the course of two days, a manicure, pedicure and laundry in a real washing machine and dryer to finally feel clean. My hair feels so soft again and the funny rash on my arm is already starting to fade.

I’m back in Kenya!!!

It’s always a funny transition from DRC to Kenya. The deep far out places of Congo are a world all their own. Though, I was completely happy and loving life when I left Congo but it was as soon as I reached Kenya, my heart started having what I call “emotional contractions”. Tenderly sorting through the stories of our sons and the reality of child soldiers. The ones we’ve rescued and the boys that have yet to be rescued. We hope to have them at the end of the month and once safely relocated to the city, I will feel much more satisfied.

I would often refer to myself as pretty sensitive. (Annnnnd all my friends laugh) Possibly an understatement. Every story, every teen with a gun, every young girl with a baby, my heart aches. It never gets easier.

But it does get more beautiful. I’m so thankful for our sweet munchkins. But every rape story is still a blow to the gut.

So I’ve been in process mode! Lots of tears. Lots of laughter. People often ask me how we handle the stories. Well, I’ve learned over the years that my Papa God has big shoulders. REALLY big. He can handle every breath stolen by injustice and in his ridiculous amazingness, replaces it with joy. He’s patient with my process. The times I want to talk about it and the times I want to put on a TV show and zone out for an hour.

We’re also patient with ourselves (we have to be) and take time to recover. My recovery this time… Nairobi!! My favorite. One of my closest friends also came from LA to spend a week with our family on the coast! YAY! She’s a professional designer who has a heart to bring creativity and beauty to areas of injustice. And through revamping the atmosphere, help create a place of safety and a better area to recover and have restoration. She’s amazing and owns her own business with her husband. It’s called Disregarden (check it out here)



It’s been perfect. We shopped, got our nails done, ate half the sweets she brought me from the west (So much for pacing ourselves—shout out to Easter “mini-eggs”!) and laughed and talked ‘til all hours.

From here we’re heading to Bella House to be with the girls and decorate the home and Nevaeh Community Drop-In center. Continuing to add a little more beauty to the brothels. 


The only quirky thing about her time here is it’s also election week… Quick lo-down as this is important!! Last national elections of Kenya there were what they call the “Clashes”. A political uproar that cost hundreds of lives and thousands of others displaced from there homes. There was looting, fires, riots. A very painful time in Kenyan history. Now Monday March 4thwe revisit elections again. There is much fear surrounding the week and we’ve been advised to store up enough food, water and candles to last up to a MONTH, incase of house arrest.


From Congo to this. I laugh as I believe we carry Heaven’s perfect peace, so it only makes sense that we would be in places with the most danger and chaos! It is my first time in situations like this where my staff and I are parents to so many. Ha. Please be praying for safety in Kenya, particularly the hot spots on the coast and our young little family of muffins. We’re believing that by being here we will be the atmosphere shifters and not subject to the environment around us. HOWEVER, we did by enough water for a small nation. 


Be watching for future photos of the physical transformation Jessica and “Disregarden” bring to our home and projects!!!

Love in a time of... Warzones.

We learn a lot about perspective when we open our eyes.

Our complaints of not having running water, a toilet in our house or the nagging cravings that pull at our stomachs during mealtimes, are easily silenced by a woman’s rape story. Every woman’s rape story. Our beautiful Pastor explains: “It’s no longer a question of ‘if’ she’s been raped, in the villages it’s ‘how many times’?”

He provides the best kind of perspective.

This November war broke out in the provincial capitol where we’re based, worse than it had in years. In the chaos and confusion of gunfire and explosions in the sky, our Pastor opened up his home to 18 orphan children and half a dozen adults. His 2 roomed house, the living area smaller than most American kitchens, was turned into a displaced persons lodge: “We took all the furniture and put it outside. It was body on top of body, piled on another body.” Our measly bit of war relief sent during this time fed them all for the month they were there.

 

Perspective. It’s hard to communicate life here sometimes. The horror and the absolute beauty. The fungus that crawls up my arm in little circles, itching more and more everyday and sweet child that I embrace, again, though they were probably the one that gave it to me.

 

Every Saturday is “Sleepover Saturday” with Justice Rising projects. In the brothels, we have slumber parties with rescued child prostitutes. In the war zones, it’s a party with rescued child soldiers. The biggest difference, I vote, is the smell. Ha. Oh yes, even with the smelly soaps and lotions I give to our boys, somehow our girls always smell MUCH better at the end of the day…

This last weekend during some “art therapy” with our beautiful boys, we asked them to draw our little family in a garden, with an elephant. (Yes, I somehow sneak elephants into all of our art projects.)

A normal plan, so we thought, until perspective shows up. Machetes and guns in blue and red crayon. Perhaps an easy thing to draw? We ask our boys to explain. Their faces are sweet and I can rarely describe them in a sentence without slipping in the words “perfection” and “adore”, but deep in their eyes, still hidden in their memories, it makes sense.

Though our family is full of love, the picture shows a gun pointed at a stick figure with a blonde ponytail. Dang it. Everyone in the picture is either killing or running from conflict. Our heart aches for our sweet muffins and the things they’ve seen. The lives they lived.

 


Last week while in the bush we met quietly with other young boys we hope to rescue and began the process of helping them get out of the bush and into the city. (Our program is not one of 24-7 care but more foster sponsorship and extensive discipleship. With this we can see more boys restored with less money and still be able to love on the armies and not have them want to “get rid of us”… haha)  While sitting with one of the kids, perspective was made clear when he stated “I have no life outside of the army.” It was either he joins our family, or he stays fighting in his current one.

Little boys with big guns. Everywhere. On the street we ask their names and they get fidgety. You try to gaze into their eyes with all the love you can show while still glancing at their finger to see it stays far from the AK’s trigger.


Perspective is a funny thing. Especially in a war zone. And you have a choice. Sometimes it hurts more to see. Ok let’s be honest, it almost always hurts more to see. That’s why not everyone does it, and war and famine persist. But in the end, opening your eyes and getting some perspective on someone else’s reality is so so worth it.

For in that moment of choosing to do life with them, the vulnerability expressed is what opens yourself up to truly experience love.

Love is nothing like I thought. Or probably even now what I think. Love is ridiculously and incredibly beautifully, while utterly heartwrenchenly painful yet always 100% completely worth it. Love is what  stands with the broken, with the raped victim and the hungry and says “You’re not alone”. Love chooses to look deep into heart of the war lord and say: “I see you. I see you for not what you’ve done, but what God’s done for you” And love is what says to the little boy who’s been given a gun instead of an embrace: “I will stop for you. No matter what it costs me” Because love, in it’s purest form, always costs you something.



I feel like we’re forever learning here, continuously shocked at how little we know! But more now than ever, as I become increasingly obsessed with our sweet little princes, I get inspired to figure it out. Love in a war zone. In a brothel. It’s purity and power able to transform even the toughest area. It’s brilliant. Ridiculously and absolutely brilliant. And suuuuch a blast. We’re so excited as every minute here feels like the greatest honor ever. It’s just sometimes taking the perspective and the courage to really see it. The journey we’re foreeeeever learning. : )

I Should Have Shaved My Legs...

Sometimes it’s the red nail polish on the tips of your fingers and ends of your toes that remind you to smile. An element of girlish beauty that recalls simpler days. But other times, in the middle of it all, it’s the squeeze from a child who without education in our primary school would have a gun in his hand rather than a pencil.

 

We arrived in our beloved Congo on Monday afternoon and were greeted with the usual: No electricity or running water and pending threats of war. “I should have shaved my legs my last morning in Rwanda!” Is all I could think of. A warm shower and a hot breakfast?? I should have cherished that moment a little extra too as I now grab a handful of nuts from my suitcase!

It’s funny because for some people, those things aren’t a big deal. Well… I don’t think I’m “some people”. When I was younger many told me: “If you don’t like spiders or being dirty, you’re probably not called to be a missionary. It’s only for ‘some people’” Haha. Hm. Like I said, I think I missed the category of those “some people” though somehow it works. I hate being dirty, I adore washing machines, and if I could have a chai latte in my hand at all times, I would be a happy girl. But it’s more than that.

Chatting it up on the playground with one of our Freedom boys (rescued child soldier) I congratulate him on passing his exam and in the moment, could care less that the dark tan on my arms is really just dirt. I love this. I love that we get to stand in the middle of so many uncertainties and have a blast!! I love seeing transformation, even if it means that some nights my feet turn blue during the cold bucket bath. It’s so worth it!

Sometimes the transformation is instant. *Joseph for example. His smile is massive and sticks to his face like a fly to the wall. His scarred hands remind us of his past but his joy overwhelms the situation and I’m absolutely amazed by his hope.

Other transformations take a little longer… Micheal. My boy. Oh how my heart adores him. And he knows it. About 11 years old now, any time we’re in the same room, I don’t care what the rules are, he’s the exception. My shadow, and he has been for years. But still, “Micheal what’s wrong?” I asked the other day as I saw a long look that pulled him down. “When was the last time you ate?” Two days… Three days… “We are in famine.” So often this is the case and we’re constantly working to change the fact. Yet still so many days I hear him echo: “We are in famine.”

Bah. Congo’s the most interesting place to work. Because no matter the difficulties, the pain of sitting with them in their reality, the love pulls you back in. The kindness in the people, the passion in our papa’s eyes as he longs to be united with his favorite warlord or violated mama. Uhhh the mamas. How many times is too many times of hearing of a woman’s destroyed vagina due to rape? That’s where the similarities lie in our work in Kenya and Congo. Someone always seems to be getting raped. A brothel and a war zone. Where purity is a rarity and targets seem to be painted on most young women’s foreheads.

I know. For some people that may have been a lot: “Did she just say vagina!?” But it’s a reality to so so many here. And our response? What if we choose not to be “some people,” dictated by how it’s been done in the past. But what if we write the history we dream so much about changing? How can we create a new normal so someday this is only legend? Rape, war, starvation. Everyone with their own piece, no matter where you are. This is our constant conversation on the ground. Haha. I know… and a repeat topic in many of my blogs ;)

 

I look down at my painted nails again. Red. And I smile. Sometimes it’s the simplicity of a manicure and sometimes it’s the joy in changing the world. Either way there’s something in the smile. Loving what you do. And though life here may not always be perfect, our team is definitely LOVING LIFE in our beloved DRC. Off to the bush next week! So excited! (If you want to get involved in rescuing child soldiers or building a school as a “justice piece” to prevent war for future generations– be watching for more chances!!! Or give by clicking on the ‘donate’ page)

Abolition Requires Movement

I woke up this morning to a blasting alarm. Opening my eyes, I looked out the window to see it was still pitch black outside. I usually hate waking up when it’s still dark, however today and most weekdays lately, have been an exception. I walked down the hall to a room where our sweet princesses were freshly showered and getting ready for school. Though still wiping the sleep from the corner of my eyes, a massive smile spread across my face as I took each girl in my arms. We are obsessed with loving them.

Later it’s breakfast and backpacks and then the bus takes them to school, no longer facing a day of hunger and servicing of clients, these girls adore their studies. As I grab a few more cups of tea, my team and I make the plans to visit another one of our little princesses. This situation is different though.

This daughter does not live in our home. Her, like dozens of other girls we’re committed to, still stays in the village as we work with her and her family in sponsorship, mentorship and attempt to shift a culture with education and a lot a lot of love.

Her story takes a few more deep breathes to conquer as she is still in process. Her sister is a prostitute. Night after night the woman brings men home, wakes up our beloved and tells her to switch beds. Our sweet one then gets up and climbs under the covers with her siblings, trying to fall back sleep as her sister satisfies customers in the bed next to hers. She hears everything. She sees everything.

 

Our young, beautiful one’s raw environment seemed to paint a target on her forehead that eventually traffickers appeared drawn to her and had started pimping her out. Uh, our hearts. How do you deal?  Just barely 13 years old, her story is not just of one but dozens. In a culture where “children and sex” share the same phrase on a normal day, we take a moment to refocus our gaze and remember it’s not impossible.

Today our schedule was sitting with her in a waiting room after she was screened for STIs. (Sexually Transmitted Infections) Her tests came out clean and we tried to convince her again of the dangers that lay in sex with strangers.

 

Later that night we heard more rape stories. More accounts of abuse and more brothels that bind young women in a sexual nightmare. But as we discuss the rounds of exploitation we can’t help but start to shift the conversation.

 

It’s who we are. It starts with a brothel and grows to a dream. Freedom! Liberty! Love’s perfect invasion! We start to hear the cry of heaven screaming louder than the threats of injustice:

 

“Ask for it. Ask for the transformation…”

 

Soon where tears had just rolled, a laugh escapes. It starts out small but then followed by a sequence of others you can’t hold it back. We win! We will dream for more and we WILL see girls rescued and brothels shut down!

And so it doesn’t end there. It can’t. Later on we stuff some cash in our pocket and our phone down our shirts and while others climb into bed, we climb onto a motorbike to head to the strip clubs to bring action to the dreams.

 

So often we talk about “abolition” and sex-trafficking or slavery. But sitting with our sweet princesses, talk isn’t enough.

 

Walking into the clubs we’re looking for children. Looking for the babies who are hidden under thick make-up and short skirts.

We sit with a beautiful girl named Cecelia and she starts to cry as we share what love really looks like.

 

In the moment it feels so ordinary.

 

Nothing is impossible. Nothing is too big. All it takes is love and action. That we would be a generation that moves from great ideas and discussions to the dirty bars and packed out street corners. Love in action. The unqualified, now qualified by love!

 

At home our babes lie peacefully in bed. Success. Tomorrow we’ll wake up and do it again. Giants taken down with simple stones. Love. Justice. ACTION. Never underestimating the power of our “yes” and the simplicity of a child with a slingshot.

Back in Action

It’s a beautiful night. A canopy of stars light up the dark black sky and the sweet breeze, smelling of a mixture of coconut and wild flowers, refreshes me from the sticky heat.

Mmmm I’m home.


back in action.jpg

 

Our beautiful Kenyan house is unusually quiet for this hour. After a busy day of family fun field trips, (pic of some of us above) our Bella House girls now sit around their desks in the living room finishing up homework for the manic Monday that waits them in the morning.

Is this really my life? The other missionaries and myself just had this talk. What!? We literally get to go into brothels, find the worst situations and rescue them into our beautiful family. Several months after taking in our first girl, a young woman trafficked from Nairobi; it’s amazing to see the transformation that’s almost unrecognizable from when we first met.

“I’m taking snow [ice] in my water because Sandra is taking snow. I will do what she does,” she boasts at the dinner table.  Oh how good it is to finally be back after months of furlough!

Not that the transition didn’t come with its drama… I still can’t believe how much I traveled in the last two months. Thank you to everyone for being so amazing and hosting me and supporting me and partnering with the dream to shut down brothels. We have a house of girls who thank you as well.  :)

Their process amazes me. Both their growth and also the constant stories from their past. The more we learn the tales of their little lives, the more we cherish their laughter and every hug that we hold onto for just a few seconds extra.

Snuggled up with one of our girls, this precious one asks me every time we’re alone: “Why did you start this home? What made you come? Why, why did you pick me?” This girl has had more abuse then I can comprehend but her smile now says it all and I think to myself : “You! I came because Jesus is here. And if he is who we say he is, this passionately obsessed God who is the very nature of love and goodness… It’s easy to give it all away and see transformation.” So to her question, it makes me think: “How could I stay away??” Oh to move as heirs of a big God.

This year is ridiculously exciting. Our family loves the process of growth with various projects and businesses and teams here on the coast! Our holistic model “Prevention. Intervention and Rescue” to shut down brothels has been so fun to develop! Sometimes, though my days are filled with long hours and often way too many rape stories, but in the midst of it all I feel I’m just along for the ride as the ease of life is so beautiful how it all unfolds!!

Presently I’m with my growing team in Mtwapa, Kenya and will move at the end of the month back to Congo! We’re so excited about life there as well!

In short, my little schedule:

January-USA /Kenya

February- DRC

March- Kenya

April- Kenya/DRC

May- DRC/Kenya/USA (for a super dear friend’s wedding)

I’ll be sitting down and sending out a real newsletter, maybe when life slows for a second. Until then… This is my first blog back, trying to get into the swing of it again! And I’ll continue to unravel the everyday living of a “normal life” between war zones and brothels in weekly blogs to come. (Normal AKA: Living happy, passionately and doing exactly what you were created to do. Stopping for the poor and tackling the impossible all the while. Course.) I plan to be back and forth a lot this year, focusing more and more on overseeing and delegating projects to the on sight project managers and directors rising up!  To follow more of that process—check out our project site: www.justicerising.org . It gives a few more daily stories from other team members and an overview of what we do!  :)

So until inspiration strikes again! …

 

Rebel Raids to London Lattes

(Written last week, posted this week… C’est la vie in transition!)

 

For a moment, a beautiful, awkward transitional moment, I close my eyes and purse my lips, and I’m back in Africa. I remember holding one of my girls as she sobbed in my arms– she’d been raped for a living and desperate for some love. Or I listen, almost holding my breath to determine the location of the bomb blasts of active conflict and I see the faces of my sweet boys who’ve gone from the front lines of battle to the front rows of a classroom.

Opening up my eyes it’s a different story though. The English country side. Scones and tea in the gardens of an old castle, as deer frolic past us and swans play in the brook. What?!

 

 

I hold the moment as there are few in this life quite like it. Straddling two completely different worlds, yet still having my heart forever rooted and grounded in the lap of my papa. It’s in these moments I feel the richest.

I left Africa last week, just as our first girl moved into Bella House. A girl who’s been sex-trafficked, oh how honored we are to be trusted with some of papa’s most absolute favorites! Out of respect for our girls, we don’t share too much of their stories on blogs but watching life play out, I feel SO SO privileged at who God has brought into our beautiful Bella House family!!!

 

I chat with my Kenya team frequently and my heart gets SO excited at all that’s happening.

 

Right before I left, our “Can’t be Bought Campaign” was launched. (YAY!) This is our prevention side to working in brothels. Yes, I absolutely ADORE Bella House, but reaching a dozen girls is a pretty small drop in the ocean. If we REALLY want to take down this giant of sex slavery, there NEEDS to be justice along with mercy. PREVENTION.

 

 

In the first week we reached several hundred kids and hope to be reaching a few thousand per week by the beginning of the new year.

With this campaign, our team goes into public schools and teaches kids about prostitution, sex-trafficking, their value and worth and that they are created with purpose and can truly change the world! It’s amazing, our first class I stood at the back taking pictures and almost cried as the kids rang out a cheer “I am not for sale… I cannot be bought! I’m valuable… I’m powerful… my body’s mine…” In a place where sex with children is normal, this felt ground breaking.

 

It’s been a journey… choosing to “see” can sometimes be the most difficult part.

 

Imagine being in the 5th grade and because you don’t sell yourself for sex, you are a minority.

Imagine wanting a snack during recess, so for your bag of popcorn it’s acceptable to find a man who will violate you for it.

Imagine growing up knowing if you don’t get the luxury of education, you will most likely be forced to sell yourself for sex.

And imagine knowing not much else. Your mom is a prostitute, your grand-mom is a prostitute and your aunty is now forcing you to be a prostitute.

This is the life of SO many in our community here.

 

It’s so… engrained in a culture, and we’ve had our shirts stained with too many tears of child prostitutes to do nothing about it.

 

With the curriculum of this campaign, we hope to use it as a foundation in brothels around the world. Entering public school systems and empowering kids to protect their body, stay in school and dream for a better future. I’m excited!!

 

So now I go from rescuing kids on the ground to being their voice abroad. (As of now, I’m officially back in N.America!) They say children exploited in sex-work or conflict are the most voiceless population in the world. So for my babies and family in another world—it’s time to speak up!!

 

Exciting times we live in! That we would get the opportunity to touch so many lives! Amazing really! Change the world, and now get hot showers too. Life just keeps getting better 

 

If you want to join us in rescuing child sex slaves and hopefully, well, shutting down brothels : ) you can donate today and be apart of the journey of writing history! Donate

The "It" Moments That Make It Worth It...

For anyone who’s ever gone out on a limb for love…

More of the “Raw Version” of learning to love in a brothel (and a war zone…)

It’s been a… tougher month. Let’s be honest for a second. (No judgments, k?) I laughed that we labeled it “Rescue Month” cause in the end, I was the one more aware than ever before of my need for a savior.  It was I who was needing to be “rescued,” not just the child soldiers or little girls trapped in the sex industry.

It was a beautiful month of leaning 110% on my papa and knowing I can do absolutely nothing, NOTHING, if he doesn’t show up. And seeing however, that he always, ALWAYS does. I’m not sure if it was the collaboration of difficult stories, the reality of life in a war zone or laying your foundations in a brothel. I’m not sure if it was personal relationship drama or the fact that I was just ready for a cup of tea with all of my best friends… Either way- it was definitely painful at times, and had I had Kleenex, I’m sure the empty boxes would be strewn across my bedroom floor.

But to continue on the theme of honesty, laying my heart out in a blog post- it was perfect. Because in the midst of life’s imperfections, we’re reminded that there’s grace. And love. And joy. And a whole lot of it.

And in those times more than normal, when you are wonderfully aware of your own weakness, you see highlighted minutes when all the pain, all the processing, was completely worth it…

So here are a few moments where time stood still and love, as usual- prevailed.

-       Thursday Club is a time when a few dozen girls get together and grow as a family.  Every Thursday (hence the name…) we meet for a few hours and eat and play games and share life. 99% of these sweet girls have been prostitutes or stuck in child labor situations. Once during a “Truth vs. Lies” day, I was so humbled by the sweet love letters I collected from the girls. Such beautiful words the papa spoke to their hearts!! Each one of them testified how they used to think nothing of themselves but now they knew they were a princess. Loved by God. Worth everything. A Hero. Beautiful. Intelligent. Much of what they wrote we had never told them, it was just their listening and hearing what they mean to him as his daughters! I was so touched!




-Walking down the dirt roads speaking half Swahili / half English I tried to “play it cool” as my girls initiated conversations of their dreams and the “great things they’re believing God for for their lives” –What!?


-Shopping in the market and hearing the sweet call of “Sandrrrrrrrrrra!!!!” And then being tackled by a bunch of Somali refugee kids that cling to my side- smiles ear to ear  It’s good to have friends in the neighborhood.


-Standing in front of the class with a picture she drew of herself and Jesus, our sweet girl “Elizabeth” (about 13/14 years 
old) beaming with joy, testified that she used to be a prostitute, a thief and drank too much alcohol. But now instead she hears the sweet songs that her papa sings to her: “They are songs of love that he sings to me before bed and when I wake up and sometimes during the day. I can’t wait to go to sleep, because that’s when I get to hear him most. I know I am so so loved by him. And I love him too. I am not the same girl that I was before.” (!!!)


the it moments 3.jpg


And then of course, more heart stuff…Weeks later while I was reviewing what I saw in Congo… Locked behind a title the UN calls “Rebel Held territory,” my family. My Friends, staff members and sweet babies that call me “Sandula”.  Abducted, raped, forced to carry guns. …And everything hurt. The status of their lives… No human should ever have to live like that and here it was- my family. MY house being threatened to become nothing more than a leveled ash heap.

And as I buried my puffy eyes in the chest of my papa I caught the sweetest glimpse of his heart. He never, looks, away. Though so much pain I felt sick in my stomach– he never, looks, away. The very make up of courage, vulnerability and hope. He NEVER, looks away.

I have never been so overwhelmed with love for him and this…. Pride. Knowing that I’m his, and that’s all I want to be.  This is why I gush, this is how I find so much joy when my everyday’s can be so full of stories of such violations against humanity. Cause his love is still– perfect.

Still sorting through more memories I revisited the negotiations for my life. “How much are you worth?” the Warlord asked me. And I rest, like a melted puddle in the strong, safe arms of a God who gave everything for both me, and that man. Again- it’s his love. And I feel so rich, so very very rich, for that one moment. For if nothing else, what a sweet glimpse into more of my papa’s tender heart of love, that overrides even the most tangible evil. To know his love, this is what it feels like to be alive.

I know. This might be a lot for some people. BUT, if you want the journey of what it looks like to move between some of the darkest places on earth as a twenty-something year old blonde girl- this is it.

Beautiful and messy and awkward and full of tears and laughter and Haribo gummy candies… 

Take it or leave it but either way it’s my process.  –The ups and downs of life’s beauty amidst life’s imperfections. 

Bella's Song

It was at the end of a long day, my body was exhausted and my sentence structure getting fuzzy. We had just heard of little girls forced to perform live sex shows in town and had gone to the brothels looking for leads. “Treasure hunting” pimps, traffickers and girls trapped in a nightmare. But even though I could barely keep my eyes open and the stories we heard had just broken our hearts into a million pieces, I was so excited. “What hope there is to be found!”

Recently my friend sent me a song he wrote for Bella house. It’s been such a fun journey so far! So full of jaw dropping miracles as we pursue an end to sex slavery. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning waiting for our girls to be rescued and restored, our prevention campaigns in schools to get underway and for our pimp outreach to be in full force.

Life is such a beautiful thing and we’re so excited to see the restoration come for others to live it!

 

So without further ado…

Bella’s Song by: Rich Di Castiglone

(A dear friend who was actually the nutter that got me involved with work on the coast in the first place. Thank you so much Rich!!)

http://soundcloud.com/richdicas/bellas-song-demo)

Lyrics:
Swollen face and bruised up eyes,
A stranger’s fist on a red light night,
The unseen sores of a Mombasa bar,
I hold my breath, it’s gone too far

But Hope holds on, and drags my heart from between the sheets,
Ropes undone, deep in my chest I feel its first beat

I won’t let my scars dictate my path,
As I give up the ghosts of my wounded past,
And the oil on my heart is a smile and a laugh,
In the arms of a home where love is made to last..

I was a tourist’s toy with absent eyes,
I’d give my life just to feed my child,
But love came in and took my hand,
And wrote my name there in the sand…

 

#RescueMonth Half-Way :Brothels:

Sometimes my blog just oozes my process. The emotional journey as I navigate my through war zones and brothels…. : )

The mattress was so badly stained you couldn’t tell it’s original color from green, to yellow to some shade of white or cream.

I sat on the edge of the bed with one of my dear girls from Thursday Club. (Our once a week family group with “vulnerable girls”)

A room at the end of a long hall in a long building with many other rooms just like it.

It hasn’t a door and is used also as a kitchen, discolored black from charcoal.

“Do you still bring men back here?”

She looks down, then begins a story of a man who came looking to satisfy his afternoon craving.

I think the hardest thing about working in a brothel is you don’t have to look far to find a girl, not a woman, but a sweet young child selling herself for sex.

Their lives are complicated and it seems almost more cultural than anything else. Selling yourself is just “what you do”.  Either that or go hungry. I find it hurts my heart more and more the closer I get to each child.

Every week we do house visits. The girls LOVE this. Each time we step foot in their neighborhood, they literally drop what they’re doing mid-step and RUN. “Sandra has come! Sandra has come!” 

It’s become both the high and low of my week.

I could go on about their stories. Their names. Their barely double digit ages…

But let’s talk instead of their dreams. Their goals. Their ambitions!

One of our girls stepped on a nail last month, and with no one to take her to the hospital, I held her close and told her stories while she got a series of tetanus shots. Asking her questions and talking about traveling and puppies and anything I could think of to distract her mind, and between the squeezes and very deep breaths, we spoke about her nights.

“I haven’t gone out in while”

“Really? Why not??”

“Ever since we all started meeting together, I saw I had hope for my future.”

Melt.

“One day- I will be a teacher.”

Sometimes it feels so simple to get these girls out of a life of rape.

Education. Sponsorship. Love. A family. Someone who believes in them.

And another: “One day- I will be a doctor”

It’s been a year, almost to the day, that we rescued our first girls from forced prostitution.

I loved what one of those girls said as she dreamt for her future:

“I want to go to the streets and rescue girls with stories like mine. And then have a home to take them to”

Double melt. 

It’s so easy, with a flip side of the hardest thing we’ve ever had to do. It takes patience and grace, it takes stopping for the hurting one before you. It takes time and a family. A community, both local and abroad, STANDING together for those trapped in a life of sexual slavery.

It takes love in action.

Right now we’re trying to figure out sponsorship. Yes, we’re opening Bella House to physically rescue some of the girls, but honestly- there are so many.

And for some, by simply sending a girl to school and committing her to our family- that’s all she needs to find the courage to beat the cycle.


So though we’ll have a “sponsorship program” we’re not just “sponsoring girls,” We’re empowering them to escape a life of rape.

Because no girl dreams to just be some man’s release.

Keep watching for your chance to sponsor one of our girls!! We’re super excited to see our girls safe and protected and growing in hope for their hearts. 

Half-way through “Rescue Month” and my team is fully moved into Bella House! Everyday we’re closer to rescuing girls and filling our home!! (Though we don’t have a single chair to sit on yet….haha. It’s coming along!) Please be praying as we locate and choose the first girls to move in!

Rescue Month

A flowing black dress accented with a bright pink scarf and gold bangles up my arm, a chai latte in hand and perfume that smells a little like heaven… People passing on the street would have no idea I was heading into one of the worst war zones in Africa.

I think I prefer it that way. My manicured nails cling to a piece of an old normalcy before I’m thrust back into a life of falling bombs and zinging bullets. “Balance” I call it. 


I’m ridiculously excited for the month ahead.

“Rescue Month” (!!!!)

It starts with Congo. Traveling back to the bush for a week, to the rebel infested villages we call “home” to find our demobilized child soldiers.

Sweet boys who’ve escaped the army and now live in fear of recruitment, holding to a tinge of hope that there could be something more.


I know the dangers. I do. I know the reality of the day to day and that at the end, the romanticized life of “visiting rebel territory” is something resembling a bloated parasite filled belly and the phantom sounds of gunfire in a quiet night. Kind of…


 

Cause I also know the promise. And the joy. Oh the joy!! Excuse me as I gush. The feeling of being fully satisfied in papa God, doing exactly what you were created to do. To love. Andlaugh! To see miracles in such dark places as light bursts forth. And to travel a million hours on a bad road, in a bumpy vehicle, to find three boys who spent their childhood holding AK-47s.

 

So yes, I know the dangers. I know the risk. But I also know that being his daughter- is a Really. Big. Deal.

 

So for the next month we’re doing a #justicerising #followthejourney series on twitter. (Cause I’m determined to tweet more) Where you kind of see the process of what it looks like to rescue child soldiers. As we figure it out. 

 

Followed by venturing BACK to Kenya to rescue child prostitutes #bellahouse

Causssse I’m figuring that out too. 

 

And for those joining with us in prayer, or fueling it with finances, or dreaming to do it themselves one day- it’s kind of a play-by-play as we live out a giggly conversation we had with papa in the secret places.

 

Thank you to all those who join with me and read my blog and send encouraging little messages. You fill my love tank. 

 

And thank you for praying! Whew, no words!

 

Key prayer points for the next week-

*Safety. From any kind of overflow of war.

*Wisdom. As each step we take becomes very intentional

*Crazy miracles, encounters and heaven to earth reality. 

*A Car. We’re kinda strapped as everything is ready to move forward except that first we need our own vehicle. We’re slightly stuck until we have transportation. First in Kenya, then in Congo.

 

 

I’ll write again another post about the incredible month we had in Mtwapa, I’m just soaking up my last non-work day and thought I’d update.

‘Til then!!

 

The Raw Version

There are two sides to every story. For me, there’s the “pre-processing and the post-processing” side. Usually I write in the middle and then tweak at the end of my emotional “journey”. So the stuff you read in the blog is usually pretty tamed. Well, this last bush trip I wrote little notes the whole time on my iPhone. Reading over them at the end I decided- it’s a war zone, let’s be real people. Probably one of the hardest atmosphere’s I’ve ever been to, it’s not always pretty and doesn’t always feel nice.

So let’s experiment…. iPhone cliff notes turned blog, unedited…kinda//

The Ramblings of a Blonde Missionary in a Rebel Held Village:

I feel like my emotions are a petty yo-yo game. Up and down, up and down. “Jesus is transforming this place!!” I giggle and laugh and kiss a baby’s cheeks. And then I hear a war story and another and another. “Blows to the head, blood pouring down… They stole our money, their food, her purity!”

Talking to so many people, family and dear friends, they think this is normal. “What can I do, isn’t this just how life is?” They think the whole world has war. Runs for their lives every couple weeks and counts the days they aren’t raped as “blessed days”. “Blessed days” where the joy comes easy. Joy here is so often a choice. Though the moment it takes you over, very few things can compare and those moments- they override any graphic story. No matter how painful. Up and down… up and down.

On the road we cross from “rebel territory” to “rebel held territory” two very different feelings. No more than 30 seconds and we’re stopped by soldiers and asked for money. For cigarettes. I smile and my emotions play this silly game again. Refusing to partner with fear I choose heaven’s joy and ask the rebels their names and rather than stealing from us, how about we’ll give you some prayer instead?

They find me amusing but time wasting and let us pass.

We arrive in the village but things are different, rather than our usual greeting and everyone rushing the car screaming “Sandra, Sandra!” It’s quiet. I’ve heard people say "The loudest sound of war is the silence"

I would agree.

Sometimes it’s the silence of 1/3 of a village that’s fled to the bush to hide another attack.

Other times it’s the break from the guns. The hush of anticipation in the unknown of what to come.

And sometimes, it’s the silence of the 1st world. Hearing about another child soldier or raped girl and agreeing with the mindset that “That’s normal. What can I do?”

Here, silence speaks.

War is such a reality in front of us. It’s not a BBC story but it’s Bahati’s story. It’s Maria’s. And passivity means another generation not knowing peace. Another people group accepting rape as a part of a culture.

One of my favorite quotes comes from a dear Pastor in northern California- “Safety is not found in the absence of danger, but in the presence of Jesus” (Bill Johnson- course) Well, from a meeting with a war lord- I attest to that.

An army general came to our house today demanding answers. Who are we and what are we doing!? Probably more surprised to see us than anything. Suddenly we’re guests in our own home. He demands money for our safety. “You never know what could happen in the night…”

This sounds more like a threat than a cautionary warning. He explains his case: “Some people call us rebels. But we are not rebels, we are liberators. And me- I am not a soldier. But a politician.”

Haha. Looking at this man’s eyes, I ask papa a question I’ve asked him many times before: “How do see this ‘politician’? What do you say about who he is?” I can’t tell you how much this helped the situation. And because it’s not my first time going over God’s opinions of “liberators” it didn’t seem like the odd situation it probably was. Sitting there on a wooden bench I couldn’t help but smile. I smile that I’m a daughter. That I’m sitting with my papa and hearing him whisper how he wants this man as his son. Though my life lay open for negotiations, I feel like I’ve won. As we wrap up the impromptu “meeting”, we pray for the general and his men and I feel like the luckiest girl. Not only that we’re alive, but I bet he hasn’t had someone sit and pray over him and call out who he was created to be in a while! When they leave our house my staff and I burst into awkward laughter. So… haha. As great as that was, let’s try to avoid that in the future? Not the meetings with rebels part- but the negotiations I can live without.

I’m put under house arrest for the rest of the afternoon, as it’s something- though a small thing, that I think makes the men on my team feel more in control.

Sometimes I feel frustrated. Frustrated I can’t convey the reality of life here properly. Of how real war is and how horrible little boys with rocket launchers look or the emotions lost in the deep pools of a little girl’s eyes who lives as a sex slave for a soldier.

I know the 3rd world sob stories. And that’s not what I want to do.

I want to be a voice for my friends here. And take you on a journey of what it looks like to enter a war zone and dream for transformation. From deep behind the lines, where most people fear to tread, and show papa’s goodness even among some of the worst horror stories you can imagine.

Because no matter what happens, I’ve seen it and lived it and He's still good. And still loves. And still wins.