.

.
.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Are There Really Second Chances?

It used to be just a normal, unimportant street corner. Whether I was walking or driving past, it meant nothing. Until about six months ago.

The first time I saw them, I thought maybe they were waiting for ride. It’s not the usual “working” corner. I knew those corners. This was not one of them. But the second and third night I saw them there, I began to realize this was a new selling point. The location by the traffic circle made sense to this particular group of girls/women. For, the majority of them were from Mangwaneni. A close walk and decent source of traffic made this place now their corner. Oh, my Mangwaneni girls. Oh no, my heart.

It’s different when you know them. I could share all I want about the corner, my heart for these girls and women, their lifestyles, etc., but it’s just a story to you. We can talk about sex-trafficking and prostitution all we want, but it’s just a distant problem to you; either that or not a problem at all because some think it’s their choice, their lifestyle, let them live it.

But she is not a problem. She is not a story. She is not free to make what we take for granted as “choices”. She is your daughter. Your daughter. Your sister. Your girlfriend. Your mom. Your friend. She is someone you love deeply. Now it changes things, doesn’t it? Now it’s not a distant problem or a lifestyle you wouldn’t fight to save her from. It’s real.

And it hurts. Especially when you know them.

I drove by that corner nightly on my way home. My stomach flipped, my heart raced, my hands tightened on the wheel. I wanted to do something. But what? What could I possibly do driving by, just me and the two little ones in the car. What did I have to offer them? How would they view me?

So I drove by again and again doing nothing. But doing nothing made me sick to my stomach. Finally, one night as I drove past, I said, “Lord, I can’t drive by one more time and do nothing. I promise the next time I see them, I will stop at least to say hi. I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know what to do, but I will at least stop and let them know I care.”

The very next night.

I have two volunteers in the car with me. I remember my promise to God.

“Hey, do you guys want to stop at the corner and see if any of them want to join us for dinner?” I ask Lora and Alyssa, and they eagerly agree.

As we slow down, a few women approach the car, thinking we are customers. As soon as they see us they laugh and turn away.

“Hey ladies! Anyone want to join us for KFC?”

“Ha! We don’t want you. We want money!” one girl responds. I know her. It’s hard seeing her like this.

I ignore her and call again so all the women can hear me. A few converse with each other and come closer.

“What are you saying?” a brave one approaches the car so we can see her more clearly.

“We’re asking you to join us for dinner,” Lora smiles.

“Okay! I’m in!” she says and tells the other three next to her to join.

“Are you taking us to the house at Coates Valley again?” another one asks. She had been picked up before on one of our ministry nights.

“No, we are going to KFC for dinner, not the house this time.”

“Okay!” she gets in and tries to convince a third to join.

After much hesitation, she finally says, “Okay I’ll come on one condition: no preaching.”

I smile. “No preaching. We just want friendship.”

She smiles and hops in.

“Thanks for joining us for dinner, ladies! I’m Mary-Kate,” I greet.

Instead of returning my greeting, they suddenly look uneasy and start whispering. Luckily, Kalli is also in the car and can translate. She speaks to them in SiSwati and then says to me, “They know you, Mama Kate.”

“Oh really? How?”

“They know you from Mangwaneni. One used to stay with Tbelle and the other says she knows of you. But they thought you were old,” she laughs. “They asked if you are the same Mama Kate who convinced T not to abort Joshua. The same Mama Kate who keeps loving T no matter how many times she disappoints.”  Sphe, TK, and Sile. All three know about me through umntfwana wami. And all three have worked with umntfwana wami as well. And somehow, God is still using the pain and heartaches of our story to touch others, too. Beauty from ashes.

When we get to KFC I park and turn the car light on.

I see the three for the first time. Sphe has a black eye, TK avoids eye contact with me, and Sile is attentive but quiet.

“We can’t go inside,” Sphe interjects my train of thought.

“Why not?”

“Look at us! We can’t go in looking like this,” TK affirms, pointing to her skin tight, short skirt.

The confident and carefree attitudes on the corner have completely evaporated. They are now filled with fear, shame, and condemnation.

“It’s okay, no problem. We’ll order take out and bring it back to the car.” So, Lora and I order the food while Alyssa and Kalli are in the car chatting with the three women.

When we return with the food, they are in the middle of a deep discussion about God. They said no preaching, but beautifully enough, they were the ones to bring it up.

Alyssa and Kalli are overflowing with the Holy Spirit and filling them with hope.

“Are there really second chances?” they ask Kalli.

“Yes, of course. We all need second chances.”

“Even for us?”

A pure, stinging question that reveals the truth of who they think they are or who society thinks they are: unworthy. Unworthy for second chances, for hope, for a future.

They begin dreaming. What would they do with second chances? All three of them say, “Finish school.” All three have dropped out, all three yearn deeply for the chance to say they are educated, they are good enough.

Then they ask if we can teach them. Can we homeschool them, too? Can we help them finish school?

The more we talk, the more questions they have. “But if you teach us, who will pay for our rent and food and children?”

I’m confused. How do the two relate? “What do you mean? I’m not asking you to stop selling yourself. You can still work at night and do school with us during the day.”

The three exchange glances as if I’m stupid. “No, you don’t understand,” Sphe says sadly. “We wouldn’t do this if we had the chance for school. These two lifestyles… they don’t mix.”
I wish that I could tell you that I promised all three a right to education. I wish I could tell you that I have time to teach them. I wish I could tell you that all three are no longer on the corner.

But I can’t. What I can tell you is this: a long time ago, before I started Hosea’s Heart, my first dream was for a school. But I learned that school alone couldn’t “save” them, for only Jesus can. But now that Hosea’s Heart is growing rapidly, the dream is returning. The dream for a school where these prostitutes can get one-on-one schooling and attention so they can have at minimum a high school certificate. A dream where, as they said, the two lifestyles don’t mix. So choosing school means leaving the streets behind. A dream where they can work at our workshop in coordination with the one-on-one schooling they would receive, so that we prepare them for life after school. To give them the opportunity to sell other things than their bodies. No, we can’t save them, but we can give them opportunities. Isn’t that what you want for your loved ones? Your daughter. Your sister. Your girlfriend. Your mother. Your friend. To give them opportunity?

That’s all I ask of you. Help give them an opportunity. If you are a teacher, or training to be one, and want to spend a year abroad in missions, please choose us! If you can’t volunteer your time or talents but feel called to action, please support us! We are raising money this year to build a campus, which will house up to 56 girls/women, and it includes a school and workshop!

In America, we live in a land of opportunity. Are there the same problems there that I encounter here? Sure, but to a much, much lesser extent. Why do I say that? Because America is full of opportunities. People don’t always take them, people abuse them, people misuse them, or people run from them…but they are there. We can’t save the people we love or the people we are called to minister to. But we can, and we SHOULD, at the very least be willing to sacrifice a little of ourselves, our privileges, our surplus, our hearts to give to those who desperately need proof that there are second chances.




Wednesday, January 4, 2017

Stuck

In another conversation with a different girl who hasn’t been able to get beyond her scars, I tried explaining how God is still good even in times like these. But it’s hard for her to believe it. She said she wants the Lord, but she’s too full of pain. “What if you’re stuck?” she asked me. “Like, I want Jesus but I can’t. I’m just stuck.”

“What’s holding you back? What’s holding you down?”

“Unforgiveness. What they did to me.”

“What did they do to you?”

She gave me an eye roll. “Mama Kate, you know what they did to me.”

“Yes, sweetheart, I know. The rape is something I cannot fathom. What did that do to you? What else did they do that you can’t let go of?”

One tear escaped down her cheek and then quickly disappeared. “They shattered my dreams. They took everything. They took who I am and everything I could be.”

Seeing this girl battle having HIV has been so painful. How can I blame her for blaming God? I don’t want to undermine her pain or expect her to believe that God is good. Yet, how can I withhold the very Truth that will set her free?

“God loves you so much that no matter what they took from you, He can give you more. There is nothing the Lord cannot heal. Satan has come to steal, kill, and destroy, but he is no match for God’s power. There is no evil in this world that our God cannot redeem. That’s why He’s so good, so great, so loving. The evil that other people in their own sin and sick choices commit cannot overshadow the mighty love of Jesus Christ. They gave you death (HIV), but HE gives you life! They shattered your dreams, but HE will give you new, big, and better ones! They stripped away your identity and took away who you are, but He restores your brokenness by making you whole again. Making you new. Making you perfect. Making you undefiled. Born again.”

She smiles for the first time. I circle back to our previous discussion about forgiveness.

“Forgiving them is not about them. It’s about you taking hold of freedom. It’s about you letting go of the pain so you can grasp the hand of Jesus instead. Let him lead you. Renew you, restore you. Forgive them, so you can be free.”

I asked if she was ready to forgive them. She said she didn’t think so. I asked her if she wanted to practice forgiving them, and she looked at me like I was crazy.

“How about you write a letter. You love writing letters. Write a letter to your uncles naming everything you just told me and forgive them for it. Just to practice. Just try writing it out and see what happens.”

She paused in thought and then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, it’s just practice.”

Twenty minutes later, she found me doing laundry and left the letter on my bed. “Here.”

“You have ruled my life in such a way I did not like. You made me to see myself as a bad person who doesn’t know who she is and where I belong and I can’t even find the purpose of living and of being alive.

But you know what? God will change the ashes into beauty and at the end of this life Jesus the Son of God will put me a crown of beauty. I can be a virgin again only if I believe in him. Who do you think you are? Jesus is my husband and mother Mary my mother and she love me so much.

She will carry me to heaven to see my Father, so forget about me and I will forget about you too. I used to cry every day and no one will pay attention and even my family did not care…I forgive them too. My face have scars it’s because of my granny and I forgive her too. I am sure that God will repay all of the things that was taken from me.

Some day there will be no sorrow but instead will be joy, happiness, peace, and adorations. I forgive you all.”

Stunned, I could only stare at the miracle in my hands. If this is “practice,” I can’t wait to see how many more chains will break through this girl’s life when she believes every word from her heart.







-->

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

Scars

I walk into the room, hardly making a noise, but she jolts out of a deep sleep at stares at me with enlarged, terrified white eyes. The first time it happened, I laughed because she looked so funny being scared awake like that. The second and third time, I gasped because her reaction scared me. I thought she was having bad dreams. But now… now I want to cry when it happens. Now I know. 

She’s staring at me, frozen. I can see her heartbeat in her throat but she barely breathes. A silent scream. 

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “It’s just me. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

I still cannot imagine the nightmares this girl has lived through. It took her a long time to talk about her first rape. It took her several more years to tell me about the multiple rapes, the break-ins that would jolt her from her sleep. Sometimes the men would come in numbers, sometimes only one. Sometimes the men would rape her and leave. Sometimes the men would sleep next to her all night and leave in the morning. Those nights she never slept. She never moved. She never lived.

I asked if she ever screamed for help.

Her eyes narrowed and she pulled down her shirt to point to several scars near her breast. “They told me they’d kill me if I screamed. You don’t scream when the knife cuts you here.”

If I stopped to process this during our conversation, I would’ve been paralyzed with pain. Perhaps that’s why I’m so immersed in going at life here 90 mph 90% of the time. If I give myself moments of quiet, like right now as I type this, the tears will come. I weep for them. Years ago I prayed a prayer I didn’t understand at the time. Oh, but I understand it now. I said, “God, break my heart for what breaks yours.” And I’ve learned that sexual abuse is perhaps one of the biggest heartbreaks our Father experiences. He weeps.


But the story doesn’t end there. Because then He redeems. He rebuilds. He restores. And I’ve seen it in this girl’s life. Her remarkable faith, her unabashed hope, her unexplainable compassion. She has horrid memories of night, but she refuses to let the scars define her. Perhaps I can learn a thing or two from this incredible young woman in my charge.