“Some would say Jesus is sitting up there, but I would say Jesus is sitting down here, raising a glass to a hard work’s day done, and toasting us all for the way that love’s won.”

link to Deb’s song From the Sky

Red Tent Living

When I was in graduate school I studied the text of Psalm 23, the Shepherd’s Psalm, because I was covering Keith Green’s version of it on a record I was finishing up. Out of this study I discovered that the phrase “Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life” was interpreted by some scholars to mean, “Surely goodness and mercy will hunt me down all the days of my life.”

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A Lament to Bring an End to Abuse of Women

We have just concluded a week in which we heard pieces of stories from the female victims, now survivors, of sexual abuse at the hands of Larry Nassar. (Who received a sentence of 40-175 years in prison.) The stories are disturbing, the length of time, over 25 years, coupled with the evidence of reporting that went unheeded leaves us sickened and stunned.

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#26 December 11, 2009

It is so cold out that I can’t imagine what I am going to wear.  It is not expected to go above 22 degrees. Record-breaking temperatures for our city were set three out of the last 4 days! I pulled out my silk long underwear and my daughter’s old ski pants along with a polar fleece pair of pants. I layered 6 layers under the faithful black coat and carried three more layers in my backpack. It would be the first time to wear leather gloves instead of cloth liners that make mixing hot drinks easier. I tried not to think too far in advance. One moment at a time is the better way to approach a long, frigid night on the street.

The 35 minute walk after the ferry ride has become a delightful part of my journey. There are still enough people out at this time of the year so walking seems safe. It is great to get my heart rate going with the uphill climb up the city streets. I literally have to take off three or more layers once arriving at our office. I hang on to this feeling of warmth as long as I can.

I began filling thermoses with boiling water and know that these three thermoses will not get us through the night. Everyone arrived at once and we began our time together with prayers for the men and the women that we would be seeing tonight. We also prayed for our annual Christmas party for the girls this Sunday. How vividly I remember last year’s party and the agony of waiting for the ladies to arrive. I hope that this year we have more than 17 girls and that they arrive on time.

Barry and Don are here this week as an outreach to the pimps and we prayed for the protection of both women and men on the streets. The racial tension remains high with the violence two weeks ago. We read scripture and claimed God’s protection for the night ahead. We gathered up our extra layers and packed them in the van.  I felt like I was three yours old and stuffed into a snowsuit that ballooned around me and made me walk with a waddle.  I knew within minutes I’d be with women whose legs and arms would be bare to the winter weather and whose dresses would be no different than they’d wear in the summer.  Working on the track is always insane but tonight was going to be worse.

Our home baked treats this evening were gingerbread “blondies” with white chocolate chunks. They were wrapped in lovely packages and tied with red ribbon. Woodleigh brought whipped cream and crushed candy canes and shaved chocolate for the hot chocolate. Our little “stand” looked festive and warm despite the frigid temperature. We stood and waited for someone to come. The evening began with a slow start.

The first action of the evening was a parking officer who barked at us for having the van parked too near our corner.  I am amazed how any drop of kindness soothes the heart even when something is wrong; yet, when kindness is absent it makes even a minor rebuke seem like a capital offense.  Shame lessens with a kind face.  We had parked the van there for years but for some reason tonight it warranted a slap on the wrist.  All I thought about was my layers were about to leave me in exile After three tries, Woodleigh parked the van with all four tires on the street (and not two on the sidewalk!) This made us laugh and that was a great ice-breaker after a rigid request.

We stood and talked to one another since no one had arrived at the corner. Susan, our teammate, has been accepted to work in Southern Manila for the month of January. She has two weeks to raise $2200! We were happy for her and some of our group began giving her support money without contemplation. She is excited and overwhelmed by the little time she has to raise support. She will be in an area of the country where Muslim unrest is a danger. Susan will be working with men in the sex trade and we congratulate her and tell her how great this opportunity is. I am grateful for her passion and hope that this mission trip will equip her in new ways.

Lori was the first to arrive for supplies and conversation. She is one of the friendliest women I know. She has three sons, nine, six, and three years old and is expecting her first daughter in March. We talked about her family and she said that the boys’ grandfather was taking them to look at Christmas lights tonight. It is just what my father loved to do with our kids.  What does a father think when he takes his grandkids out to see the lights and knows that his daughter is standing in a shadow corner as traffic lights illumine her nearly naked body.  We are all alike.  We are all so profoundly different.

Lori gave us hugs and declined hot drinks. She took a bad date list and a small purse full of condoms and left for the night. She no longer works the track but uses her car to meet her clients. Our older girls (over 22) usually work this way too. One of my co-workers explained it to me with the metaphor of a hairdresser. Once the hairdresser has worked long enough to have her own clients, she is able to see whom she wants. The women who have cars and clients no longer have to walk the track. They have graduated from the lowest level of prostituting.

We mainly serve the girls on the track, however, the women whom we know and who have cars and have graduated “off” the track are always welcome to get supplies and drinks and conversation. Some of these women find day jobs and return to prostitution off and on. It is not an easy option to quit entirely. It is a lifestyle change that takes time and fortitude.

Ursula came with her short shorts and boots and stayed closer to us than ever before. She got into a fight with Wendy two weeks ago. She had such anger and rage we have changed our policy to leave our corner whenever our girls fight. We will then return to our office and pray until our normal departure time. So, why was Ursula sitting by the heater? I do not know. I do not know her well enough not to sit and talk and ask questions. I wish that I could do just that. We are basically strangers and that is the way in which we respect each other. We tread carefully and don’t assume we are “friends”.

The giving up of Friday nights and volunteering for a year (3 Fridays or Saturdays a month) is huge. But to the women on the streets that is not the case. We are suspect and they owe us little. Trust is earned over years, not nights.  It is slow. It is an investment of time for the sake of eternity. Most of what we do in the name of Jesus will not be seen or felt on this side of heaven. This is not the work for those who need to see change to know their work is God’s

I need to remind myself that I am the one that needs to “get over it”. We are the ones with intact families and homes and lives and we are the ones that need to stand in the gap for those who do not have what we have.

The younger sister of Grace showed up in her short skirt with a sleeveless top and made us cringe. We were shivering and I had five hand warmers in by boots and gloves! One of my teammates noticed that both of Grace’s heels were bleeding. She was so cold and her high heels made walking difficult that she couldn’t even feel the back of her heels which were raw and bloody. My co-worker asked her to sit on a cooler and she got four Band-Aides out and helped her patch her heels. Susan put on disposable gloves and plastered the Band-Aides and asked her if she would like some Advil. This young girl was numb to any pain. The cold of the night had done much more to keep her unaware of her pain. She didn’t want a hot drink, it was time to get back to the track and make her quota for the night might take 7 hours.

The night grows colder and I have never made so many hot ciders or hot chocolates. Nancy has come for hot water over ten times. How does she do it? Where does she go to the bathroom? I dare not drink one cup of anything for fear I will have to use the restroom at the nearby motel. I will wait until the morning to hydrate!

They are working and I am not. What they are doing demands everything and that means food and drink and what I am doing requires fortitude for just a few hours. Standing on the corner for 4 hours is hard but “cushy” in comparison to what they suffer in just one encounter with a John.  I serve drinks and they give up their bodies.  I offer comfort and they bear the raw lust of a man’s orgasm.  No wonder I am not a person to be embraced or trusted. I am as alien to their world as they are to mine. But here we stand, side by side with platitudes of kindness and civility. It is not normal and we are both recipients of grace in this odd encounter. Our silent plea we each feel is for peace and mercy and to escape from this reality.

There is a baby blue hummer that has been driving through our intersection over 3 hours. I look at the man driving this huge phallic machine and wonder do you think you are incognito.  The women call him “hummer boy”.  The jaguar has been here for hours too, as has the dented Toyota and the company electrician van that is here for hours every Friday and Saturday night. How easy would that be for a policeman to report these cars? Why do they not? Laws made by men one hundred or more years ago continue to drive me crazy!

Let’s get the John’s and not our girls! Let’s get the pimps who control the girls and not get the girls? Or let’s allow our girls a place of restoration not a jail sentence? Our girls are arrested by the state even though our nation calls them victims not criminals. Let’s get our children help and not send to Juvenile detention where networking for prostitution is rampant. Let’s not send them home to abusive home lives.  I can easily stand on the street watching the parade of lust and scream.  There are moments when I don’t think I can stand there for one more hour.  It isn’t the cold or the oddity.  It is the deeply flawed and broken humanity that cries out for justice and redemption—and all I am allowed to do is to pour another drink.

The heartache and harm is inconceivable. It is better to prevent harm than try and restore it. My heart is despairing as I stand here and serve fifteen and sixteen year olds hot drinks and condoms. I am wondering if this is where I should be. I used to feel more hope. I see more girls coming and I am overwhelmed by the lack of impact our team seems to make. I dare not say this to my team. It seems like I am a betrayer of our mission. But at the moment, I cannot imagine a couple more years of these nights. A reprieve will feel good. After 13 months of volunteering I am granted one month off. That means two more times to the city and then I will be off the month of January. Maybe it is the reason I feel hopeless, knowing that I am near a break from the streets.

I look across the street and see Barry and Don talking to some pimps. I am amazed at all the men that stop and talk now in comparison to 6 months ago when they began their outreach. It bolsters my hope for the night and I find myself engaging our girls instead of pondering the despair. It is not up to me to change a single woman or man out here. Thankfully, I can give that idea up entirely. So, I serve and pray that these people (and myself) will be the recipients of love and mercy underserved but available by His love.

Woodliegh and Cami left to refill our hot water thermoses. We handed out chocolates and condoms and told them hot water would be here soon.  There were lots of women waiting for hot drinks when the water arrived. The heater remained on for the girls as we mixed cider, hot chocolate and coffee. We have never had so much trash in our trash bag before. Most girls came back three or four times for hot drinks. My supervisor asked me to go to the bathroom with her and I welcomed the chance to be indoors for five minutes. I had to get the hand warmers out of each boot in order to be able to walk. It felt great to move my legs and arms. I hadn’t realized how cold I was.

I sat in the lobby on a leather couch and loved the chance to get off my feet. Esther was quicker than I had anticipated. How did she get all those layers off to go to the bathroom so quickly? Time stood still but in reality, it was time to get back to our corner. There was no way I could muster the energy to go to the bathroom with all these layers. I would wait. We returned to our corner and began mixing drinks and talking with the girls. It was almost time to load the van and return. I think this was a record breaking night for me asking over 9 times, what time is was. Ugh. Not happy about that.

We contacted twenty girls this night and observed 10 more. All but three were under 22 years of age. Barry and Don had great things to report. First of all, Vegas, a pimp usually on our streets had called him from Arizona to talk! How wonderful is that? They talked on their cell phones until the battery died! Don kept saying, “this was a miraculous night!” I was greatly encouraged by their enthusiasm. One of the pimps had come by and said, “I am coming to your house on Christmas!” Is that all right if I come to your house on Christmas?” Don said, “of course, you come by!”  I love that. Another pimp said he’d come to church on Sunday. I soaked all of this in. I was having the most despairing night of the year and feet away from me, our men were proclaiming the name of Jesus as healer and restorer and came away saying, “This was a miraculous night!”

I wonder how much this was like the first Christmas.  A few were given a front-row seat to glory; most people had no idea what was happening a few feet from their comfortable slumber.  Truly one can turn one way and see little but passing traffic; others turn to see powder blue rage turn again and again by the same track picking the object for the release of his lust.  It is all a matter of what we choose to see.  Tonight I felt and saw despair and just feet from my frozen toes, my teammates were celebrating hope for change.

We put our coats and supplies away and said goodnight. We’d be seeing each other on Sunday around noon for our Christmas party so our goodbyes were shorter than usual.

I walked across the street and went up to my daughter and son-in-law’s condo. I tip toed in as much as you can with cold feet and boots on. The couch was waiting with pillows and blankets and I put all the hand warmers into my socks. What a fabulous feeling to lie down and know that warmth would come. I wondered about all the conversations we had had reminding the girls about the Christmas party on Sunday. I tried to think of every girl I’d met this past year and say her name as a prayer and plea for them to come to the party. We would have food and gifts for them and their children. We would have time to talk and ask questions and share about our own lives in ways the street does not always allow. I remember so well the time last year and wonder what this year’s party will bring.

And what about the party of all parties in heaven? What a beautiful thought that is to dream about. I drift off asleep with warmth that transcends this couch.

#25 December 4, 2009

I awakened to a symphony of foghorns. The earth was filled with thick gray fog and the thermometer registered in the 20s when I began brewing my morning tea. It is amazing how I notice the weather when I am scheduled to be on a city street until almost 3 a. m. The sun showed itself for a total of 49 seconds. I know that because on socked-in, dark days, a burst of light warrants stopping everything and running to a window. My stomach was still not well after a week of agonizing pains that come usually in the wee hours of the night. It is a pain that uses up the next day’s energy and there is no other remedy than quiet, solitude and rest. This past week with an ailing body required more surrender and I felt God’s tender care.  This happened when I fully grasped that praise and worship with my heavenly Father is time well spent. Not the normal pre-Christmas “doing” that makes one feel in sync with the calendar. But just what the doctor ordered while my husband was away for a week. This silent retreat was a taste of heaven. It is good to know peace as a gift.

The late afternoon darkness became darker than it should have. Within moments of noticing the darkening heavens the rain poured down on what was already a gloom filled  day. How was I going to walk in this for over two miles? Should I drive and go through the trauma of finding parking in the city? No, stop. I wasn’t going to worry. I was to be at peace–No matter what.

When I left the house at 5:30 to park and walk to the 6:30 ferry it was a crisp, moist night but not raining. Wonderful. My watch had quit working and I feared that I was late. I began running…a woman dressed completely in black, running across dark streets, what was I thinking? Oh, well, next week I will remember a blinking light to clip to my hat!

I made it to the ferry and found myself in a mass of over 100 middle school kids on a Young Life outing. Not all the usual quiet ferry ride, oh well. I was going over early to have my daughters’ help me with our Christmas card. It is best to get their approval than use a photo that causes consternation. How lovely to play with a one year old while colors and formats were figured out. This is no small gift. To realize our bounty along our journey is the bread of life. My heart was full even though I was not feeling completely well.

I said goodbye to my family and walked across the street and began gathering supplies for our cart. My teammates showed up and we prayed various Psalms as we called our girls by name. We prayed for their lives to change and their dreams to be realized. We prayed for our upcoming Christmas party when we can provide a feast and array of gifts for them and their children. We prayed for safety as our city has been besieged with violent killings and racial tensions are evident. May our evening be without blood being shed.

We got to the streets and “our” girls were waiting for hot drinks and supplies. It was a cold night and I wished that I had worn ski pants like Woodleigh was wearing. Come on, I whispered to myself, be at peace and be filled with praise that it was not raining. It was very cold, so really, be glad that it wasn’t snowing. The city’s temperatures had broken records for frigid temperatures so early this winter. Our bodies were definitely not ready for the cold. Woodleigh had brought her signature chocolate shavings and whipped cream for the hot chocolate. The night had officially begun whether we were dressed properly or not.

Our first girls asked for hot drinks and for the heater to be turned on. They also needed gloves and within 15 minutes we gave away all the gloves that we had. This could be a longer night than I’d anticipated. The pimps were fairly aggressive “sweating” our girls and causing me irritation. It hurts me to watch this “chasing” of our girls and the fast steps they must take to avoid the “sweating” of a pimp. This means that the girl cannot raise her head. If she looks at him than he has the right to be her new pimp. It is no small matter and in silence it plays out before my eyes. The stakes are very high and it makes me furious and agitated. Once again I say to myself, be at peace, this is not happening to you. But it is happening within feet of where I am standing and the tension, anger and sadness is great. My prayers become fierce as I silently claim God’s protection over this girl and all of our girls and all of the many girls on streets in this city, state, nation, and world. What I am watching is unfortunately not out of the ordinary and yet, what did I know of this before my nights of outreach on this street? Nothing. I really knew nothing.

Four new girls came and two of them looked almost identical. They didn’t look older than 12.  Their physiques were the same, their clothing and their hairstyles. They were very young and my supervisor said to them, “You don’t even look like you are eleven years old! You are too young to be out here. What are you thinking?”  I never would have spoken that way to them. I did not offer them any supplies or hot drinks and they did not ask for anything. They didn’t stay long and I pray for young Noni and Nannette….what are they thinking? Lord God almighty, have mercy on them.

It is estimated that the U.S. have 100,000 to 300,000 teenagers under the age of 18 involved in prostitution. Our nation has 19 in-patient beds for rehabilitating our youth involved in prostitution. Our Juvenile Detention centers have “plants” for recruiting girls into the trade! It sounds ludicrous, but why wouldn’t the pimps think of doing that. Too much money is to be made in sex trafficking. There is no safe place for our teens to go. They return to unsafe homes or the court system’s dysfunction. When they go to court, it is their pimp who most likely waits for them and is there for them when they leave. Juvenile prostitution is a complicated problem which our country fails miserably at meeting the needs of such broken girls.

Our city has 300-500 youth involved in prostitution. The city needs to address more clearly the contradictory legal status of youth involved in prostitution. Arrest and conviction of youth under the age of 18 for prostitution or loitering contradicts the status extended to minors under the United Nations protocols on human trafficking and the United States’ Trafficking Victims Protection Act (2000), and our State laws on trafficking and commercial sexual abuse of minors. Youth under the age of 18 involved in prostitution should be (as the law states) considered victims. Too often arrests are made and they are treated as criminals.

41% of minors arrested for prostitution in Las Vegas from 2004-2006 had been victims of unstable home life, physical abuse, and sexual abuse. 21% had been victims of familial molestation. 78% of children involved in prostitution had run away four or more times in the past year. (Facts from Shared Hope International)

The normalization and proliferation of pornography is driving the 21^st century’s supply and demand for prostitution unlike any other time in our history. The use of porn is a form of trafficking because it is exploiting children, women and men. The United States is the largest user of pornography in the world and spends 13 billion dollars a year.

The first step toward combating the issue of domestic minor sex trafficking is to recognize these children are not criminals. Any minor under the age of 18 who is involved in a commercial sex act is a victim of human trafficking. “Domestic Minor Sex Trafficking” refers to the commercial sexual exploitation of any American citizen or lawful permanent resident under the age of 18. “Commercial sex act” means any sex act for which anything of value is given to or received by any person. This includes” prostitution, stripping/sexual performance, and pornography.

The average age of entry into prostitution is 12-14 years of age! Trafficking does not require movement. No borders have to be crossed. Any woman on our streets (even if they are over age 18) should be considered a victim. If these women have a pimp, there is no way that they voluntarily can leave the streets.

There are two programs in the United States that offer comprehensive prostitution recovery services for youth. These programs are Children of the Night in Los Angeles and SAGE in San Francisco. Prostitution is a complex issue. It is important not to confuse their street personae with what we, as adults, should recognize as their developmental needs and rights as a child.

Prostituted adolescents are subject to violence, threats, and coercion of pimps. They are separated from families and support systems, moved to avoid law enforcement and often work on “prostitution tracks.” Global issues related to sex trafficking are also local human rights issues.

The trafficking of domestic victims occurs in the same way the trafficking of foreign victims does. Some victims are kidnapped by a trafficker/pimp and controlled with physical force. Many are lured by traffickers/pimps with false promises of a better life and the pretense of love and affection. That love and affection means to be sold and controlled by a mix of psychological and physical tactics.

We greeted over 31 girls this cold Friday night. The traffic was not always steady, even though we only saw one police car twice. A few of our girls are aware of the undercover cops better than we are and would point out when one of those cars went by. One new girl shared with one of my co-workers and said that she was a Christian and hated being out on the street. She added that she and her sister had prayed together before leaving home. It is a common story that we hear over and over again, they hate what they are doing and would love to not have to do this.

We reminded the girls of our Christmas party next Sunday. It is an event that I have looked forward to since last year’s party. We will decorate the room and wrap gifts for the girls and their children. A feast prepared by a team of ten women will wow us all with exquisite food unlike any meal seen before. We also mention to them that we will not be on the streets Christmas Eve. One woman answers, “that’s God’s day, I would never do what I am doing tonight on God’s day. Besides, I need to get to church.” Another woman accepts our invitation because she needs to get to church. “It’s been way too long since I have gone to church and I know I need to get back there”. We remind her that we do not work for a specific church and their Christmas party will not be in a church. My anticipation of this event is great. I pray silently that their pimps will allow them to come and be celebrated and receive our gifts.

It was freezing cold and I couldn’t help ask what time it was. It is usually something I try not to do. Once you start asking the night seems to go slower. Better to not ask what time it is and just jump up and down when your feet go numb. (Of course being cute and looking cool is not our agenda!) My hands were getting too cold to tear open the cider packets and our supervisor handed me hand-warmers. (which I also could not open). It takes about fifteen minutes of shaking them before you begin to feel warmth. I began shaking them like rattles, anticipating putting them in my gloves and feeling my fingers again. I have been spoiled by coming out on Saturday nights when we go in at 1:00 instead of 2:30 a.m. My supervisor needed to use the restroom. I gladly walked to the motel with her to be able to stand in a lobby and warm up for a brief five minutes.

I returned to the corner and quickly the chaos began. Dee Dee came running towards us and started coughing and coughing. Her friend ran to her and screamed, “What’s wrong? What happened?” Dee Dee burst into tears and screamed something over and over which I could not understand. Two of my teammates stood nearby around the corner and the rest of us prayed. Dee Dee’s side of her face was bleeding. She had been violently hit by the John right before he threw her out of his car. We got her wipes and stood by as she screamed and cried and was tended to by her friends. The peace of the night had definitely been broken and really, there never was any peace out here at all. But it is a prayer I cannot quit praying for over and over.

Our dear Betty who had gotten off the streets a couple of months ago and gotten a job, and rented a duplex surprised us and showed up at our corner. She was angry and said that she had contacted her lawyer and that she hadn’t been able to sleep. She was agitated and visibly didn’t look as if she had slept in quite awhile. She shared how the city’s violence had hit her beloved apartment and told of the injustice of the police and we listened with sadness. The racial tension, as I said, is great in our city at this time and I hate that it has hit home to one of our girls. I find myself pleading for peace once again. It is a prayer that won’t stop this cold, dark night.

My supervisor asked Betty if we could pray for her. She said yes. We stood around her and two people prayed quickly and fiercely for this dear woman who is trying hard to start a new life. It is unfair the police demolished her apartment.  I’d love to ask those men why did you need to ruin the first place this woman has ever found safety.  Perhaps, they have a perspective that I don’t comprehend.  It is so apparent that evil will use anything to make the path of change seem absurd. We expressed our sorrow and said goodbye and reminded her how much her presence would mean to us at our Christmas party next Sunday.

The evening ended with Queen coming by and showing us her dress. She was freezing and was happy to stand by our heater. She quickly took off her coat so we could see her new, lovely dress. We complimented her on her beauty and asked how her one-year old daughter was doing. She loves to talk about her daughter and tell us of how beautiful she is and how much she eats. We delight in her daughter and ask her if we can see a photo of her. She hands us a photo and, yes, beautiful she is, just like her mother.  It is breathtaking to see how much we are all alike; yet, so different.  If I could have found my iPhone seven layers below the surface I’d have loved to show her a picture of my grandson.  But I am layered to the hilt against the cold and she is on the Victoria Secret runway.  Our worlds couldn’t collide in greater difference.

It’s time to pack up and we say goodbye to the girls nearby and give them the last hot drinks of the night. We load the van and return to our building and put our things away and say goodnight to one another. I am on the streets next week and hope for a night that will not be as cold as this one. I walk across the street to my daughter’s condo and quietly get under the covers on the couch. It is nearly 3:30 a.m. and I put the hand-warmers into my socks and hope for sleep to come quickly. Slowly I begin to warm up and drift away.

Queen’s daughter is a few weeks younger than my grandson. I picture her arriving home closer to the time I will be waking up. My grandson wakes up at 5:30 a.m. these days. That means it’s a two-hour night of sleep ahead. I stand and serve on the street. I am grateful that I do not “work” the streets as our girls do. I think of the violence that hit our corner with Dee Dee’s beaten face and I pray for her and wonder if she went back on the street to work or if after such violation she called it a night and is sleeping right now.

I tell myself to quit thinking. To ponder the violence against our gender is a thought that can keep me up for hours and hours.  My brain whirs against the slow progression of sleep.  If I turn away from thinking about them is there any witness to their lives?  Who cares?  It must be more than me; and yet, it is my privilege and honor that I get to hold their faces and names before the throne of my Father, and plead, again and again.  Hear me, O Lord, show them your loyal love.

Lord, have mercy, give me peace and please allow me to sleep and remember that you know the sorrows of each woman and man on earth. You are a Savior who carries these burdens. Thank you and may they be comforted by your grace and mercy. Amen.

#24 November 21

The afternoon turned black at 4:35. It was dark as night and winter returned with gusto. We have had rain off and on, mainly on, for a month. The rain pounded on our roof with an attitude for hours before I left for the ferry. Rain gear and layers and winter coats, boots and an umbrella were my armor. No one could remember being on the streets with the prospect of being wet to the skin.

Our team had baked Thanksgiving treats and individually wrapped each one. It was raining too hard to pass out treats unless our girls were in their own car or leaving the track for the night. Our team’s parkas began soaking through early into the evening and our two umbrellas were not enough for our team of six. Half of the women carried their own umbrellas and when they didn’t have one we held ours over their heads.

The rain got heavier as the hours passed and we fantasized how we would rig an awning over the corner on which we stood. It was a slow night. There were only 17 women who came to talk and three observed. The Johns were few and hardly any pimp activity. Who would want to be out in this cold, monsoon-like rain?

One woman came with a tattered umbrella that looked like it had been run over by a truck. She looked darling but funny and we all laughed at the remaining inches of her umbrella that was her lone defense against the rain. She said her boots were completely soaked and her toes were squishing inside. “This is not fun. I think I’m calling my girlfriend to pick me up.” Her girlfriend came and we gave them lots of Thanksgiving desserts and hugged them goodbye.

One of our favorite girls came by and talked about her desire to leave the track. “Hey, I am 22 years old now and been doing this for over six years. I have a boyfriend and I am two months pregnant and want to keep this baby. My boyfriend is good to me and wants to take care of me.” We were excited for her. She was one of the “older” women who came to the Christmas party last year and talked to the younger girls about leaving the track.

She cautioned them about the dangerous lifestyle and that it is only getting worse. She told them of the self-destructive things which she had done to escape her self-hatred. We prayed for her to have the strength to leave and make a new start. She wanted to go to Community College and we mentioned the scholarship money she could use. It looks like we stand without doing very much, but we are always praying for these women. I hope she comes to our Christmas party and I hope with a hope that aches, that she really does leave the track. She wanted to last year and sounded determined to make it happen. We haven’t seen her often on the streets this past year but once is too much if she intends to leave the game. It would be grand to not see her until our Christmas party. It is strange to welcome all the girls while really wishing not to see them again on our street corner. Any other place would be fine, just not on our corner.

On slow nights to pass the time, we talk about what we have read about exploitation and trafficking. Someone mentioned a report that came out a year ago. The data isn’t for us about facts and figures, though they are important to mobilize action and outrage; it is about sweet, fragile, beautiful faces. We shared these facts:

“The UN claims that the trafficking of human beings has surpassed the drug trade to become the 2nd largest source of money for organized crime after the illegal arms trade.”

Gozdziak, Elzbieta M. and Mica N. Bump. Data and Research on Human Trafficking: Bibliography of Research Based Literature. Institute for the Study of International Migration. Georgetown University; Washington D. C. Sept 2008. Pg 13. http://www.ncjrs.gov/pdffiles1/nij/grants/224392.pdf

“Among all trafficking victims, 80 percent are female and 50 percent are children.” Trafficking in Persons Report, Pg. 7.

“Congress, In the Trafficking Protection Reauthorizations Act of 2005, found that between 100,000-300,000 American teens are at risk for sex trafficking annually.” And, despite this number, fewer than 1,000 victims have been assisted through the efforts of federal, state, and local law enforcement since 2001, when services for trafficking victims were first made available.” U.S. Department of Justice.

The fact that less than 1,000 victims were helped is deplorable given the women and children and men who are victims. There are a few programs in the United State that offer comprehensive prostitution recovery services for youth. These programs include Children of the Night in Los Angeles and the SAGE program in San Francisco. There are many other programs nationally, such as Paul and Lisa Program in Westbrook, Connecticut, which provide education and early intervention but do not include outreach and residential services. The services provided by programs with comprehensive services have been used as the “baseline” for assessing local service gaps for this report.

Prostitution is a complex issue. It is important not to confuse their street personae with what we, as adults, should recognize as their developmental needs and rights as a child.

There are no gender-specific programs to address the behavior and attitude of young men who engage in pimping and associated violence and exploitation of young women. As one interviewee stated: “They are somebody’s sons.” This side of the equation should not be ignored.

Prostituted adolescents are subject to violence, threats, and coercion of pimps. They are separated from families and support systems, moved to avoid law enforcement and often work on “prostitution tracks.” Global issues related to sex trafficking are also local human rights issues.

As a community, we are no less accountable for the sanctioning of sexual violence and exploitation of women and girls because they are prostituted locally. Women in prostitution are routinely victimized in the course of their crime, which intensifies their trauma and isolation and keeps them in prostitution. However, the dual status of victim and offender implies agency and choice, which continues to plague responses of social services and law enforcement. The question must be asked: Who is served by continuing to adhere to a misconceived notion of “choice” in adolescent prostitution?” If we believe they choose to be there, do we have less responsibility?

Tonight was Cory’s, first night on the street with us. She is 21 years old and a senior in college. She has wanted to join our team since she was 15! How amazing is that? I knew almost nothing about prostitution when I was her age and probably thought it did not exist in our city. It really was the very last thing on my mind at age 21. I love that our team is attracting so many young women. It is a new day of trafficking awareness.

My teammates go on mission trips around the world during the year volunteering with street ministries who exist to help people get off the streets. I thought about hiking the Grand Canyon or backpacking in Europe when I was their age. If there were groups helping prostituted men, women and children get off the streets then, I didn’t know about it. I hope that people have a passion to help domestically and internationally. I am encouraged at the passion this twenty something generation has to stand for justice. I love their zeal to serve and help disadvantaged people to have better lives and opportunities. I am energized and hopeful with their love.

It was almost time to pack up and we remembered Joe, a night clerk at a nearby motel. He has been kind to our team for years to allow us to use the lobby restroom when we need to during the night. He is a genteel man with a voice of kindness when we are freezing and weary. He always offers us coffee to warm up and comments on the activity of the street. We know he cares. We are grateful for his presence a half a block away.

Our two teammates who went to offer pie and cookies must have gotten carried away because it now was past time to pack up. We were soaked to the bone and even our plastic carts had to be wiped off by our wet gloved hands before putting them into the van. (Which helped very little.) We sat waiting in the van and I was furious to be sitting there freezing cold and wet without keys to turn on the heater. My supervisor asked us if we all had our cell phones with their numbers, if so we should call our loquacious teammates.

What! My fury surprised me. I never knew that bringing my cell phone out (since I am not the “lead”) was required. I’m darn glad I didn’t bring my phone out, it would be ruined! Besides, I am freezing and you are the supervisor with the team’s phone numbers and why aren’t you calling? Why are you being stubborn at such a time as this! I knew better than blurt that out so I sat quietly wondering what Cory was thinking. We each looked at each other and checked if our seatbelts would work since the last time we were sitting together. They didn’t and I braced myself for our supervisor to tell us to buckle up and reprimand us again for not having cell phones.

Thankfully, within minutes, she called and told them to get their “butts out to the van”. Amazing what status can allow one to say. We all laughed and my fury dripped off me like the puddles on the floor of the van. We gave the two talkers a hard time for making us late in our departure. They apologized sincerely. We all know the feeling of wanting to pack up and get home.

Our rain parkas were too wet to hang in our closet and we hung them around our other supervisor’s cubicle and put away our supplies and went to pray after logging the information of tonight’s outreach. We prayed for safety for the girls we did see and didn’t see. We prayed for the pimps and the johns that we did see and didn’t see. I am amazed at how my heart has been changed to be able to pray for the men. It was not my doing. It is by God’s grace that my fury is more sorrow and my anger is directed towards the brokenness of this world than the hatred of men.

I am humbled to have love and not hate more and more. It is not prideful because I know it was not because of anything I did. It is more like the evaporating fury in the van that lifted as my supervisor playfully called them to task. I think of Jesus more often. I see him on the cross and can almost hear the thief on the cross next to him. I see the thief turn towards our savior and look him in the eyes and say, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” I am that thief. I murder and steal in my thoughts. I say often to Jesus these days, “remember me”. I also ask him to remember all the other people who have been on the street with me.” I think this is new conversation with Jesus. I know more and more that we, on the streets, equally need a savior.

#23 November 7, 2009

The ferry ride was rocking with the white caps and strong gusts of wind, but the rain had finally stopped after three days and four nights! As I walked off the ferry and felt ripped about with the wind I decided that it sounded better to walk for thirty minutes rather than subject myself to the heckling of taxi drivers wanting my money and body in the car for their sustenance. These nights on the streets have opened my eyes to gender abuse and has strengthened and empowered me in ways I could not have predicted. Our God is merciful and mysterious in all ways. So the streets seem safer than a taxi!

There were four of us going out tonight when I had anticipated only three of us. I was thrilled. The shorter days have made me aware of the power of the darkness and my heart was lightened with the thought of sharing the outreach with three rather than two other teammates.

Our ministry had their annual dessert fundraiser the previous night (Friday), so we found both vans loaded with left over desserts! It seemed easier to use Hope’s car than unload the vans. What an unexpected blessing to have her Shane and Shane, “Clean” C.D. playing in the car as we headed to our corner. Sometimes every extra ounce of strength is needed and this unexpected jolt of fellowship and song and praise was “gold”. I wish we could play music and sing while giving out condoms and hot chocolate. Onward! I was ready to begin the night’s journey of being the light of Jesus.

The girls came for hot drinks as soon as we got there. Almost every girl the whole evening began with, “Where were you last night?” We told them that we had been at our ministry’s 31st fundraiser and apologized for our absence. Last night had been one of the worst weather nights imaginable. Windy, rainy, with lightning and thunder and even hail. When I asked one of our girls how late she had stayed out, she replied that she got home at 5:00 a.m. Incomprehensible! I had dodged the rain from ferry to bus to car to the fundraiser and back to a car and ferry and 2 more cars before getting home at midnight. I cannot imagine what sort of night she had been through.

We talked with twelve women who were under 22 years of age and three over. We observed 4 women who were new to the streets. It was a thrill to have Eva come and talk to us again. I love her. She pointed out all the undercover vehicles to us! After the 9th car I asked her how she knew this. She said she went to the nearby police station at 7:30 p.m. and watched 13 vehicles leave the station by 8:30. I was amazed at her brilliance and at her ability to hold each car in memory. You can see how a young six year old learned to survive in an alien culture without a family. (See entry #22)

Eva shared more of her story and more of her skills. She has been in our city to see her parents after being taken from them at age three. They are not happy to see her and granted only one visit. Her mother is vicious and had nothing kind to say to Eva. When her mother spoke harshly about Eva’s language being like a sailor she wondered why she cared. “She didn’t raise me. Why should she care about the language I use? Beneath her tough words there is so much hurt. What a broken home and broken family. My stomach began to ache as I talked to her. You would never suspect such a sorrow filled life by looking at her. I yearn for her family to love her. Eva has a love for abandoned animals and hopes to run a shelter for them. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand her dream and where it came from.

After we said goodbye to Eva, my teammate told me about the previous Friday night when I was out of town. A young girl came to our corner after she had been beaten with the butt of a pistol! Teresa held this woman’s head in her arms until an emergency vehicle drove by and saw them! (We stand across from a fire station). They took her to a nearby hospital. One of our girls who came for hot chocolate was able to tell us that her friend was okay. Meanwhile, my teammate who held her bleeding head is suffering with the trauma of that event.

Then Natalia came by, whom I had not seen since last March. She was the woman who told us that she wanted to be a pediatrician. She told us that she had been kidnapped in Oregon and then spent two months in jail. She wants to become a doctor because of her 2 year old little sister. Her family is very poor family and she was introduced to the “trade” a year ago to help her family. She went on to say that she numbs herself with alcohol so she can do what she is doing. She wants to get her GED and go on to college (which she can go for free since she is 100% native) but she has a 5th grade understanding of math. My teammate, who was in the top 3% with her MCAT scores exclaimed, “I love helping people with math! I am great at teaching people math skills. I would love, yes I would be SO excited to have the opportunity to tutor you in math.”

Hillary is one of our “regular” girls. She is frank about her mother not allowing her to come home. After two years on the streets she wants to return home. It is too hard doing what she is doing but her mother says, no, you wanted to join “the big boys” so you stay away. I have no way of knowing the mother’s shoes that she has worn. It is wrong for me to judge this mother and say, “I would let my daughter come home.” I just do not know the whole story. To begin to feel fury at a mother of one of our girls is not good for my heart or what I stand for on the streets each week that I am in town.

Hillary’s “best friend in the whole wide world” got into a car the same time that she got in a car. The only difference, well two differences, were that her friend had a baby October 26 (my daughter’s birthday) and she did not return to our corner for almost 45 minutes after Hillary did. Hillary was frantic. “She has all sorts of stitches and I am worried about her; she shouldn’t be out here so soon.”

We prayed silently and I became more worried each minute that Francie did not come to our corner. We kept talking with Hillary and serving other girls but I couldn’t stop praying and worrying about this new mother with a two week old little baby girl sacrificing her body for a man who hadn’t a clue of the cost of her payment. I cannot imagine how my body would have been two weeks after my sweet baby girl was birthed. I cannot comprehend what it would have been like to leave her and walk the track to get money to pay the bills.

Even as I write this I am so sad that when this young girl dropped out of school. No one said to her, “we know you are bright and you know you are bright, let’s try this or here is a volunteer that wants to help you learn the way your brain learns”. As I grew up we understood very little about learning disabilities. Sadly, many are shamed for something that is not a matter of choice; it is simply an issue that the brain differently than others and is no reflection on intelligence or worth.

I used to be a teacher and I know how hard it is to care for a large classroom. Yet so many of our kids are falling through the cracks due to verbal, physical, and sexual abuse at home or grades that don’t keep up with their peers. Most of our girls drop out of school in the ninth grade! If you are reading this, please tell those eighth and ninth grade teachers to have compassion and see the statistics that can cause a girl to go to the streets. The stats show that most prostituted women enter the trade between 12 to 14 years of age.

The evening was filled with lots of action, including a suburban group of young kids who drove non-stop past our corner. They not only called our girls, “hos” but us too. They called us bitches and harassed us for over three hours for hot cider from the “ho stand”.
I chose to not look at them and I felt cheapened and angered by their non-stop verbal abuse. The six young teens did not belong on our corner and I hope that their joy riding ends after one night and doesn’t become a new contingent to darken our evenings of offering hope and light.

I am aware that any judgment against them adds to the darkness. Any disdain for any person or group only brings hardness and harm. If we as a ministry reach out to the harmed and those who add darkness to their lives, then we need to include teenage boys who make sport of exploited women. The only group that I am aware of that doesn’t have advocates are the Johns. What does it mean to care for those seeking to violate these women?

The National Coalition for the Protection of Children and Families has been around since 1983. They have stood against pornography and in the past year they hired an IJM (International Justice Mission) lawyer to head up their division on Human Trafficking. They say that pornography falls under the term “Trafficking”. Any exchange of money or even observing the exploitation of women and children (or men) is called “trafficking”. Please check out purejustice.org and watch their newest DVD about how each person can play a part in ending trafficking. It is an awesome group and deserves your time. Their resources can be used in any school, neighborhood or church. The abuse of our youth and women and children abroad is vast beyond comprehension. This group addresses what WE can do in the fight for justice.

We packed up at 1:00 (fantastic) instead of 2:30 since it is a Saturday night. We returned and put things away and prayed before leaving. My amazing co-worker who is off to medical school soon dropped me off at the 2:10 ferry. Our minds were not at their peak and we missed streets and zig-zagged our way through the maze of one way streets. We hugged and said goodbye and I felt tears pierce my eyes as I realize our evenings together are numbered. She came from Uzbekistan as a fourth grader and she is one of the brightest and kindest people I have ever met. I knew that her kindness came from a story unlike few people I have ever encountered.

I drove home with gratefulness. My husband had returned home about 90 minutes before me. It seemed fine to draw a hot bath knowing that I would not awaken him. The warmth of our home seems magnified after being on the streets with girls who don’t have a home of their own. My Epson salt bath with mint softened the harm of the streets. I prayed for the girls and my teammates. I felt like a queen in a home filled with love and over 32 years of honor from a man who adores me. I have learned more about love with my nights on the street than any place I have ever been. I have graciously been given a new awareness of the gifts God has given me and I treat my family with new awe and gratitude. My giving myself to others has truly allowed me to receive more from them than I ever gave to them. Jesus says that finding him is found by losing your life for others. It is true.

#22 October 24

It was my first time to do outreach on a Saturday night. The rhythm was totally different! I had a wonderful Sabbath Friday night with my husband and our Sabbath Saturday was filled with beauty and rest and delight in all ways. The reality of leaving our home and heading into the city was wrought with warfare.

Most of my co-workers agreed that they liked Friday night outreach better because there were more girls to greet. I had not thought of the difficulty of leaving a partial weekend and the energy that it took. A week filled with work and routine and a Friday night of obedience to be His light was one thing, but it took an extra measure of God’s grace and courage to make the trek to the city after a restful beginning to the weekend. The end of Sabbath rest and suiting on the armor to serve seemed more costly.

The ferry ride wasn’t bad and even the return to wearing the big, long black coat with shoulder pads wasn’t too difficult. It was the taxi ride that was creepy. There are 15-20 men who wait at the bottom of the ferry exit to solicit your fare. It is a deluge of shouting and frenzy, pushing and shoving to get your attention. It is one thing to be with another person or to need a taxi and go through that in the daylight. It is whole different scenario at 9:00 at night alone.

The man whom I happened to glance at, which indicated to all the men who would “get me”, turned out to be the incompetent driver I had with my brother and his wife a week before. It was too late to turn to another man. At least it felt like it. I went as an ambassador of Christ.

I helped him put the address in his portable “Garmin” GPS. (Shouldn’t he know how to do this?) I spelled the street name for him (three times) as he drove haphazardly. I informed him of how many streets before turning a few times too. (Wasn’t he the cab driver?). It was the same incompetent behavior that happened with my brother when he had to turn around, block after block to make up for his miscalculations. Why was I so stupid to have glanced at him and then been so stupid to have gotten into the car knowing the plight of the drive we had had with him previously? Why?

Why was I talking and asking him polite questions about how long he had been in our country and how long he had been driving a town car? Wisdom? Is that the only way a woman can feel comfortable when she is with a sleazy man?

He, of course, didn’t stop when I asked him to and so we had to go past the building and turn around. Why did I say, that’s okay, stop now and I will tell you when it is clear to back up? He backed out on the street and drove to the door I had asked him to 15 minutes ago. I asked him the price (since town car’s don’t have meters) and he said about $7 more than was fair. I chose to not address that and told him what change I needed back and he said, “I don’t have any change”!
What! Wasn’t he a driver and isn’t this his role to have change? I told him I would only give him $3 because I did not have change as it was his role to have such and besides, I had never had to pay that much money to this location. I felt calm and justified as I began to open the door and give him the $3. Quickly, he said that he found some change and I took my change before handing him my $20 bill. Sleazy. Infuriating. Maddening. Wrong. And I had been stupid to fall into his trap.

I closed the car door with an unsettled feeling. The few steps to our building were wrought with fear and indignation. I struggled to unlock the door aware of the cost of an interchange of little harm but still some trauma and I wondered if this could have happened to a man or is it just our gender who is merciful and gets taken advantage of?

There were no lights in our building and usually a few lights are intentionally left on. This will not be the case on Saturdays. I felt my way to the kitchen and found the cart and began the process of finding my way to the storage area on the second floor. This also was completely dark. The lingering creepiness lingered longer and even though I had lights on when I began filling canisters with boiling water and bins with condoms and chocolates and packets of cheese and crackers. Finally I heard footsteps and welcomed one of my co-workers. How nice to no longer be alone.

Esther, our supervisor, arrived and the praying began. We prayed for new mothers and for our two girls now employed at our ministry’s coffee shop. We were encouraged and strengthened by one another and began to load up the van. It was time to go, almost 10:30.

The women come out later on Saturday nights so we stood, talked and prayed. We had been told that business picks up, usually in November. The holidays seem to be the reason for the Johns and women to be more plentiful. It is a sad thing to be lonely.

We only talked with 19 girls and observed another 9 girls. There was little police activity and considerably fewer Johns. We met a new girl, Eva, and she graced us with telling a bit of her story. It is a story so sad that I know that it is one that needs to be told and carried with me for a very long time. I hope that we see her again.

Eva is petite with a beauty beyond her 18 years. She talked about wanting to go to Romania to live because she could live in a home with a fraction of the cost of what a home costs in the U.S. It was evident that she had been trafficked in Romania for a time and it made me wonder about who her trafficker was and what class of johns she had been set up with. I guess I usually think of foreign women coming here and not one of our American girls going there. How little I know.

Eva had been taken by social services at the age of three after her step-sister, who was thirteen years older, had reported to her school teacher that her father was raping her little sister. Eva has no memory of any sexual abuse. She was in the foster care system for a year and then went to live with grandparents in Arizona. Her grandparents wanted a life of travel and ended up paying $800 a month to the neighbors to let her live with them.
Eva’s ethnicity was different from her school and neighborhood. Pimping was a normal reality and she grew up tough and at 12 began turning tricks. She dropped out of school at ninth grade because she was bored and even alternative schools did not challenge her. Now that she was 18 she had returned to make connection with her family whom she had not seen since she was five years old. So far, her family refused to see her. She is one of the most beautiful young ladies I have ever seen. She thanked us for the hot chocolate and we told her to call the outreach office on Monday because we could offer scholarship money for school and housing if she went through our mentorship programs.

What is it like to be alone on the streets? The brutality of a pimp and the psychological web of abuse, control and love is a bond that remains incomprehensible to us. It seems unreasonable to us who are not alone and have a family, a home or roommates and a career. Who are we to judge a beautiful woman who lost her family at the age of three?
What does normalcy mean when you are alone, a stranger in a foreign land and having to be tough as nails to survive first grade?

On Saturday nights we go in at 1:00 a.m. instead of 2:30. This allowed me to catch the 2:10 a.m. ferry home and be in my own bed at 3:30. Lovely. I had all the heartache and stories for one night. I like Saturdays better than Friday.

I enjoyed the warmth of a hot water bottle on my feet before drifting off to sleep. I remembered the annoyance and then fear and anger I felt with a town car ride that was uncomfortable. And why did I judge myself stupid? I made a mistake of not using my voice, yet my inner voice condemned me and left me feeling weak and helpless.

I cannot comprehend the abandonment and hardening of heart that is a requirement to survive with protection stripped away like is was for Eva. Our girls are beaten, raped, and they still return to the streets and return to cars with creepy men. They are beaten and raped by their pimps and they still say they love them and would never trust the courts or person in the social services over their pimp.

The idea of leaving the life that they live is scarier than dreaming for a life that they want. These young women all have dreams. We ask them what they hope to be doing in five years or ten years and they never say what they are doing now. Never. So, what is the shepherding process? What is in place with social agencies to break the cycle of crime that is their life? I reflect on my difficulty unlocking a door after someone tried to take advantage of me (of a few dollars). The depth of the suffering of a human soul is too great to imagine. The tenacity of our girls is the encasement that keeps their wounds packaged and safe. No wonder the fear of unraveling the bandages of years of abuse and heartache is scarier than the cast they survive. I know nothing of their brokenness. How do they treat me with respect and kindness? I think if I were on the track, I would hate me.

I close my eyes with tears that won’t quit and all I can say inside my head, under covers next to my loving husband is, over and over again: Lord have mercy. Come quickly Jesus.

# 21 October 16, 2009

It was a long overdue night. I had been traveling and not been with my team for two months. I still fasted and prayed on Wednesdays for our girls and remembered to pray for our Friday outreach.

Our city was having record rainfall with flooding in some areas. I gathered my Gore-Tex bicycle gear to armor myself against the rain that would not let up. Of all days to have my hair colored and blown dry! My bicycle helmet cover would be my “under hood” Gore-Tex “shower cap”! Somehow I would not let my hair allowance money go down the tube! Being a woman is not without it’s own challenges even when you stand as a “church lady” on the track.

The down pouring rain made walking out of the question! I taxied from my free parking space at my friend’s house to the ferry. (Pricey) Then I taxied from the ferry to my daughter and son-in-law’s condo. (far more expensive in Friday afternoon city traffic!)

My daughter and her husband left for a Friday night dinner and I got to be with our 11 month-old grandson. We played together and then I tried for over an hour to get him to sleep. Sleep is something he does not do well. I couldn’t help wonder about the young mothers we serve on the track and if they too were putting their little ones to bed at this moment. What would they wear on this stormy, wet night?

I had but an hour to rest before I donned my raingear and walked across the street to pray before heading out to our corner. Our supervisor greeted us with, “We are the beloved of our Most High God and we tonight get to stamp the head of evil with our foot!” I wish I could tape her prayers. Oh, how I wish I could type her entire prayer to give you a feel for how she claims His Kingdom Come for our humble offering of ourselves on our city street corner.

Donald, one of the men who reaches out to the pimps on a Friday night read from Acts and spoke of how Saul was changed in an instant by God’s claiming His love for Saul. It followed in sync with Esther’s prayer for the evening. It is by love that He draws His children. It is by His love that we know we are His beloved and without blemish. By the blood shed by Jesus we are perfect in His sight. It is freeing to go as an ambassador of love and not of judgment. God’s spirit works in tandem with our loving the lost. We do not have to be the change or hope. It is the Holy Spirit who works because we listen to where He is leading us. How glorious to be His hands and feet for these four hours this night.

It was our first night to be out in torrential rain on the street! Imagine that. We had been in the cold, the snow, the heat but not pouring down rain. We quickly found out that the team jackets had long ago lost their water repellent ability. I was glad that I had six other layers on beneath the jacket. There was one umbrella for the four of us to huddle under and huddle we did!

The night began VERY SLOW! We have had our fair share of slow nights and we now know that usually it is weeks before we understand why a night is slow. The girls who begin coming are under 22 and most have three or more names that change each week! I am amazed at how the younger co-workers retain all of these names.

One of our new girls that told us that she had been arrested and stayed six days in jail. My anger rose inwardly as I thought: “Okay, and what happened to the John who used her? Nothing, absolutely nothing!” How I long for the police to arrest the men and let them not return home and stay in jail for 6 days. Well, better not go there now! I am here to delight in and serve these girls. Hot chocolate, condoms, and hugs is what I am about for now. Education and advocacy is what I am about the rest of the week.

One of our favorite girls took our supervisor aside and told her of a possible sting that was going on this very evening. That was why so many Johns and girls were not out. She said that an undercover cop was posing as an underage prostituted woman. This young girl would throw money into a pimps car and then, even if it wasn’t her pimp, the police could arrest the pimp.

My supervisor questioned how she could know so much inside information. Another one of our regular girls accuses the above girl of being an undercover cop. The two girls become accusatory towards each other, each claiming the other to be an undercover cop. This is a shocking thought to consider either one of them being undercover. The track continues to be a mind-sharpening place to view reality of a different sort.

Our men who stand hoping to reach out to the pimps were without anyone to talk to the entire evening! Well, maybe two men came to talk. Oh, my, that is a long evening of standing and being faithful to what they believe to be a calling. It was boring enough with only 25 women to talk with.

After hearing about the possible sting, our supervisor asked us to check it out. One of my teammates and I took the van to where we had been told the sting was going on but we did not see anything suspicious. The evening continued to be slow and we only talked with 19 girls and observed 7 girls. This evening the challenge was staying dry more than awake.

Our dear Debra had also been arrested and had to stay in jail for six days. Along with her jail stay she was now “SOAP”. This is a term which means for a year she has to Stay Out of a Prostitution zone. This will make her work quite a bit harder. A year! She also needs to follow up on her GED. I think that the last thing she said was she and to go through a mental health assessment. (Something I think the Johns should be required to do on a ongoing timeline). In addition to that she will need to go to a Prostitution School and if she does all of these things her last arrest will not be on her record.

I wanted to talk with Debra longer and ask her where the “Prostitution School” was being held when her phone rang. I was unable to tell her how pretty she looked with her long dark curly wig on. The bangs seemed to take a decade off her age. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her and was hoping to tell her how lovely she looked but she closed her phone and left without her usual goodbye hugs. She said she’d be back soon and to our regret, we packed up and left before she returned.

Evenings like that leave questions in my mind about where and how our girls are while we enter our data into computers and debrief about the evening. One of the men had already prayed that not one of the men or women would be without a warm and safe place to go to at the end of their evening. I loved our prayer because it is the very thing we do want for every person, man or woman, of our streets. I am not sure why I have not had that prayer on my lips every Friday night, or better said, Saturday morning when I finally lay my head on a pillow.

I had been up since 4:00 a.m. to drive my husband to the ferry. The day had been full with activities and it was my teammates that named that I will have been up almost 24 hours before going to sleep. It didn’t seem to be possible. I just didn’t feel that tired.
After hugging everyone goodnight, I walked across the street and went to my daughter’s 10th floor condo.

I thought of Boyce’s prayer that everyone, everyone would have a safe and warm place to sleep that night. Our girls are still out there (if not scared away by the police activity).
I wondered about Donna. Had she really found a job in August and was she okay? I thought of the Lori, a young mother of three sons who had been taken away by an ambulance two months ago. Lori and a younger friend had come for supplies with matching BCBG sequined tops and sweat pants. They were giggling and happy to tell us about their kids and how they were getting along. Fifteen minutes later we watched with sadness their arrest! Seven police cars came for these two young ladies!

We assumed that Lori was high on something as she began to throw up as they had her handcuffed in the middle of the street. The drama continued when two emergency vehicles came and the second one drove her away. Eventually a tow truck came for their car. We didn’t know what they had done but the exaggerated fanfare seemed over the top for two of our girls.

Well, tonight Lori was there all smiles and obviously pregnant! Her throwing up had not been because of alcohol or drugs as we assumed, but morning sickness. How our assumptions cause ruin to others when we really do not know what the situation. It will be Lori’s fourth child, her first girl. She was beaming and not taking any chance with using alcohol or drugs. We are called to love. This baby is a blessing and we do rejoice in this life that is growing inside her.

I drifted off to sleep remembering Lori’s smile and knew it wouldn’t be long before we’d be helping celebrate her new daughter. I had three hours of sleep when my grandson awakened. His father took the first 90 minutes and then I got up for the next early morning shift. The rain was still intense so after toast and coffee my son-in-law drove me to the 9:35 ferry. It was great to not have to put rain pants and a Gore-Tex bicycle helmet cover to wear under a rain parka hood! I hope to keep this hairdo for a week or more!

I called for another taxi because of this hair dilemma. The driver was a man whom I talked with last fall. He remembered my volunteering and we picked up with our conversation where we’d left off last November! “I want to tell you”, he says, “Why don’t they publish the name of every John in the newspaper? Who cares if it’s a city councilman or a lawyer or a businessman? I tell you, if they did that it would cut the traffic down where you stand! Publish the names and let the Johns be the ones exposed! If so, there wouldn’t be so many men that keep this going!”

“Brilliant!” I said, “It would be awesome if they would do that. Awesome.” I asked him about what he and his friends do each October in a nearby city to help men who are transitioning from homeless shelters. He told me that his church cooks a week each year for these men and that they had just finished up their week. Without many words we had a common respect for one another. Better said, we know that what we do is small but right. We said goodbye and I drove home with a heart very full and hair that well, still looked great!

Mackenzie Phillips had been on the Oprah Show a few weeks ago. She told her story of childhood incest. I didn’t get to see the show but I grateful for her bravery to share what happened to her and not be silent with shame. Her story touched so many women that Oprah had two more follow up shows to honor the stories of those who had been silenced by the shame of incest. They were victims and not responsible for what happened to them. How many of our girls we have come to love and care for on a Friday night have stories of abuse? They are victims and have no way to leave the streets because especially if underage, they are considered trafficked victims without freedom.

The statistics of our own country’s underage children at risk for commercial sexual exploitation is 100,000 to 300,000 children per year! (U.S. Cong. Trafficking Victims Protection Reauthorization Act of 2005. Public Law 109-164-January 4, 2005. http://www.state.gov/g/tip/rls/61106.htm. Accessed on January 31, 2006).

The above information was taken from a Shared Hope International http://www.sharedhope.org pamphlet called: Domestic Minor Sex Trafficking. I think every woman and teenage woman should obtain this free booklet which comes with a DVD and a Viewing guide. Shared Hope exists to rescue and restore women and children in crisis. They are leaders in a worldwide effort to prevent and eradicate sex trafficking and slavery through education and public awareness and rescue centers.

It was hard to believe it was summer.  My supervisor wore a down jacket and we donned layers of long underwear along with gloves and hats.  We had two thermoses for hot chocolate and hot cider. Last time I was out we were handing out water bottles in coolers of ice. Crazy!

Our supervisor, Esther, began praying fervently for the women. My supervisors sometimes take my breath away when I hear them pray. It opens my heart to the mysterious love of the Father as we go into the dark streets where it so often seems that God is absent. Esther opened the heavens and asked for our girls not to be controlled by the groupthink of the crowd.  As an individual, apart from the group, the girls allow their raw, tender hearts to open; in the flow of the group, they become cynical, crude, and hard.

They wouldn’t say the things they say if they were on the street alone. They wouldn’t act or dress the way they do except as a role in the group.  So we spent our time praying against the power of the group and how it changes individual behavior.

The more Esther prayed for specific people we see on Fridays, the more I remembered my days of teaching sociology. What she was describing is what Sociologists refer to as “groupthink”.

Esther’s prayed against the powers of the group: The hundreds of cars of johns drive through the intersection in a four-hour block of time. I cannot imagine the johns driving around and around the same blocks if it was the middle of the day with people they know witnessing what they were doing. (Soliciting illegal sex from underage girls).

The pimps have their corners and their behaviors that keep the drama under control. Would they be standing there if their parents or children or clergy were driving around the corner?  Perhaps, yet the presence of our group on the street changes the equation and makes it harder for the violence to escalate or the cruelty to be anonymous.  It is as simple as this: we offer our faces as a witness to their sorrow and a promise for transformation.  Our faces make the behavior of groupthink more difficult.

Groupthink is seen in that when they do talk they boast about how much they love what they do and how good they are at it. The women who desire to leave the streets stand out like a sore thumb! Our Donna stands longer and longer next to us and never closes her phone and never talks to the other girls. She is less like the crowd around her.

It had been 10 days since Debra had her last ovary removed and we hoped she would not be out tonight. She was one of the first women we talked to. Her hair was curled and hung softly around her face and she walked elegantly in her heels and smiled, as always, when she came to greet us. She said that she was feeling fine but her doctor was on vacation so she hadn’t been able to start hormone replacement therapy. One of my co-workers was with her at the hospital before and during her surgery. Debra was there alone. Not even her mother or pimp came to be with her. I was thankful for Kristen’s tender and compassionate love that has allowed her to be at the hospital three times with Debra this year.

Debra explained to me why she loved her favorite condom.  At first, I thought: “Why am I listening to the pros and cons of different condoms at 1am?  Is this offering the face of Jesus?  How am I to use this conversation for the sake of God?”  It ran through my mind that I could say, “Jesus is the best condom” but that sounded too weird even for early morning conversation with her.  Later I heard Jennifer say that she charges $175 and hour or $1000 for 8 hours. It was the first time I heard any mention of payment. I have always wanted to ask but it is our policy to not ask any intrusive questions.

Donna returned and asked for band-aids for her sore feet. Her new heels were killing her. She used about 8 of the small round band-aids and sat on the cooler most of the night! Once a pimp walked by her and said, “How long are you going to sit there and hold up the wall?” I am not sure if it was her pimp but it did make me realize that these girls are constantly under surveilance.

A young woman came up for supplies and Esther offered her a bad date list. We had never seen this woman before and she introduced herself to us and thanked us for the hot chocolate. She talked a bit more and then asked Esther if we had assistance we could offer her with moving. She told us about her two small children and their needs and Esther gave her phone numbers she could call.

Tammy, one of our regular girls was out in a bikini tonight. She never once said that she was cold but countless other girls came for hot chocolate and hot cider saying that they were freezing. She smiled and walked elegantly in her heels and I recalled Esther’s prayers about the group and how Tammy would not be dressed like this without the approval of the group.

Debra returned for more condoms and mentioned how in the 1970’s only pimps could talk to the Johns.  The norms of a group change and women on the street have more power than in the past due to cell phones and Craig’s List.  To say the women have more power is only to say they are freer to roam in their prison cell.  It is tragic to see the women strike deals and feel more control over their lives, yet be as stuck in the web of the pimp as much today as 40 years ago.

Our girls often refer to their “wifey”.  This is a term used for their friend who shares the same pimp. This used to be called “stable sisters” in the 1970’s and when Debra told me this I almost laughed because I immediately thought of the “Lennon Sisters” on the Lawrence Welk show and the two images were ridiculous to think about side by side! I really must be tired to wed the Lennon sisters to street life.

Towards the end of the evening, a large pimp walked up to Esther and said, “Please pray for me. My name is St. Nick and I have been shot six times on this street and my heart is changing. I am gonna’ change my life, but I have to get out of debt first. But pray for me, my real name is Dominic, that’s why I am called St. Nick after being shot six times. Pray for me, because my heart is changing.”

Sometimes when you hear and see things at 2 or 3 in the morning it all seems normal. Then as the week goes on I wonder– did I really hear that? Did I really see that? I have prayed for this man often this week and hope that his heart fears God and longs for the safety of God’s arms.

Grace came with smiles and big hugs for each one of our team. It really is wonderful to get hugs from these women. I wonder if our hugs mean as much to them as theirs do to me! She had given up cigarettes (for four days) but the evening found her desperate and she asked us to pray for her to break this habit. I wonder if she knows we pray for so much more than that for her.

Donna continued to “hold up the wall” most of the evening. She told us she has a second interview on Wednesday for a job. She says that she’s good at typing and data entry and hopefully, we won’t ever see her back on the streets! We praised her and told her how proud we were of her for applying for this job. The evening wore on and one of my co-workers said that she called her mother to come pick her up at McDonalds. Oh, I hope and pray that she will never have to return to these streets.

We talked with 26 women under 22 years of age and 6 women over 22 years. We observed 18 other girls and 13 of them were under 22 years. Three new girls appeared to be under 15 years of age!

As I fell asleep with two microwavable foot warmers I thought about St. Nick the pimp and the patron saint of gift giving.  My brain felt quirky all night; strange thoughts bumped into other odd thoughts like a demolition derby.  I finally remembered where I had been—on the streets with teenage prostituted women, while I was dressed in winter clothes, passing out hot drinks, listening to which condom is preferred, and offering my face as a reminder that God sees them with kind eyes.  Is that true?  If it is, then my thoughts are no less odd than God who loves them every bit as much as me, if not more.  Somehow that seemed like a good pillow to lay my head on and I slept a deep sleep like a little girl waiting for St. Nick.

Wikipedia definition of groupthink:

“Groupthink is a type of thought exhibited by group members who try to minimize conflict and reach consensus without critically testing, analyzing, and evaluating ideas. Individual creativity, uniqueness, and independent thinking are lost in the pursuit of group cohesiveness, as are the advantages of reasonable balance in choice and thought that might normally be obtained by making decisions as a group.[1] During groupthink, members of the group avoid promoting viewpoints outside the comfort zone of consensus thinking. A variety of motives for this may exist such as a desire to avoid being seen as foolish, or a desire to avoid embarrassing or angering other members of the group. Groupthink may cause groups to make hasty, irrational decisions, where individual doubts are set aside, for fear of upsetting the group’s balance. The term is frequently used pejoratively, with hindsight.”

“Irving Janis, who did extensive work on the subject, defined it as:

A mode of thinking that people engage in when they are deeply involved in a cohesive in-group, when the members’ strivings for unanimity override their motivation to realistically appraise alternative courses of action.[3]”

Symptoms of groupthink

To make groupthink testable, Irving Janis devised eight symptoms indicative of groupthink (1977).

1. Illusions of invulnerability creating excessive optimism and encouraging risk taking.

2. Rationalising warnings that might challenge the group’s assumptions.

3. Unquestioned belief in the morality of the group, causing members to ignore the consequences of their actions.

4. Stereotyping those who are opposed to the group as weak, evil, biased, spiteful, disfigured, impotent, or stupid.

5. Direct pressure to conform placed on any member who questions the group, couched in terms of “disloyalty”.

6. Self censorship of ideas that deviate from the apparent group consensus.

7. Illusions of unanimity among group members, silence is viewed as agreement.

8. Mindguards — self-appointed members who shield the group from dissenting information.

Groupthink, resulting from the symptoms listed above, results in defective decision making. That is, consensus-driven decisions are the result of the following practices of groupthinking[5]

Defective decision making is a part of the johns, pimps and prostituted women. Their groups are cohesive. The rules are clear. The risks are not thought about. The addictions become more addictive and the groupthink allows the system to keep working.

#19 July 31

I walked to the ferry terminal and was dripping with perspiration. I changed from a blouse and jeans into a tank top and shorts. I was meeting my daughter and her friend and mother at a restaurant. There was no other option to walk the hot city streets and show up in casual attire for sushi. Summer in our city is not supposed to be this hot.

It was a delightful evening with my daughter’s high school friend and mother. We had much to get caught up on and saying goodbye was abrupt as I realized how quickly I needed to arrive at “work”. My younger daughter is beginning doctoral work and her friend had just graduated with a Masters in architecture. I could feel the inequity between the young women I was with in comparison to the young women I was about to serve. My heart was already tuned in to wanting more for “our girls” on the streets. This burden has become heavier and stays with me most of the time. I am grateful for this but there is a cost.

There were five of us but we decided against “mobile” because of remaining trauma for one of our co-workers who had witnessed the violence that left a girl unconscious a few weeks ago. It seemed best that we all stand together on our corner. We prayed and arrived early (before 10:30 p.m.) for the first time. We set our things up and waited for the evening to begin.

Last week, Jane, one of our co-workers returned from The Dominican Republic. Last year she worked for Kiva.org and helped women in need obtain micro-loans. Three weeks ago she saw the results of her work. The women who received these loans were Haitian women who went to the Dominican Republic to work in the sugar factories. The government has “pulled out of” subsidizing the sugar industry and the women were left without work. Prostitution was their only way to keep from starving to death.

“How are these women doing now?” Jane said that everyone one of them had paid back the loan or were close to doing so! They were now selling jewelry, baked goods or eggs and able to live without being a prostituted woman. How remarkable this program is!

Some of these women are going to church now. Sadly, they had to go to a neighboring area for church because they were remembered for what they had once been and were not welcome to worship with that former identity. I felt fury at the pastor and congregation to be haters of people when they claim to grasp the love of the gospel. I wondered how many men in the congregation had used one of the women and were afraid to have their past sin celebrating God’s goodness before them.

Woodleigh, our lead for the night, mentioned her family loves Kiva as a way to offer money and be able to choose who would get the loan. Her daughters have continued to give money when the loan is repaid. I was able to spend time on the website of Kiva.org and think it is fabulous. I am so glad to have heard about helping in this way.

The women finally began arriving to get their supplies and talk. One of our regular girls said that she had worked four nights in a row and not had a single “date.” She didn’t want us to tell anyone that she had not made a single dollar. The temperatures had set records with heat the past three days and the city had suffered. I wondered how this hot night would go.

The night began with Debra saying that Brenda had already been arrested (before 10:00 p.m.!) She would have to spend the night in jail. She said that her pimp would bail her out in the morning. We asked how she was feeling since her doctor’s appointment last week when she found out she has a cyst on her ovary.

“Rotten”, I feel rotten, but I have got to be out here.” She is a “legend” on the streets as she’s been doing this for 14 years. She’s gone through a number of mentorship programs at our ministry but remains on the track. The toll on her health seems great but week after week she remains out on the streets. We hug her and hear what’s on her mind. Debra is one of the faces I see in my mind throughout the week and when I fast and pray every Wednesdays for our girls.

The pimps seemed more territorial than I’d ever seen. At one point we had 27 pimps standing on four street corners. Often girls would be chased and come and stand with us. Donna was back and talked again of hating being out here. We asked her again about getting her GED and how we might be of help in her obtaining one. Our team and my friends have brainstormed about tutoring. This past week three friends said they’d be willing to come to the city and tutor once a week! I am surprised and humbled by such an offering.

Our scholarship resources have “dried up” for the time being. But our desire remains to help our girls get off the streets if that is what they want. We remind them about the coffee shop that should be opening in August or September. So far, no one has applied.

The quiet of the evening was abruptly ended when three “straight” men (probably from the club who had no idea of what takes place at this intersection) stopped two feet from me. He looked at me and said, “Is she high on something?”
I looked at the women next to me and saw the woman who had screamed the previous Friday night. In a blink of an eye, she lunged at him and struck him in his face with her fist! The man was shocked and terrified. He walked away fast and without a word spoken as she shouted obscenities at him. She, once again, “fouled” our corner. She screamed and screamed and then crossed the street in the opposite direction.

Tammy, who had been reprimanded for being dressed too casually this evening, (the code of the street is clear!) started screaming and swearing, “We don’t need “out of pocket” girls! Get out of here. You can’t come on our street. You ruin it for the rest of us. Get a pimp or don’t come back!” Debra, said, she had done that once, but only once. Grace joined in shouting obscenities at this “out of pocket” lady.

I had not heard that term before, but my co-worker said that she thought “out of pocket” meant, not having a pimp. This new, pretty, thin blond had angered the crowd and others joined in their yelling. This new, “out of pocket” woman doesn’t talk to us and she appears to be high, most likely drunk or on meth. She stayed out the whole night and often ran from pimps but never left our area. The norms have their place and we feel the effects when they are broken. There was tension all evening with her around.

Grace and Noreen were on the street but never at the same time. We found out that they had not gotten into a fight with one another while in Hawaii, but that Grace had been “fired” from her pimp! I am glad to hear that they are still friends but also shocked that they actually are not talking with each other. How little I understand the law of the streets. I am baffled by the fear our women live with and the control their pimps have in all areas of their lives. I know little of their experience or how they were “broken” to be as controlled and fearful and desperate as they are.

This evening we talked with 26 girls and observed ten more. We passed out water and juice and our selection of condoms was better than last week and this made the women happy. The homemade lemon cookies were great, but no one seemed very hungry. Some of our girls needed band-aids for their feet and the offering of such kindness gave comfort to the caregivers. There is so little we can actually do. We passed out Bad Date Lists to the women who were wise and brave enough to read them.

The pilot program to the pimps has ended for the time being. Only two men remain and that is not enough to stand on the street. Last week, Don, a pastor with the pilot-program, shared how they have prayed for the pimps. He talked of how the most powerful pimp (with eight or nine “younger” pimps) bantered with him about faith. Don said, “I know you love God and I know God’s got you!” The pimp asked for prayer! He actually asked for prayer in front of his friends! He even allowed hands to be laid on him and the other pimps listened quietly!

Don recognized one of the pimps as having come on their church’s Sunday school bus years ago! He reminded him of that and spoke boldly with love and no condemnation and invited him to come again to his church. Don said that one of the younger pimps had given him his phone number and he was going to call him and offer him a ride to their church. I am amazed at this Pastor who speaks with love and bold authority. I hope another man decides to come out and be a presence on the streets to the pimps so this outreach can continue. It has been amazing to watch from our street corner the pimps beginning to talk with “our” men.

We say good-bye to the women at 2:30 a.m. There are always women who say they wished we’d come out on Saturday nights too. It would be great to have women out both nights, but at this point we don’t have enough volunteers. Some of my co-workers are graduating or find the commitment too difficult. Some have teenagers and decide they should be around on the weekends with their own kids. I have been told that two years is the average time someone stays as a volunteer in our ministry. At times I wonder if I can sign up for another year. It is more than a Friday night on the streets. It is the hope, the heartache, the dreaming on behalf of these girls. It is the feelings of anger at life, laws, men and brokenness. And as much as I’d like to quit standing on the streets and return to teaching Sunday school and volunteering with the Boys and Girls club….I know that, for now, I can’t quit.

I walked to my daughter and son-in-law’s condo and climbed under the covers with my clothes on. I didn’t need to microwave foot warmers tonight. I thought about the “out of pocket” young lady and wondered if she ever would get her daughter back (entry #18). I thought about Tammy’s “casual outfit” and couldn’t imagine anything sexier than her white, thin, tight Capri pants with 5 inch heels! I ached for Donna’s continued shaking and fear and hatred of being out on the streets and I prayed that this new coffee shop would become a way out for many of the girls I have come to care for and think about all week long.

I drifted off to sleep as I heard my nine-month old grandson wake up and cry. Sleep training is in process and so I lay awake wishing I could get up and hold this beautiful baby and soothe his wails. Sometimes it is impossible to stop the crying. I think we both fell asleep with tears that had no comfort.