LISTEN

Nicole's adamant directions guided Georgia and I to the alleyway where all were congregated.
  

In a haze, I had left the Crane House, forgetting coat and hat, and was distracted by my shivering, until the judge cleared her throat. On those concrete steps between four white pillars, with passion and lament, she spoke into the microphone. Next a victim spoke. Then another. Then a police officer. Then a politician. Then a survivor, but just briefly, before she broke loose her voice and sang of mountains and victory. I felt warmth filling into my eyes, forgetting about the cold, but only until another icy wind snagged between me and them, and I was again reminded.

Once more, the executive and founder stepped forward, now to remark how we would keep the evening march and vigil shortened, as many of the women participating did not own coats. That's when a small breath of awe knocked into my lungs and I realized that leaving my coat up the attic stairs of my room was his intention. So that I could feel the frigid air in my bones and understand.

These woman need coats.

We marched, chanting, signs lifted, sun falling and catching us with timid warmth between the buildings. Passing cars honked, scoffed, or ignored. We marched. "Pimps and Johns go home. Leave our children alone." "We will not be bought or sold or traded at any price." They walked beside me, beside us. Stories behind those eyes. Too deep to touch. Their stories haunt them. But their stories must be told.

I cupped a candle between my mittens, its' wax dripping and clinging to the wool, and huddled behind a wall of people. It was their annual candlelight vigil. Voices took turns telling of those in our midst who had died cruel deaths in the last year.

"A pimp had pumped drugs into her body until she was lost in a coma, then he beat her and raped her.."

"..He stabbed her and cut out the child in her womb, laid them side by side, both dead."

"..She was beaten gruesomely, stabbed twenty times, then he piled her body into a garbage can."

"..She had broken off the engagement, but wanted to see him once more, he raped her, strangled her, and hung her from the bedroom ceiling."

People. Pray for your city. Pray for the vulnerable girls who become trapped within this abhorring system of prostitution. Pray for the women who are recovering, the trauma of their past that is triggered each new morning. Pray that they can experience redeeming love found only in Jesus, that they would be surrounded by truly beautiful and sincere people who can be his heart to them. And after you pray, keep praying. Meanwhile, quit judging those girls in skin tight clothes at the grocery store.

You just have no idea.