Pim got more and more agitated as the day we were scheduled to leave drew closer.  “Why do you need to leave?” she asked regularly.  “Why can't you just stay one week longer?  Can't you just postpone your flight?” she would say.

 

“We've already bought bus tickets, Pim,” we would say.

 

“Well, when did you buy them?  You get them changed!”

 

“But we're meeting some other friends in Cambodia and they'll be waiting for us,” we tried to explain.

 

Pim became increasingly jealous of her time with us.  She literally asked us to sleep over with her sometimes; I believe that she sensed the Spirit within us and she felt a small taste of His peace and hope and she could not get enough of it.  It got harder and harder to leave her every night.  She began to order food into the restaurant so that we would eat dinner with her and she brought us to one of her friend's birthday parties, just because she didn't want to miss any time with us.

 

Our last day in town was a Sunday and she absolutely insisted on taking us to a lake.  “I just remember the lake!” she said on Saturday night.  “If you stay longer, I take you to the lake… but we go tomorrow?”

 

That Sunday was insane.  A few of us got up early to go play with baby tigers [yep], then Brittany and I rushed to the When Bar to meet Pim for our afternoon together.  We had a dinner date with our team, then scheduled worship with our sister squad, then a formal debrief of our month of ministry with the program coordinator.  All told, I ended up getting home after midnight, collecting laundry and packing my bag by two, and got up at six am the next day to take a ten hour bus to Bangkok. 

 

But even with all of looming over me, our last day with Pim stands out as one of the most special days of the Race for me.  She had her friend, Man, drive us to a lake nestled between the foothills of Northern Thailand.  We sat in picturesque huts off the bank and she ordered us more food than we could possibly eat.  She would alternate between the two of us, always putting more food on our plates or holding our hands.  “You don't forget me?” she would prompt.

 

“No, Pim.  We'll never forget you.”

 

“Because I'm what?”

 

“You're easy to love, Pim.”

 

And the thing is that she was easy to love.  High maintenance and demanding sometimes, but completely easy to love and it was easy to remind her of that throughout the day.

 

We had an hour left, so she took us back to the When and insisted on a last game or two of pool.  She and Brit partnered up against Man and me and every time she took a shot, she would look at me and say, “Fon.  I love you.  But I'm going to beat you.”

 

Finally, that time came -- Brit and I absolutely had to leave to meet our team for dinner.  Pim shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.  “No -- no, not yet!  You come back tonight?”  When we told her that we couldn't, she became quiet.  She sat on one of the couches, pulling each of us down by her sides.

 

“You never forget me,” she said through her tears, now freely falling.  “You email me.  You email me and tell me everything -- you tell me about your parents, about when you have boyfriend, about when you don't have boyfriend, about when you get married… you come back to Chiang Mai and come back to the When Bar with your families and you come see me.”  She wiped her tears and held each one of us for an impossibly long time.  And then she said it again.  “I am what?”

 

“Pim, you are easy to love.”

 

“You email me.  You email me and ask about John and I tell you everything.  And then you come back to Chiang Mai… because I am…?”

 

“You're easy to love, Pim.”

 

“Okay. Now you pray.”

 

And so we got to pray, one more time, for Pim and for her heart and her life. 

 

Earlier in the month, Pim had said something about meeting new people.  “Why not?” she had said.  “Because then one day you might be somewhere and see them and then you know them already.”

 

When she said that, I immediately had a vision of seeing Pim in heaven.  She was on those streets of gold, walking towards me, glowing in complete joy and fullness.  And in that vision, she was laughing.  I fully believed in that moment that it was prophetic -- that the Spirit had met Pim and that He was not leaving until she recognized Him for Who He is.     

 

On our last day in the bar, I was reminded of that vision.  Rain fell heavily outside, but then the sun broke through the clouds and I ran away from the pool game more times than I can count to gape at the sky, searching for the rainbow that I was so sure Jesus was offering me in that moment.  I felt it -- I knew it was there.  It had to be there, somewhere.

 

I never saw the rainbow.  And as much as I wish I could say that Pim asked Jesus into her life on that last day, I cannot.  But much like I know in my heart that there was a rainbow somewhere on the horizon, so I can say in complete confidence: Pim's salvation is right on the horizon.  It is coming and the Spirit intends to have her as His own -- and quickly. 

 

Brittany and I were given a month with an absolutely extraordinary woman of faith.  Pim is defined by kindness, generosity, faithfulness, and perseverance.  How tragic that all of those things are simply misplaced.  How absolutely heartbreaking that she thinks she has peace and joy, when in reality I could see how tormented she was. 

 

And yet how glorious is the hope being offered so freely.  How glorious is the God who loves her so much that He sends two strangers from across the globe to carry His Good News to her doorstep.  How glorious is He who will leave an entire flock to fetch one lost sheep.

 

He is reaching out for Pim, even right this moment.  So please come alongside Brittany and I in our love for Pim and our deep, deep faith that she will be a part of that flock soon.  I know with everything inside of me that Jesus has plans for that woman and that her name will soon be written in the Book of Life. 

 

How glorious and faithful is our God to do what He says He will do.  And how kind is He to include us in those plans.

One of the first things you figure out when you spend any amount of time immersed in foreign cultures is that you have to drop any expectations or existing understanding of how things work… things just never look the same in foreign countries, whether it is a church service or school or shopping or lunch dates -- nothing is the same.  So when Pim scheduled hair treatments for Brittany and I, I had no idea what to expect.  After the way Thum blew us off, I half-expected Pim to do the same.  But Brit and I showed up at the When when Pim asked us to and there she was, waiting for us.  “Okay, come on, come on!” she said, leading us across the street. 

 

“Are you going to get your hair done too, Pim?” I asked. 

 

“No,” she said, “I got it done this morning already.”

 

Well… so much for hanging out with her, I thought, a little bit embarrassed that I had assumed she was going to stay and get her hair done with us.  Still, she brought us to a little salon of sweet women and told us that the treatment would take an hour, and she absolutely insisted that we spent that time over in the bar with her.

 

We spent an hour with her that afternoon and then asked her to get lunch with us, but she said she couldn't leave the bar.  “You come back tonight, though,” she insisted.  “Promise!”

 

So we did.  And when we got there, she brought drinks right over and then sat with us and talked about the bar and about men and her faith in Buddha and how he does not like it when people drink too much.  Soon a rowdy group of British and Scottish guys filled the bar and begged her to play pool with them.  “Not without my friends!” Pim said, dragging us into the game with her.  Though I wanted to shrivel up and die in embarrassment at my horrible showing in pool, I could not believe the way that she wanted to include us in her day. 

 

We could not stay long that night, but when we told Pim that we needed to leave, her entire countenance fell.  “Why?” she asked.  “Stay -- have fun!  Stay here with me!”  We had to be home, though, so she sadly walked us to the front of the bar.  She hugged both of us two or three times.  “Thank you,” she said gently.  “I can't explain… just… thank you.”

 

Brittany and I walked home that night in complete disbelief -- what was happening?!?  This is Pim we're talking about -- Pim, the cold one, Pim, the devout Buddhist, Pim, the one who is so rude to the program coordinator -- and she actually wants to be our friend?  What was she saying “thank you” for??  Neither of us could believe what the Spirit was stirring in her heart -- and we had no way of knowing that it was only just beginning.

We started going back and to see Pim everyday.  Soon she wanted us in the bar every spare moment we had.  She would sit with Brit and I for hours, telling us all of the details of her life and her heart.  After a couple of days, she asked us to go to the temple with her, because it was like her second home and she wanted us to know that part of her.  I hesitated before answering.  “Pim,” I said, “We don't pray to Buddha.”

 

“I know,” she said.  “You're Christians.”

 

We had never told her that… but she knew anyway. 

 

There was one day where she took Brittany on an errand and left me behind in the bar by myself.  “If someone comes, just get them a drink,” she said with a laugh -- the bar was impossibly slow, so the likelihoods of that were slim.  I laughed after she left -- I had the entire bar to myself and I walked through it, praying against the confusion and darkness in there and inviting God into the When.  Before long, some of my other teammates passed by and the four of us got to stand in the bar, in the middle of the day, and pray for God's will to be done in that place.  Then I got them Cokes and we played pool until Pim came back.

 

After that, she started letting us pray with her, for her, over her -- she began to ask for it and then expect it.  We prayed for her parents to be healed of their sickness, for her cold and headache to go away, for God to provide her needs, before we ate together… when we sat down for lunch, she would hold her hands out.  “Are we going to pray?” she would ask.

 

We spent entire days with her, traipsing around the city, seeing the river tours, getting lunch, and treating each other to Thai massages.  Sometimes Brittany and I would pay, but other times Pim insisted on it, which is completely out of character for a friendship with one of the girls in the bar.  “No, no, no,” she would insist when we tried to pay.  “You buy me drinks and take me places -- no, I pay for this.”  She saw us as real, honest friends and she was completely loving and affectionate with us. 

 

She even gave us Thai names.  “Carly” and “Brittany” were hard for her to remember and pronounce, so we became “Fon” and “Som” respectively.  “Fon” means “the rain” and she told me it was because everyone feels happy and peaceful when the rain comes.  “Som” means “beauty” and “color” and that was exactly how she saw Brittany.

 

More than almost any other person I've met around the world, I completely and fully loved Pim from the beginning.  Her heart was so devout and faithful and hungry for peace and joy -- and the more time we spent with her, the more we saw God's plans for her life.  One afternoon, she told us the story of her current “boyfriend” John, a married British man who recently wrote to her and effectively ended their relationship.  She could not understand why he was doing it or what he was communicating to her and she sat with us in the bar, crying about John.  “He's the only one I love,” she said, “and now he's gone.  I have sex with one other guy, but then I say, ‘No -- I love John!'  What do I do??  What do I tell him??”

 

It's incredibly tricky trying to comfort someone who is in the kind of situation that Pim was in.  What do you hope for her?  That John comes back to her?  No, of course not.  But that is what she wants to hear and how to do you tell her that it is better this way and that she could turn to the One who will never leave her or reject her or turn away her love?

 

I put my arm around her and tried to tell her that there is something better for her.  “Pim, you are a beautiful woman,” I said.  “You are easy to love!”  She laughed sadly.

 

“Easy to love,” she said scornfully.  “Easy to forget.”

 

“No,” Brittany said.  “Easy to love, impossible to forget.” 

 

She held her hands out to us.  “We pray?” she asked.  “We pray and ask God to bring John back?” 

 

So we prayed.  We prayed and we asked the Spirit to come and reveal His love to Pim, that He would fill her to overflowing with His goodness, joy, and peace.  We begged Him to make Himself known in her life and to bring her all of His comfort and understanding and freedom.  When we finished, Pim wiped her eyes.

 

“I say, ‘Father, thank you,'” she said, smiling.  “I don't know Him, but I call Him ‘Father.'  I say, ‘I want to be Your daughter.'”

 

The next day, she had another bracelet on her wrist from the Buddhist temple, signifying that she has worshipped that morning.  We watched her prepare the usual plates of food for Buddha in the afternoon and even though we prayed for dinner that night, she still talked about John and Buddha for most of the evening. 

 

However, the atmosphere in the bar had completely changed.  It was lighter -- literally and almost tangibly, we could feel the Spirit of God in the When Bar.  And He had come to stay.

I was out of breath and soaking wet by the time I got to the When the next afternoon.  Songkran festivities raged up and down the strip; small Thai boys and girls with squirt guns and buckets full of water, their parents and grandparents manning the hoses, and countless tourists with giant tubs of ice water lined the streets, drenching every single person who passed.  Trucks turned into armored defense machines, patrolling the streets with SuperSoaker-wielding partiers in the back.  Literally, no one is safe during Songkran -- whether you are a child, a teenager, an adult, or the oldest person in the world, stepping out of your house is giving every person on the street full permission to dump water all over you.

 

Basically, it's every six-year-old boy's dream holiday and I'm going to start advocating that we incorporate the country-wide water fight model into our Fourth of July celebrations.  Greater Kalamazoo Area/Richland Parade goers: Consider yourself warned.  The Fourth of July 2013 is going to get wet.

 

So Brit and I encountered our first full day of Songkran and we showed up at the When, dripping water and laughing.  Pim stood in the entrance of the bar with a group of white tourists and a massive locker full of icy water.  Suddenly, it felt like we had walked in on a party that we weren't invited to -- the tourists were jolly and tipsy, but Pim's demeanor changed when she saw us.  We smiled anyway and ducked into the bar, looking for Thum.  She was sitting on a couch near the back and she jumped up and hugged us right away when she saw us… but that was it.  “I so drunk last night,” she said after a minute and then pursed her lips.  “I feel sick today.”  She stood next to us in silence, staring in the opposite direction. 

 

Brit and I looked at each other, unsure of what to do from there.  Not keen on just jumping in with the other tourist revelers under Pim's reproachful watch, we tried to talk to Thum.  She gave brief, strange responses to anything we said, but basically ignored us; after a few minutes I said, “If you're not feeling well, we could come back later?”  Instantly she turned to look at us, relief written all over her face.

 

“Yeah, okay!” she said, already retreating towards the back of the bar.  “My head… maybe later…”  I watched her walk back towards her couch and only then did I notice the Australian man behind the bar, wearing a black halter top dress.  Between his sidelong glances in our direction, the drunken foreigners pouring cold water down my back as I passed on my way out, and Pim's hard exterior towards us, I left the bar sad and confused. 

 

“That was bizarre,” Brit said as we walked away. 

 

“I mean, people said it was a tough bar… there is definitely a lot of stuff going on there,” I said.

 

“Why do you think Thum was like that, though?  She was so sweet and open with us last night.”

 

“Honestly, I think she was embarrassed about everything she told us last night,” I said.  “And maybe she didn't think we would show up… It was totally weird, though.  It made me uncomfortable.”

 

The two of us wandered around the city for a while, unsure of our next move.  Songkran parties were everywhere and we weren't sure if we should kill time and go back to the Why that afternoon or to give it some more time.   We did not have peace about going back to the bar that day, so after an hour or two, we headed home.  That was awkward and weird, Jesus, I kept thinking.  What are You doing there?

Still, there was something about Thum that made me want to go back.  She had a youthful, expressive face and wide eyes that reminded me of my girlfriends at home; I just couldn't stop thinking about her life.  Did she talk to her parents?  Why did she come to Chiang Mai?  Was she close with her sister?  Did she want to get out of the bar scene?  What kind of stuff was she stuck in? 

 

Neither of us felt like we should go back immediately after Songkran, so a few days passed before Brit and I went back to the When. When we finally stopped back in, Thum was not there.  Pim got our drinks and we played pool with one of the other girls who worked in the bar, but Thum never came.  Pim acted differently, more pleasantly, when her sister was not there, which was nice, but Brittany and I had both felt such an instant connection to Thum… I wondered if I had made up the entire thing about “feeling led” towards the When. 

 

The next afternoon, we decided that we would go in and sit down one more time.  One more soda water with lime, twenty more minutes of praying, and then we would leave the bar and be done with it.  Certainly not what I had envisioned for the When or for Thum, but our time there had been so dry after that first night…  it seemed like a closed case.

 

The Spirit had other plans.

 

As we finished our drinks that afternoon and talked about which bar to hit next, Pim looked at us and I think that she actually saw us for the first time.

 

“So how long you in Chiang Mai?” she asked, unexpectedly planting herself at our table. 

 

“A few weeks,” Brit said carefully, taken aback by Pim's sudden interest in us.  “We're just touring here.” 

 

“Yeah, Chiang Mai is good,” Pim said.  “Crazy with Songkran!  You have fun at Songkran?”

 

“Yeah,” Brit said.  “It was crazy… we don't have anything like that in America.  Did you have fun?”  Pim wrinkled her nose.

 

“Everybody drunk,” she said.  “I don't like that.  Drinking too much is stupid.  Like my sister, Thum -- you know Thum?”

 

“We do,” I said.  “We met her a couple times.  Where is she?”

 

“Don't know,” Pim said.  “She gave away drinks at the bar without telling me and has her friends here.  I say, ‘No more.'  No good.”  She looked away, then noticed our empty glasses.  “Another drink?”  she asked.  Brit and I looked at each other -- we had been ready to leave, but there suddenly seemed like an opportunity here.

 

“Sure,” I replied.  “Can we buy you a drink also?”  Pim's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she smiled at us warmly.

 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, half bowing her head as she got up to get the drinks.  She came back with three drinks and tossed her hair over her shoulder as she settled into her seat.  She told us she was thirty-seven, but she looked younger than that.  Her smile was bright and her hair went past the middle of her back, shiny and healthy-looking.  I asked her how she kept it so healthy and she got very excited.  “My friend does treatment.  You want?  I go on Saturday.  You come Saturday and I'll take you.  100 baht okay?” 

 

It seemed completely out of character from what I knew of Pim, but I immediately said yes.  Our whole team had been praying for an opportunity in the When and now Pim literally handed us her time -- plus a $3 deep conditioning hair treatment.  Sounded perfect to me.

 

Jesus! I prayed that night.  You've got to be kidding me -- You are so good.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  Make a way, Jesus… come and make a way with Pim where there seems to be no way. 

The truth is that we had no idea where we were going.  As Brittany and I wandered up and down the main road of the bar district in Chiang Mai, we didn't speak very much; we walked past dozens and dozens of bars, drinking in the details in relative silence.  Is it this one, God? I quietly prayed.  Is this why You brought us here?

We had been sent out on our first night of ministry with one simple and confounding direction: See where the Spirit leads.  Walk, pray, and see what stands out.  Ask Him to reveal something -- anything.  A particular girl, a word, an image… find the bars where you will spend your time this month.  Just go. 

 

It seemed a bit daunting, but out we went.  As we walked past the bars, many of which seemed interchangeable, I didn't really sense much.  My pulse didn't race, I didn't feel drawn to any one in particular, no heat spread through my limbs -- we just walked and looked around.  Finally, we neared the end of the strip and one of the signs stuck out: The When*.  I didn't fully trust my inclinations; it was getting late and I was running out of bars to choose from… but when Brit and I talked about it later that was one of the only things that I could think of to say. 

 

When we mentioned the When to people who had been around the ministry a bit longer, they nodded seriously.  “It's a tough bar,” they said.  “Lots of spiritual warfare and darkness.  Pim*, the owner, is pretty hard… she's an absolutely devout Buddhist.”  The program coordinator, a gorgeous young woman from New York City, had had a few run-ins with Pim that made me think twice about this so-called “pull” towards the Why.  “Oh, yeah…” the coordinator said.  “Pim hates me.  It's just… I'm just very clearly not welcome in that place.” 

 

The more Brit and I talked about it, though, the more we knew where we were supposed to go.  The When intimidated me and I didn't want to be presumptuous and think that God would use me in a place where others have been chased away, but I knew that He had a plan in it all. 

 

We went straight there on our first night of bar ministry.  It's an awkward little song and dance the first few times… Brit and I would get dressed to go out, then spend time in worship and prayer with the other teams who were going out for the night, then we would all have to stagger when we left the house.  The When was one of the farthest bars down the strip and the walk over on that first night seemed impossibly long.  When we finally got there, we sat down and ordered our soda waters and stared at each other for a minute.  “Now what?” I asked Brittany and we sat on a couch, not really sure of what to do next.  Do we pray out loud but try to make it look like a conversation between the two of us?  Do we just start a game of pool?  Do we immediately buy someone a drink and try to start a conversation right this second?

 

The bar was slow, so the women who worked there all sat together near the entrance, calling out to passersby.  A young, pretty girl sat apart from them, sipping from a small bucket of ice water.  She had stars on her face near her eyes and she looked sweet.  “Are those tattoos?” I asked, trying to start a conversation.  She just smiled and laughed, shaking her head. 

 

“She doesn't speak English,” one of the women from the front of the bar called loudly in our direction.

 

“Oh,” I faltered, unsure of what to say next.  The woman moved closer to us, the unstoppable mix of alcohol and unveiled curiosity running through her veins. 

 

“She's new and young -- her English is no good.  I'm Thum*.”  She settled into her seat, clearly ready to give us her full attention.  I noticed a woman who I assumed to be Pim observing the exchange from the couch by the door.  She looked harsh and annoyed with Tum's behavior, but she didn't say anything or stop the exchange, so we tried to make conversation.

 

“Have you been in Chiang Mai long?” Brittany asked.

 

“Oh, sure.”  The woman said.  “My sister, Pim, own the bar.  I have American boyfriend, you know.  He email me.  When we meet, I say, ‘I don't like American men.  Where you from?'  He say, ‘England.'  So I went with him and after the sex he said, ‘Thum… I'm American.'”  She shook her head, eyes closed in a strange combination of disgust and affection.  “I said, ‘Ugh… shit.'”

 

From there, Thum went on to tell us about Josh, her American army man from Florida who had spent a week in Chiang Mai and emails regularly and promises to come back.  She told us how furious she was when Josh emailed her and addressed her as “Boo” [“I write back and say, ‘Who is BOO?  My name THUM!'”] She started to cry as she talked about an unplanned pregnancy and how she lost the baby -- whether naturally or by an abortion, I could not understand.  We offered to buy her a drink and she wiped her eyes.  “You want me to stop crying?” she asked. 

 

Her question broke my heart -- I could only imagine the people who've tried to stop her tears before.  Before we could answer, a thin Australian man walked in.  His narrow eyes darted over the three of us sitting on the couch and his face instantly soured at the sight of Brit and me.  Thum did not seem to notice, though; she called him over to us and spoke with him in Thai.  “This my friend,” she said and the man nodded at us without making eye contact.

 

“How are you?” Brittany asked.

 

“Fine,” he replied, watching Thum. 

 

“How long have you been in Thailand?” she asked.

 

“Twelve years.” 

 

“Really?” I said.  “What do you do here?”

 

He looked at me, clearly annoyed at our questions. “Things,” he said with a smirk that made my skin crawl.  The man dropped onto the couch on Thum's other side, muttered back and forth with her in Thai for a moment, then kissed her on the shoulder and left without another word to Brit and me. 

 

“That my friend,” she said again.  “Sometime he sleep in my room -- no sex though.  He just my friend.”

 

I fidgeted with my empty glass, uncomfortable with the lingering presence of the man.  There was something disturbing about his manner and his interactions with Thum, but she did not notice the effects.  She started to talk about Songkran, the Thai New Year where the entire country turns into a massive, four-day water fight.  “You throw water tomorrow?” she asked us.  We had no plans.  “You come back to the When,” she insisted.  “Twelve o'clock.  We throw water together!”

 

We left that night with plans to meet the next day.  As Brit and I walked away from the bar, air rushed back into my lungs; suddenly, I felt like I had been holding my breath the entire time I was there.   Though still uneasy about Pim's lingering stares and the Australian man's presence, I was blown away at how quickly Thum opened up her life to us and how much she seemed to want our friendship.   All right, Jesus, I thought as we walked home.  This is way over my head… but I'm ready for whatever You've got for us here.  Let's go.

If you asked the girl standing in the doorway of this bar, she'd tell you she was nineteen, but I don't believe it for a second. Her body, very much on display for any interested customer, does not yet have that settled look of a woman's body.  Everything about her is young, still growing, still forming an identity.  A full face of makeup, a tight blue dress that barely covers what it needs to, black lace panels that run down the bodice, and a hot pink bra showing through can't change that… I can clearly see the younger girl buried inside.  She paces in the entry, smiling flirtatiously and calling out to every passerby -- “Hello!” she says.  “You are welcome!”  Even as she does this, though, there is a timidity in her eyes that speaks louder than her voice.  She works every inch of the dress she's wearing and seems intensely aware of her own body as she does.

 

But on her feet?  While the other women totter around in thin high heels, this girl is wearing flat, black Converse.  Tennis shoes with that dress?  You're not nineteen, baby girl.  You just can't be.

 

This particular bar tries to appeal to a more laid-back crowd, despite the showy girls.  Adele and Oasis and Mumford & Sons blast through the stereo and as I watch this girl, “Little Lion Man” comes on. 

 

 

There is a man somewhere out there who needs to say that to this girl.  Somewhere, there is a man who needs to say exactly that to pretty much every girl on these streets.  Who is he?  Where is he now?  Will she ever forget him?  Will she ever grow past whatever he did to her?

 

 

I would never presume to know exactly what these girls experience, but I have tasted enough of it to know just how bitter it is.  I know what it is to have my youth used against me.  I know what it is to be taken advantage of by someone who I thought I could trust.  When I was eighteen-years-old, a man who I loved and respected led me into the most compromising, painful situation I have ever had to experience. 

 

 

Disregarding everything -- the twelve-year age difference between us, his role as a self-proclaimed big brother figure in my life, our shared church community -- he put his marriage in my lap and effectively said, “I don't know… you choose.  Then you deal with the heartbreak, the confusion, and all of the consequences, because I love you, Carly.” 

 

 

Misguided by emotion and a deep desire to help, I walked straight into the lies.  At first it seemed okay -- I resisted his immediate advances and sent him home; however, I still talked to him.  I still let him call me and see me occasionally and I flexed all of my baby woman muscles to respect and support him, the way that I believe women are designed to do for men.  I tried to point him to truth, but our “friendship” was already twisted beyond anything resembling appropriate or healthy.

 

 

Obviously, this approach wasn't working.  I tried to put some distance between us, but his hold on my heart was already too firm.  When we talked, I was simultaneously thrilled and horrified.  When we didn't talk, I was resolute in my decision to avoid him, but heart-broken. I tried to stay away from him for months, but he texted me one night and it was as if no time had passed -- I was already his.

 

 

After a few incredibly confusing months of alternately resisting and then craving a relationship with this man, I finally gave in.  We started daydreaming and planning a future together while we devised a plan on how to go about it.  His divorce should come first… then we could go public.

 

 

And then the inevitable happened.  Just as abruptly as he told me that he loved me, we were suddenly found out.  The truth came to light and let me tell you -- it was a painfully, shockingly, blindingly bright light. 

 

 

While I will always thank God for forcibly getting me out of that situation when I was too foolish to move of my own accord, the following months were the absolute worst of my life. 

 

Needless to say, I dealt with enormous amounts of guilt and shame, a massive lack of grace towards myself and the misguided man and an inherent belief that I was suddenly spoiled.  The relationship thankfully stopped short of sex, but still… nice Christian girls don't date married men and break up those vows… what kind of guy could I possible deserve now? 

 

 

And forget about men -- what could I possibly deserve of God?  I couldn't think of much, except for punishment.  Certainly not His time, let alone His grace, forgiveness, or love…

 

 

 

 

*****

 

As I write this, I'm struck by the differences between my road to redemption versus these girls.  Even with Godly parents more committed to my recovery than I was, a Christian counselor, patient and loving friends who never condemned me, and engrained Biblical knowledge about God's nature, I still fought an uphill battle to reclaim my identity in Christ.  So what about these girls?  From all practical and logistical standpoints, they're stuck.  They support families with the money they make, so their parents certainly aren't protecting them.  They're integrated into a culture that sees nothing wrong with what they're doing and most of the women around them are also stuck in the bars.  Add to this the fact that less than 2% of the Thai people are Christian, so the notion of a righteous, loving, merciful God is lost in the Buddhist chanting.  What are you left with?  How do these women -- so many of them teenagers -- get out?

 

The definition of trafficking that I'm coming to understand is the “exploitation of vulnerability.”  And while these girls -- and me -- have certainly played a role in their situation, is it their fault that they are here?  Do they want to be doing this?  I haven't met a single woman who does.  But who is there to say, “I'm sorry?”  Who is there to say, “It's not your fault… it's your heart that is being trampled every night and I'm sorry”? 

 

I know firsthand the redemptive powers of Jesus.  I know firsthand how He seeks you when you're the most broken, the most ashamed, the most looked over.  And as I walk through the bar district, I'm overcome by how badly He wants these girls to see themselves as He sees them -- Beloved.  Redeemed.  Beautiful.  A bride.  Worthy of love and respect. 

 

And then I can hear Jesus' voice saying to each and every one of them, “Come now, little girl, let us reason together.  Let's get you out of here.  Let's rebuild you and make you whole and set your feet on my Solid Rock.  Come with me.  Let's get out of here.”

 

But can they hear that?  In the midst of their sin and depression and pain and determination to deal with it all and overcome, can they hear that small, still voice?

 

So to the baby girl in the blue dress -- I know.  I know it hurts.  But there is so, so much for you in the loving arms of Jesus.  It's not your fault.  It was your heart on the line and you've been used and abused, but it's not your fault.  Let's get out of here.

How much?

How much is she worth?

 

How much money would you be willing to pay to hang out with your waitress for the night?  Five dollars?  Ten dollars?  More?  Less?

 

What if she was your best friend?  What if she was your little sister?  What if she was your daughter?  What if she was your wife?

 

How much then?

 

Take a walk with me.  We're in Chiang Mai, Thailand.  It's nearly midnight, but you wouldn't know it by the looks of it -- the lights flicker and glow enticingly, the music blares, the streets pulse with all of the people on them.  We walk into a bar, slide into a booth and a young woman comes to take our order.  To call her a young woman might be a little bit generous -- she can't be much older than eighteen.  She's pretty, the way that all of the women here are pretty with their fine bone structure and round cheeks and sweet smiles.  Can you see her?  Who does she look like?

 

To me, she looks like my little sister Shelby.  She looks like my best friend Jess.  She looks like my younger cousins, Allie and Ginny and especially Paige.  Could this have been Paige?  What if she hadn't have been adopted from South Korea when she was a baby -- would she be standing at a table like this somewhere, taking drink orders and preparing for whatever would be happening later that night?

 

If you read this blog, chances are that you know me.  You've probably talked with me or spent time with me at some point… After reading these posts for the past seven months, you surely know what I've been experiencing and learning lately.  So what if it was me?  What if I was the girl “waiting tables” at these bars and I was tired?  What if I was tired of my life, but I had no other options?  Would you help me? 

 

If you read this blog, chances are that I know you.  And after being blessed by your generosity and support thus far, I know that you would help me.  To many of you, I am your friend, your sister, your daughter -- or at least, I could be.  You wouldn't pass by me when I was desperate.  I know that you wouldn't.

 

So let's not pass by these women when they are desperate.  Let's not pass by the young girls stuck in these bars.  Let's not walk past them, most of whom are not here by their own design.  Close your eyes and see your little girl, your best friend, your only sister, exploited and alone.  What are you going to do about it?

 

My team and I are partnering with Lighthouse in Action ministries this month.  We're walking those streets, sitting in those bars, talking with those girls and our goal is to be Jesus.  We're not walking in with Bibles, preaching a message of condemnation or anger.  We're walking in to be girlfriends.  We're trying to get to know these girls, to build relationships.  The program director made it very clear: we're not a SWAT team running in to grab the women.  We're farmers -- we're planting seeds, watering them, and maybe even harvesting a couple if the season is right.

 

How do we do that specifically?  Our ministry this month centers around two of my favorite things -- praying and dating.  Every day and every night, some part of our team will be in the prayer room, interceding for this country and the women that we meet.  Then we spend two days and two nights a week in bars, getting to know the girls and inviting them out on dates.  We want to take them to lunch, to the movies, to get our nails done -- the regular things girlfriends do with one another.  Ministry this month is deeply relational.  Success is not counted in how many women we personally pull out of the bar scene; it's about the depth and quality of friendships made.

 

But I need your help.  My team needs your help.  We have to pay to buy ourselves [non-alcoholic] drinks in every bar we go -- even the ones we go in just to pray.  We have to pay to buy the women drinks and the price doubles.  I'm hoping to get to the point where I can offer to pay a girl's bar fee, pay to take her out of there for the night.  Then on any of the dates we have, we're paying for the women.  But all of this requires cash, something that runs pretty short after seven months around the world.  My team and I are trying to raise some money so that we can treat these women.  We want to make some real, quality friendships -- friendships where we aren't trying to get anything out of them, but just showing them the love of Jesus through our lives.

 

If you would be willing to partner with us on this, please, please, please contact me.  Any money that we have left over after the end of the month will be given to this ministry; a prominent bar is closing at the end of April and the director has a vision for a rehabilitation program, where the women can come to learn about Jesus, but also to learn practical job skills.  The four-month program costs about $1,000 dollars per woman, so any money that we do not use “dating” the girls will go directly towards that project.

 

So there we are, sitting in the booth.  The pretty girl's name is Nam and she's ready to take our order.  What will you have?  Coca-cola?  A cocktail?  Maybe the girl herself?

 

How much?

Crowing roosters

Crying babies

Clanging pots and pans

Sudden shrieks of laughter

Swarming black flies

Surround-sound slurping tea

 

I did it.  I got there - I hit the breaking point.  I couldn't take it anymore.

 

I woke up one morning last week so irritable that I'm surprised I didn't just spontaneously combust.  Every little noise, every sidelong glance, every accidental bump against my arm or gnat on my bread pushed me a little bit closer to the edge.  Amanda, who knows me inside and out at this point, sat down on the couch next to me.

            "What's wrong?" she asked.

            

"I'm just so annoyed at everything that I want to scream for twenty years," I replied through clenched teeth.

            "Ohh..." she said gingerly.  "Do you want to take the morning off?"

            "Nope," I said.  "I just want to get out of here and get out of my own head."  Sweet Elizabeth sat down on my other side as I said this.

            "What's wrong?" she asked me sympathetically, her eyes wide with concern.

            "NOTHING!" I snapped.

            In my mind, I knew that I was acting out of my flesh.  I knew that I was stuck in the spin-cycle of my own rotten attitude and that I needed to choose joy, to choose patience, to choose love - but I didn't really know how to do that.  I fully believe in the power of the spoken word, but I couldn't just convince myself to be a vessel of joy or love in my own strength.  However, something I heard in a podcast recently was lodged in my brain and I sensed the way out: when you need something, give what you have away.  So if you need grace, show grace to someone near you.  If you need healing, pray healing over someone else.  In my case, I needed joy and the only thing I could think to do to get it was to give someone else a reason to have it.

            So we all set out that morning and as we sat down with some locals, I talked about the transforming power of Christ, of His hope and joy - and I didn't speak from any glowy, melty place of emotion.  I had to speak in faith, knowing the truth even if I didn't feel it.  And after a few of us shared pieces of our stories, a young man named Marius gave his life to Jesus.

            When we walk in obedience and speak in faith, God can pour His joy into His people - and that joy leads to love and peace and unity.  These things transform lives and they attract people to Jesus. 

            My team has experienced that first hand this month.  We have been together for four months now and our time has been hard.  In India, we barely interacted, choosing to mix with our squadmates and YWAM staff instead.  In Tanzania we were forced into hot, cramped quarters with no one to talk to but each other.  There was a lot of friction and division, leading to one of the biggest fights that I have ever been a part of - there was screaming and swearing and people [myself included] stomped out of the room, only to be dragged back in to deal with the issues.  Tension simmered and things looked pretty grim; I spent most of the month in my tent, sick and begging God for team changes.  No such luck.  We lived with a family in Rwanda, so we were forced to be polite and play nice.  Things improved slowly, but an underlying tension was still there.  But then something happened - we started laughing together and God moved through those baby steps forward and the more grace we gave one another, the more grace we had as a team.

            Then we got here.  I don't know when it happened or how it came about, but the seven of us love each other - we genuinely enjoy being together.  We live in a house with no electricity or running water, an absolutely vile outhouse, and crying babies that seem to multiply every day, but we finally found a team identity, and it is rooted in the restorative power of joy and laughter.

            The beauty of that identity is that it is contagious.  We met a woman named Esther, the manager at a breezy restaurant where we hang out.  After talking with her for a few minutes, she asked us to come back and stay with her at the restaurant during any and all of our free time.  "You can sleep here if you want," she insisted.  Another woman, Mariana, came to our house during a thunderstorm and watched as cabin fever culminated in a karaoke-style dance party and a group shower in the downpour.  As we screamed and sang and washed our hair under the gutters and did the YMCA, she shook her head.  "I've never met women like you," she said.  "It's like you're sisters - I never want to leave.  I want to stay with you and sleep with you and eat with you... I want this."

            I don't say any of this to impress anyone; to be honest, I'm embarrassed by much of what I've written.  But the fact is that the joy of the Lord is one of the most powerful healing agents in the world.  Proverbs says that a cheerful heart is good medicine, and I believe that is true for the body and the soul.  Joy has bound this team together in a way that I wouldn't have believed possible four months ago and we are finally effective because of it.  Arguments and logic will rarely lead a person to Jesus, but an encounter with true joy and community is intoxicating.

            So drink deeply of what God has for you and then pass the glass - for this is the true Kingdom of God.