THE FREEDOM CLIMB

The Freedom Climb mirrors a woman’s arduous journey towards restoration. We meet her in her place of need and offer hope and opportunities for lasting change. Support her brave journey to freedom!

Free Indeed!

I have lived in El Alto, Bolivia almost all my life. My parents worked in the copper mines, and 30 years ago moved to the city where they raised my four sisters, my brother and me. I have watched the city limits explode, reaching out further and further. I’ve seen up close how difficult it is for migrants to learn a whole new way of life, to navigate intense poverty, limited options and racism…

Abundant Life: A Life Free of Family Violence

As the pandemic turned all of our lives upside down, we suddenly found ourselves at home every day, using our 220 sq. ft., two-bedroom apartment for two jobs, virtual preschool, and everything else already related to home. Though difficult some days, we were able to adjust as a family and in general enjoy some extra time together. For other families though, the strict lockdown experienced in Bolivia meant that they had to deal with an increased threat of violence, not from anything outside, but from inside their very homes…

Vania*

At 12 years old, Vania* has experienced more hardships than most adults.

Angela*

Angela has worked hard to never have to return to prostitution. On average, a woman attempts to leave the streets 7 times before finally becoming free. But Angela is going strong, supporting even her grandchildren.

You're The One We're Looking For

In the red-light district a block from our ministry center, there are 500 beds. As we do every Christmas, we enter each of the fourteen brothels there donning Santa Claus hats and proclaiming the gospel through Christmas carols. The administrators were, as always, remarkably accepting; some even genuinely enjoying the cheerful invasion. One administrator in particular pulled us aside and told our staff, "I've got a girl who's not doing well. Think she's about to die."

Let the Little Children Come

I felt my soul pierced. In a physical sense, it took my breath. This was someone else’s baby, born into the world through pain and sweat and love - as special and treasured as my own daughter who was at home with a caregiver. I felt the weight of indignation descend upon me. I was witnessing a lamentable injustice, and unfortunately a common one both near and far – a child’s true identity lost.

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