My New Favorite Superhero!

Every superhero has a tragic origin story, but Wanda's is absolutely horrific.

A World Full of Good People

Subsisting in the middle of urbanity, no one knew how she and her 3 children were suffering: a single mother prostituting, pregnant from gang rape, cooking on an open fire, and all 4 sleeping on one small mattress on the floor.

Hope

“Sometimes,” she said, “You can come home from brothel visits and take it in stride. Other times, the harshness of what they face night after night, and how we can just walk away at the end of the visit, hits home and the gulf between us feels overwhelming.“

Love in Her One-Room Home

This spring, I visited Vanessa’s* to share Sunday lunch and a rite-of-passage tradition for her toddler. She received me in her stepmother’s home, one of two living relatives in her life. I cut her toddler’s hair for the first time - the hair he entered this world with – which now designates me as his godmother.

The Abusers and Other Things That Make Me Angry

I´ve been at a loss for words. Fluctuating between heartache and despair, anger and confusion, I’ve questioned our effectiveness, the possibilities of change and even God’s unfailing power.

The Day She Stopped Running

Honestly, I understand why Ada was mad at God. Misfortune and disaster seem to hunt her, and it’s hard not to blame it on an all-powerful Father.

Analise's Story

Although she visited our ministry center years ago, she wasn’t quite ready for change. But when she hit rock bottom, she knew where to turn for help.

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.

My First Trip To A Bolivian Brothel

We walk into the first brothel; only red lights illuminate the shadows of utter darkness inside. The heavy smell of incense and alcohol, along with the pulsing music, adds to the stifling atmosphere. It’s hard to breathe in here.

“Human trafficking,” she said, “that’s my thing,”

“Human trafficking,” she said, “that’s my thing,” as if it were a dessert affinity or a favorite dog breed, the selected piggy bank for her charitable thoughts or pennies – this was her proclaimed issue of choice, her thing.

A Reflection on the Epic Epoch Mission’s Gala

Over the last few months, we’ve been praying – quietly, fervently, patiently awaiting the Lord’s provision.

On Christmas: Darkest Night of the Year

Darkest Night of the Year. It’s the title of Over the Rhine’s Christmas album, but the words themselves seem to be the mantra to which I walk as I pass in and out of brothel doors. Every time I enter these places, I have let my eyes adjust to the dim red glow of the interior; I have tried to block out the mixed smell of alcohol, sex and urine; I have swallowed the never-dulling shock and disgust of passing an exiting client as I make my way toward one of my friends. Tonight somehow feels different, darker in a way that didn’t seem possible before…

La Noche Más Oscura del Año

Al son de “Noche de paz” cantamos: “Noche de amor, noche de paz.” Se siente casi irónico. ¿Cómo puedo cantar al amor y la paz en este lugar donde se profanan las más bellas expresiones de amor…

Blog

Categories: