Our team of men sat scattered across the pews of the empty church. By American standards we were right on time, but on Bolivia time we were an hour early. We were chatting amongst ourselves when I saw an older Bolivian woman enter the church and find rest at a pew towards the back of the room. She was dressed very traditional for Bolivian culture. Her multicolored skirt hung down to her ankles and she wore a white dress shirt slightly covered with a layer of dirt. She had incredible dark hair that reached down to her hips, split into two long braids. On the crown of her head rested what appeared to be a small, green top hat. As soon as I laid eyes upon her I felt the Holy Spirit stirring something in my heart; I was supposed to go speak with her. I jumped up, grabbed our translator, and joined her in the spacious pew. Valentina was her name. She was 64 years old and had just moved to Apolo to be near her son. She then merrily shared stories about her family and her life as a Christian. I was constantly asking the Spirit what I was supposed to share with this woman. Why had He asked me to go sit with her? As the conversation continued on and I was losing hope. Maybe I hadn’t heard Him right? Then, as clear as day, I heard Him say: “That is my beautiful daughter.”
The second I heard it my eyes were spiritually opened. I felt like Paul in Acts 9, when something like scales fell from his eyes. The Lord shed my scales so I could see the divine beauty of His creation. Every feature of her face was instantly magnified; the thick wrinkles in her leathery skin, her deep mahogany eyes, and the streaks of silver hair that crept from her scalp. I was completely overwhelmed by her beauty. I shook her life-worn hand and slipped out of the back of the church. My teary gaze shifted to the stars as I cried out to God praising His majesty. He was opening my eyes to empathize for His people as he was preparing to break my heart for what breaks His. In the core of my heart I knew India would be the straw that broke the camels back, but I couldn’t grasp how difficult yet beautiful that would truly be.
A few weeks later I found myself standing before a large blue house. The house was protected with a large wall lined with barbed-wire, but inside the grounds were covered with many magnificent flower gardens. The home was beautiful, yet it brought a heaviness to my heart. I called out to Ravi, our host, simply inquiring where we were. “We are at the sex trafficking victims rehabilitation center, Mason”, he replied. I now understood the heaviness as my heart dropped even further. Ravi then led the team into the home, I nervously followed.
Once inside, we sat scattered timidly in a large, blue office as the ministry host elaborated on her mission and what the center was about. Their mission was dedicated to rescuing girls from the sex trafficking industry and giving them a healthy environment to grow and establish a normal life. Many of these girls are kidnapped or sold at ages as young as 7, and have never known anything besides this horrific life they were prisoners of. The center provided counseling as well as trade school to equip the women for a life of healing and self-sustainability going forward. Although the results are inspiring, there is a long road of pain and suffering that they walk with the girls. Most of the current residents ranged between age 10-40 but more specifically teenagers aged 13-15. Almost all of which were HIV positive. Each dispiriting fact she recited was another hefty blow to my heart. I couldn’t process the harsh reality these girls faced. I had gone completely numb.
We were then led through a tour of the facility. I was physically present, but my mind was no where to be found. I followed impassively, crying out to God inside for understanding. How could He let these girls go through such horrible things? How could people partake in such vile and appalling crimes against these girls? Not just girls, children! They were children! Helpless daughters and sisters subject to a painful life of misery and abuse. I thought of my sister and my future daughters, and I could feel my heart breaking. It felt like my heart was a pencil slowly being snapped in half. The weight kept bending, and the wood was gradually cracking and splintering but it was yet to shatter. A deep part of me was resisting the inevitable emotional outpouring that I so badly wanted and needed. Then, they led us into the room of girls…
Scattered across the floor was the group of young girls weaving baskets. As we entered they eagerly gazed up at us. Their eyes were piercing and told stories of hardship and suffering, yet across each of their faces was a magnificent, bashful smile. I was completely awestruck. My eyes bounced from beautiful face to beautiful face trying to absorb what was unfolding before me. Then I heard that familiar voice whisper to me, “Mason, these are my beautiful daughters”.
Snap! I completely broke. Tears were pouring down my cheeks. I quickly fled from the room and collapsed on the stairs. My deep sobs were echoing in the empty stairwell. I attempted to gather myself, but I was too far gone. My heart needed this, I was broken for these girls. They had endured so much undeserved pain. I could truly empathize for them, my selfish heart had been torn. In the midst of my emotional outpour, the Lord brought me a peace that passes my understanding. These were the inhumane results of our fallen world. I will never understand the misery and horror of this world but that is not my purpose here. I am here to relentlessly love God’s beautiful children. Jesus had truly broken my heart for what breaks his and that was such a magnificent lesson to learn.
