Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see. Hebrews 11:1
Last night we went out to meet some girls on the street, ones not in our program yet, to see if the needs were different for the different area or if the basic need was the same. This area was a little bit nicer and the cost for the girls a little bit pricier. Our goal was to take them to dinner just talk to them and find out more about how they got forced into prostitution. In talking with them, the story was mostly the same, orphans who were unloved and unwanted by society, cast out because of a certain tribe they belonged to. In their pain and humiliation they were forced into prostitution by society, by circumstance, by lack of good in the world.
One, named Jen, shared her story of being 13 years old when the Genocide happened and having to carry her baby sister on her back while dragging 2 more siblings behind her. She made her way to Burundi to find a refugee camp. Since her parents were killed and she knew she had to provide for her family she returned to Rwanda and used the Genocide fund to put herself through school for a little while before she realized she wouldn’t be able finish if she wanted her siblings to finish school. So she gave up on her dream to better the lives of her family. Still raising her siblings and a child of her own, she was forced into prostitution to be able to provide for all of them.
The other, whose Kinyarwanda name translates to Gift, shared her story of being unwanted because she was a Tutsi girl, the targeted tribe during the Genocide in 1994. She was forced out of her home and ended up in the city with no way to live. She met a friend who worked on the streets, who introduced her to the life as a prostitute, coercing her into living the same life. She also shared stories of being beaten with electrical cords or fists for not behaving properly. This girl was so lost, confused and hurting. She didn’t trust us or the God we talked about. She only knew how to survive and never thought for a moment she was worth loving.
As we take them back to the street where we found them, I am horribly disturbed and terrified for them. I wonder at this point where God is in all this. I cry to Him to show me where He is. He whispers “I’m right here, and I know” God doesn’t apologize for the pain, but He is there with us in it. I have to remember that God feels the pain for them more than I do. Only the pain a father can feel for His children who are suffering. My chest physically hurts as we drive away and leave them. Everyone in the car is silent and scarred by this encounter. But I know only God can help them at this point, and all I can do is love them like He does. I have to know that showing Gift that we cared for her and letting her know of a bigger love was enough at the time. And Jen, who seemed to know who God was, may find her way back to Him. I have to leave the rest to God, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I am reminded of my own human emotions and my own human limitations, and I don’t like it. But I think that is what God is teaching me in this, to rely on Him only, not on me, for anything. Faith in Him alone.
One, named Jen, shared her story of being 13 years old when the Genocide happened and having to carry her baby sister on her back while dragging 2 more siblings behind her. She made her way to Burundi to find a refugee camp. Since her parents were killed and she knew she had to provide for her family she returned to Rwanda and used the Genocide fund to put herself through school for a little while before she realized she wouldn’t be able finish if she wanted her siblings to finish school. So she gave up on her dream to better the lives of her family. Still raising her siblings and a child of her own, she was forced into prostitution to be able to provide for all of them.
The other, whose Kinyarwanda name translates to Gift, shared her story of being unwanted because she was a Tutsi girl, the targeted tribe during the Genocide in 1994. She was forced out of her home and ended up in the city with no way to live. She met a friend who worked on the streets, who introduced her to the life as a prostitute, coercing her into living the same life. She also shared stories of being beaten with electrical cords or fists for not behaving properly. This girl was so lost, confused and hurting. She didn’t trust us or the God we talked about. She only knew how to survive and never thought for a moment she was worth loving.
As we take them back to the street where we found them, I am horribly disturbed and terrified for them. I wonder at this point where God is in all this. I cry to Him to show me where He is. He whispers “I’m right here, and I know” God doesn’t apologize for the pain, but He is there with us in it. I have to remember that God feels the pain for them more than I do. Only the pain a father can feel for His children who are suffering. My chest physically hurts as we drive away and leave them. Everyone in the car is silent and scarred by this encounter. But I know only God can help them at this point, and all I can do is love them like He does. I have to know that showing Gift that we cared for her and letting her know of a bigger love was enough at the time. And Jen, who seemed to know who God was, may find her way back to Him. I have to leave the rest to God, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. I am reminded of my own human emotions and my own human limitations, and I don’t like it. But I think that is what God is teaching me in this, to rely on Him only, not on me, for anything. Faith in Him alone.