Imagine.

Imagine.

Imagine the seediness. The dark corners of the bars, illuminated only by the contrasting harsh, fluorescent lighting in blue, pink, red. The heavy beat of the dance music, thumping in the rhythm of a heartbeat yet without any heart behind it at all.

Imagine the leering eyes of passers-by, sizing up each place, and specifically each woman within that place. Men with wedding rings and men without wedding rings but with tan lines that indicate their presence only moments before devour the scantily clad bodies before them with their eyes in a matter of seconds. Old white men, young white men, middle-age Asian men, and even couples of all ages, scouring each establishment to see which meets their criteria. Pretty enough? Young enough? Easy enough? Cheap enough?

Consider the stares, the judgment of those who've come to see this spectacle without any intent to purchase, whose curiosity fuels the lust behind those looks. The clean-cut teenaged boy staying in a hotel just down the block, who probably told his parents he was running to the 7-11 for a coke, can't help but glance inconspicuously, longingly, as he passes by. Except it isn't inconspicuous at all. Only in his mind and in his conscience.

But this isn't just a place of voyeurism. Imagine the feeling in the pit of the stomach when that old, overweight man with the grabby hands actually comes into the establishment. Or maybe it's the handsome younger man with a steely look that conveys his true heartlessness and the determination to get what he wants on demand. Imagine the internal struggle, the agony on the inside masked by the bright, seductive smile on the outside. The smile is automatic now, no longer having to be prompted by the boss to be more friendly, more seductive, more enticing. That lesson was learned the hard way.

Imagine the thoughts that run through the mind throughout the duration of the drinks, or maybe dinner, through the cheap small talk. What comes next is inevitable, and yet the client has to be placated by feigned interest in his life. The dread only grows stronger as the minutes count down, as the last bites are taken. Yet through the dread, the flirtation and the come-hither eyes are second nature now. The deal must be sealed, after all.

Imagine that you were lured to this city, the promise of a job in retail or a restaurant providing enough motivation to leave your village, your refugee camp, your impoverished life. Parental expectations of financial support for survival, and the weight of responsibility for multiple younger siblings, perhaps made these empty promises seem like the only way to make the family proud. But, shortly after arrival, the realization comes that no such job exists. Physical brokenness awaits at the hands of a cruel new boss, and a new reality begins. Someone's property now, with a transportation debt so high and threats against family back home so convincing that escape seems impossible. Maybe it actually is impossible.

Or, maybe it was a willing choice to be here. In the beginning, at least. Maybe entering this lifestyle happened purposefully, with a steady income to be had and the illusion of finding a wealthy man to marry enough of a mirage to look past the stench of the back room that would become a permanent fixture in life. That man of dreams? Sure, many men have come and gone for the past 15 years, but no marriage proposals. Only business transactions, sometimes resulting in a child that would, out of necessity, go to live with its grandparents. The logistics of life in the red light district aren't exactly conducive to child-rearing.

In the end, the circumstances by which this lifestyle was entered are less important than the now. Now is the reality that one's economical value is determined by client after client, night after night, month after month, year after year. That one's self-worth deteriorates each time her body is exploited, taken advantage of. It's a consumer-driven business and her needs, her protection, her dignity, her dreams… well, they don't exactly count. For the price of a fast-food dinner in the States, she is forced to surrender again, and again, and again, and again. No holidays, no sick days, and certainly no vacation or benefits package.

And while the physical aspects of the job are by no means pleasant, just as ugly are the knowing looks from shopkeepers, tourists, religious organizations. Those looks speak volumes. The clients don't make one feel beautiful or loved or valued in any way, but the pariah status speaks directly to the heart. No value in your life. No purpose, no worth, no hope, no future. Unredeemable trash.

Just imagine.

Friends, this bleak reality is exactly that - a reality for millions of women and children around the world. In Thailand, where prostitution is illegal, the country is estimated to have 2.8 million prostitutes, with 800,000 of those being children. Red light districts appear in every major city, and victims there are forced into slavery… or they entered willingly but are now trapped. These women have captured my heart because they have captured the heart of Jesus. They don't know Him, not yet, but He knows them. He's known them from the beginning of time. He loves them. He weeps with them. He has plans for them, purpose and a future for them. There IS hope for their lives.

Even here, in Oklahoma, prostitution exists and yes, even the trafficking of women and children. How can we attune ourselves to the heartbeat of God for these women? Instead of making snap judgements or jumping to conclusions, we can choose to see them as He does… as beautiful, valuable, fragile. Just as He invited us into community with Him, we can reach out and do the same for these women. And in doing so, we can change the world.