I was reading on stonescry blog (the author is a survivor of trafficking) and found this article. It really sums up what we want to do SATURDAY, MAY 11th. We are holding a prayer walk on the route where we will be holding the actual walk in September.
We will be praying for the victims, perpetrators, law enforcement officers, organizations like Rapha House and WellSpring Living, and the event and the participators.
We would love for you to join us to pray!
We will be praying for the victims, perpetrators, law enforcement officers, organizations like Rapha House and WellSpring Living, and the event and the participators.
We would love for you to join us to pray!
Earlier this week, a sweet friend emailed and said that she noticed that a
red X seemed to be the message of the day in the trafficking movement – said she didn’t know how I felt about it, but that she was praying. Praying for me, and for those still bound, and those who are still trying to recover.
I knew the red X. I mean, at least, I knew that it was part of another
awareness campaign – one backed by big bucks.
But at the time, I was sitting on the beach. And I didn’t care.
Later that evening I arrived home and saw the social media feeds and that it was “the” day for the red X. A day when everyone could take a red sharpie and put a big red X on their hand to bring awareness to the fact that modern day slavery still exists.
And the big bucks sent the advertising far and wide both within religious and non-religious groups, with big names jumping in to support the cause with their photos of red X’s on their hands.
And my heart broke just a little bit more.
Because who cares about awareness when you are the one sitting in the dark, holding the pieces of a broken heart, ravished by the injustice of slavery, trying to find a way to stay in this life?
And not a single red X that day brought even an ounce of comfort or healing to my broken heart- at all. And the only thing that had shed a breath of hope into me that day was the email from the friend who says she prays.
And I thought about my husband and how he had stayed up with me half the
night just the night before – again, crying tears and lifting prayers –
desperate prayers for God to spare my life, to heal me, to make me whole. He daily – and nightly – pours out prayer to God for my healing while I am
suffocating and drowning in hopelessness. Again. Because I can’t stand the
pain. And I can’t see past the moment. And all I can see is what life has
always been, and feels like it always will be.
And he sits by my side and prays. Because what else is there?
And it will take hours. And I will find Jesus again, and I will breathe
again, and I will make it for one more day, or one more night.
And when he prays, he is not wearing an X on his hand. But his heart is
torn, crying out in the dead silence of the night to the only One worth
telling.
Because He is desperate to see one he loves freed, and willing to give up
hours in intercession because that’s all there is to do when the hopelessness is threatening to drown his wife altogether, leaving him alone to raise the
children.
And he is alone in this – the only one praying for me and lifting prayers in
the deep dark of night for me, while you sleep soundly with your red X still on
your hand.
And if I know anything at all, I know this – that his prayers are
more pleasing to God than a billion red X’s on hands who want a cause but belong to hearts who never bow and never wrestle in intercession for the freedom of just one life.
red X seemed to be the message of the day in the trafficking movement – said she didn’t know how I felt about it, but that she was praying. Praying for me, and for those still bound, and those who are still trying to recover.
I knew the red X. I mean, at least, I knew that it was part of another
awareness campaign – one backed by big bucks.
But at the time, I was sitting on the beach. And I didn’t care.
Later that evening I arrived home and saw the social media feeds and that it was “the” day for the red X. A day when everyone could take a red sharpie and put a big red X on their hand to bring awareness to the fact that modern day slavery still exists.
And the big bucks sent the advertising far and wide both within religious and non-religious groups, with big names jumping in to support the cause with their photos of red X’s on their hands.
And my heart broke just a little bit more.
Because who cares about awareness when you are the one sitting in the dark, holding the pieces of a broken heart, ravished by the injustice of slavery, trying to find a way to stay in this life?
And not a single red X that day brought even an ounce of comfort or healing to my broken heart- at all. And the only thing that had shed a breath of hope into me that day was the email from the friend who says she prays.
And I thought about my husband and how he had stayed up with me half the
night just the night before – again, crying tears and lifting prayers –
desperate prayers for God to spare my life, to heal me, to make me whole. He daily – and nightly – pours out prayer to God for my healing while I am
suffocating and drowning in hopelessness. Again. Because I can’t stand the
pain. And I can’t see past the moment. And all I can see is what life has
always been, and feels like it always will be.
And he sits by my side and prays. Because what else is there?
And it will take hours. And I will find Jesus again, and I will breathe
again, and I will make it for one more day, or one more night.
And when he prays, he is not wearing an X on his hand. But his heart is
torn, crying out in the dead silence of the night to the only One worth
telling.
Because He is desperate to see one he loves freed, and willing to give up
hours in intercession because that’s all there is to do when the hopelessness is threatening to drown his wife altogether, leaving him alone to raise the
children.
And he is alone in this – the only one praying for me and lifting prayers in
the deep dark of night for me, while you sleep soundly with your red X still on
your hand.
And if I know anything at all, I know this – that his prayers are
more pleasing to God than a billion red X’s on hands who want a cause but belong to hearts who never bow and never wrestle in intercession for the freedom of just one life.