Who Will Help Me?

As my friend and I began our women’s ministry at the county jail, I began noticing that many of these women would talk about their "mom" or their "daughter," yet realizing they weren’t their real mom or daughter.  At first, I thought it may just be one of those blended family issues, with steps and exes, etc.  But then I began realizing there was no formal relationship at all.  These were simply broken women, finding family in each other.  Often, they were women who had lost their moms and been placed in foster care, and then had borne children that were taken from them and placed in foster care.  Younger women and older women who found each other—on the streets or in the jail—and bonded in a special way.  It made me realize how strong the desire is to be nurtured and to nurture.  Even in the chaos of their worlds, where the God-given family structure was nowhere to be found and even their version of family had been annihilated by their circumstances and their choices, these women longed to be mothers and longed to be daughters.  And so, I would see these 40 somethings taking the 20 somethings under their wings, to console, to mentor, to teach.  It was beautiful in a sad way.  Strong testament to the God-given urge to give and receive love in the bonds of family, heart-breaking to see how far removed it was from what God had originally intended.

One day, only two came out for Bible study.  It may have been one of those "mother"/"daughter" relationships.  The 40 something had been coming regularly, and it was clear that she had a lot of clout in the block.  Even as she attended Bible study and was truly making strides in her faith walk, it was pretty clear that only certain gals came out when she came and others would stay back, even if they may have liked to come.  (Justification may come quickly, sanctification is most certainly a process!)  Regardless, this day just the two of them came to Bible study.  It didn’t take long to realize that the 40 something had a bit of an agenda, and it seemed to be an attempt for the 20 something to have a place to share her story and seek the help she needed.  God could use even the "clout" and the "screening" for his good!

The young woman began to just pour her heart out.  In the times that I had met her it was clear that she had little to no education.  She had made it sound like she was in trouble for stealing at Walmart.  She had had questions about whether it was okay to lie in order to protect people she cared about or to try to minimize her sentence.  Yet on that day, as her story poured out, so much became clear.  No wonder she did not have an education, she had already been in the sex industry for years.  She had been arrested at Walmart, but it was for trying to "recruit" other young girls into the trade.  She was wondering about lying because she was looking at some serious charges and a lengthy sentence for her role in the sex trafficking circles. 

And yet, as I listened to her and watched her, I couldn’t help but wonder . . . who was the victim here?  This was the same girl that had naively asked what would happen if a woman had sex with a horse when we were studying how kinds reproduced after their own kinds in Genesis!  She went on to explain that when she was like 5, she and her cousin were watching a porn movie where a woman was having sex with a horse.  (She did offer a brief comment that she realized she shouldn’t have been watching that.  You think?!)  Her older and wiser cousin—age 7—had informed her that the baby would be half human and half horse.  This 20 something still did not know that this was not how it really was!  I had an innocent, five-year-old grandson at the time.  I tried to keep my jaw from hitting the table as she shared this story from her childhood.  What kind of life could a child hope to lead if they were exposed to bestiality at 5!!!  Little did I know at the time, but this is a common way in which traffickers "groom" young children for the sex industry.

I can still remember her just sobbing.  The feds wanted to meet with her.  They expected her to rat on the others in the racket—her "cousins," which I would come to learn were more likely fellow gang members than her aunt and uncle’s children.  In exchange they would give her some leniency in her sentencing.  The sobs racked her body as she cried out, “Who is going to look out for me!  The feds expect me to help them out, but who will help me!  Sure, I might get out or get out earlier, but to what?  I’ll just get sucked right back into the same lifestyle, the same awful things, the same running and hiding.  Who is going to help me!”  My friend and I just looked at each other.  We hadn’t been coming to the jail very long.  We were green, we were naïve, we were shocked to our core as we caught glimpses of a life we knew absolutely nothing of.   A life that we wanted to pretend didn’t really happen, not in the real world.  But the hard truth was that it did.  And this 20 something was just one of so many. 

My friend and I had come wanting to make a difference.  We had been convicted that we were to move beyond the walls of the church.  Jesus had left the synagogue in Jerusalem to care for the lepers and the outcasts . . . where was our mission field?  Well, this was it.  The jail would teach us so many things, hard truths, helpful responses, not-so-helpful responses.  The light of Christ certainly shines brightly in such darkness, and that was something that we could bring in with us—past all the security guards, the metal detectors, through the heavy doors that slammed shut behind us.  But what about when these women walked out those heavy, slamming doors?  What would they be returning to?  And what was God asking us to do about it. 

As a part of the work at the Christian camp God had pointed me towards, I had recently visited a horse ministry for young girls in Minnesota.  One that was specifically for young women caught up in trafficking.  We shared that bit of hope with her.  Maybe she could find a place like that to help her start a new life.   My friend had been learning all about trauma-informed care because of her adopted son.  She had shared of her desire to start, what she called, The Brain House.  A place where people understood how trauma impacted the brain and, thus, behaviors.  At one of our first coffees, we had agreed, maybe we were to combine our visions.  Horses are a really powerful tool in the battle against trauma.  As we stood in the hub area at the jail, waiting for the next block to come out, she just looked at me and said, “We need to build The Brain House.”

Little did we know that these little steps of obedience would lead us to the founding of a nonprofit we would call Chrysalis…and, ultimately, to unveiling truths of what brings genuine transformation.

“Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved

the church and gave himself up for her”

Ephesians 5:25 NIV

“Wives, submit yourselves to your own

husbands as you do to the Lord.”

Ephesians 5:22 NIV

“Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.”

Ephesians 6:1 NIV

“Just as a nursing mother cares for her

children, so we cared for you.”

1 Thessalonians 2:7b-8a NIV