This morning I took a photographer with me to a human trafficking safe house I know. God laid it on my heart to do a media campaign with them for the 16 Days of activism against abuse starting on the 26th of November. When I spoke to the founder who is also a friend, she wanted to treat these women with photos of themselves as well. When we arrived at the Safe House, the girls were so excited, even the founder walked in halfway through and said she couldn't believe how different they all looked. They were giggling, posing, modelling, dressing up and being alive in the moment. I sat at the table and watched them, I was sitting holding a pen in my hand, blank paper in front of me. Before I looked again, one girl walked over to me and said, “can you write what I tell you on to the paper?” “Sure" I remarked and began writing her words. She had so much to say, we had to finally choose just one sentence. Before long another girl wrote words on paper and wanted to stand in the photos with her story. I wrote for 4 girls and writing for them somehow connected me with their stories, with their hearts. I really did not know how to tell them what I wanted to say. It’s not pity, it’s not empathy, it was love and I wanted to tell them that they are loved. Pure and simple. And that Love connected me with them.
As I sat watching them pose with their faces covered (to protect their identity), each one of them were veiled but visible because of their words. They wanted to share their stories with the world. They wanted to speak words without sound that others could hear. As I sat there my eyes fell on their words, on their pages. White pages with black writing on, so much like their souls, innocent women, sold, beaten, broken, abused. Now having to overcome the black ink of the world on their souls. Yet they found courage to stand up, to stand tall, to overcome through their words. Words heal. Words set free. As I sat there, God showed me again about this holy calling of writing. How writing heals, it tells the stories of people who will be forgotten if we do not capture their legacies in words. Writing is one of the greatest forms of healing and we gravitate towards it when our lives have been shattered. Writing connects the fragments of our memories, it aids healing. Words, God used them powerfully, through words He formed the earth and its beauty. Through words, He birthed the lights, the trees, the animals, everything. Through words He speaks to my soul, connects me with His Love and Passion, with words He heals my own sometimes broken, weary soul.
That picture will be framed in the locker of my mind. That picture of those four women standing against the wall, faces covered, but their stories alive because of the white pages filled with life’s confessions. Our written words are holy tools given from Heaven, they are not there for self – promotion or gratification, but our words are javelins that we launch towards the enemy’s encampment. May we be good with our words, trustworthy with our words and always ready to battle the enemy with the atom bomb called words.
When my husband and I got home this afternoon, we held hands and prayed for the girls at the Safe House and then my hubby prayed for me and said "Thank You Father for my wife, who helps the community, who looks for opportunity to change things and stands for justice." It made me cry, because it was the first time he prayed for that specific area. He prays usually for everything else but it was as though this community heart, this social justice heart was lifted up today. And I am also guest posting over at Mudroom today all about..... Social Justice!! This strange ache I nursed inside for years, a desire to do something more..... that's the story I shared today and isn't God's timing just amazing! Here is the link: