Walking into the red-light district,
I see an untapped army before me.
In the cacophony of noise and lust
I see Spartans and Vikings dressed in skimpy clothes and high heels.
Survivors are among the most fearsome warriors on the face of the earth.
Scarred. Resilient. Fierce.
They survive unthinkable pain and rise again from the ashes.
They smile, defying the chains of captivity adorning their bodies.
They have dined on brutality and born children in the dark.
I am moved by their glory, and I am moved by their power.
I am moved by their still lingering victory.
A war cry resonates deep in my soul
“Get up, Child! Fight! Fight for your life!
You are made in the image of the Conquering King!
His blood runs through your veins!”
A young girl in a “Little Kitty” nightgown rides past on her
tiny pink bicycle. I have watched her grow up in this bar.
Last week, she still had training wheels.
Now she rides wobbly and free down the dark brothel lined alley.
She must be about seven years old now.
I want to celebrate her accomplishment and then…
I remember where I am, where she lives.
The wolves hunt, they devour and consume, and I roar with the
pain of it, the grief over those for whom victory never comes.
I cry out for the 12-year-old mama and her 1-month-old baby
returned to those who exploited her…
And for the 20 young ones who were not rescued
because the traffickers were tipped off.
A war cry resonates deep in my soul.
“Get up, Child! Fight! Fight for your life!
You are made in the image of the Conquering King!
His blood runs through your veins!”
If there is ever to be an end to this battle against slavery,
it will come at the hands of the survivors themselves.
Redeemed, called out, set apart for the Kingdom
& the glory of their Risen King.
The wolves feast at night, but Light is coming into the
Darkness, and the darkness cannot overwhelm it.
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