Finding Solidarity: Reflections on the Global Conference of the International Christian Alliance on Prostitution

As soon as I arrived, I became an emotional wreck for days, feeling the tears well up inside me at any given moment and for no explainable reason. After a sob therapy session, I took some time in the prayer room to quietly reflect - tried to breathe deeply, to quiet my body and mind that had been racing in preparation for this trip.

I began to walk the labyrinth in the center of the room, slowly following the lines set before me.

And as I walked…. I realized how very alone I feel.

The Day She Stopped Running

Honestly, I understand why Ada was mad at God. Misfortune and disaster seem to hunt her, and it’s hard not to blame it on an all-powerful Father.

Vanessa's Transformation

On a chilly Wednesday evening, a small team made its weekly visit to the red-light district, and met Vanessa.* At 28 y/o, she had resorted to prostitution a few months prior to make ends meet for her two young sons.

You're The One We're Looking For

In the red-light district a block from our ministry center, there are 500 beds. As we do every Christmas, we enter each of the fourteen brothels there donning Santa Claus hats and proclaiming the gospel through Christmas carols. The administrators were, as always, remarkably accepting; some even genuinely enjoying the cheerful invasion. One administrator in particular pulled us aside and told our staff, "I've got a girl who's not doing well. Think she's about to die."

Analise's Story

Although she visited our ministry center years ago, she wasn’t quite ready for change. But when she hit rock bottom, she knew where to turn for help.

Let the Little Children Come

I felt my soul pierced. In a physical sense, it took my breath. This was someone else’s baby, born into the world through pain and sweat and love - as special and treasured as my own daughter who was at home with a caregiver. I felt the weight of indignation descend upon me. I was witnessing a lamentable injustice, and unfortunately a common one both near and far – a child’s true identity lost.

My First Trip To A Bolivian Brothel

We walk into the first brothel; only red lights illuminate the shadows of utter darkness inside. The heavy smell of incense and alcohol, along with the pulsing music, adds to the stifling atmosphere. It’s hard to breathe in here.

Growing Up in the Red-Light District

“Human trafficking,” she said, “that’s my thing,”

“Human trafficking,” she said, “that’s my thing,” as if it were a dessert affinity or a favorite dog breed, the selected piggy bank for her charitable thoughts or pennies – this was her proclaimed issue of choice, her thing.