Today was Day Two of my yard sale to Save the Girls: A Ministry of Message, Rescue and Care. The purpose is raising awareness and funds to stop child sex slavery. The crescendo sounded the last ten minutes. I’ll tell you about it in a sec.
If you missed Day One, you can read all about it atReal Hurts, Real Hope, my other blog.
My vision for this ministry is for people to get mad and host a Save the Girls yard sale so that they happen all over North America and girls are rescued and cared for in the name of Christ, that they know true freedom in him and that you and I experience the compassion and mercy and justice of our loving God.
Here’s me, wearing a Save the Girls tee.
Lucy wants more people to stop at the yard sale to Save the Girls. By the way, the stuffed animals are slow movers, even at 25 cents a piece.
Now the crescendo.
I’d love to say that the man with a ministry to the homeless in Chicago returned today, hefty donation check (as promised) in hand. He didn’t. Tomorrow? Only God knows.
I’d love to report that the yard saled pulled in more money today than yesterday. It didn’t. We got about half as much.
Instead, about 2 in the afternoon, as my friend Allyson and I began closing the yard sale, I noticed a man giving the box of books a thorough thrice-over. Thinking he must be choosing which Christian title he liked the best, I said something like, “You like Christian books?”
He pulled back his hand. . .fast.
“Then I better not touch them.”
This was the moment. The opportunity. The reason he stopped and I stopped for a God conversation.
“What do you mean?” My soft tone held no judgment yet he felt judged.
“Don’t I have to be good to touch them?” Good? Here we were, me in a tee shirt, shorts and sneakers and him in casual business clothes, nice shoes and a haircut that said, “I’m a successful, self-made man.”
“No, you don’t have to be good,” I replied. “They’re for sinners.”
“Then I guess they’re for me.”
Looking into his blue eyes, pretending not to see his smirk (or was it a crooked smile?), I said, “We all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” I don’t know if he knew these words came from the Bible. He changed the subject to Save the Girls.
“So this is for charity?” he asked.
Then I shared my 15-second speech about saving girls out of sex slavery and getting them care, even job training. I cited some statistics. He appeared skeptical. At least this was Allyson’s interpretation. He asked the perfect question: “How do we stop it?”
“God can stop it,” I said. I felt kinda stupid. . .hoping he wouldn’t ask the next obvious question: If God can stop it, why doesn’t he?
He never asked it.
He handed me a five-dollar-bill for a fifty-cent book titled New Passages by Gail Sheehy and turned toward the sidewalk.
“Do you want your change?”
“No. Keep it,” he said and nodded at the Save the Girls donation jar.
This was the best money we made all day. A sinner chose to save the girls. And God humbled me. Praise our God. Pray for this man. I do not know his name. God does.
Allyson checks yesterday's blogpost.
JoAnna and Sarah sit among baby clothes, relishing the breeze.
Are you a writer? Follow “The Making of a Book” posts to see how it’s done. Well, how I do it. Hey, my latest book could be a best-seller! Or not. Dare to join me on a wild ride.
Close to three million people listened to me onKFAX 1100 AM in the San Francisco Bay area during drive time this week. The radio host mentioned my website several times. My heart cartwheeled down a hill, giggling.
The thought, “Will I get my book deal now?” zipped through my mind.
You see, a few things have happened since I wrote part 6 of The Making of a Book, a series on this blog. (If you’re a writer looking for a break in this tough economy, search this phrase on this blog. You’ll read my ups and downs and if you need help getting your writing career off the ground, contact me.)
These latest happenings sound like a chapter from a How to Get Published handbook.
Attend another writers’ conference.CHECK.
Walk up to an agent, give a 30-second “elevator speech,” and ask to meet with him or her.CHECK.
Meet with the agent at the writers’ conference.CHECK.
Upon his/her request, email the book proposal to the agency.CHECK TIMES 100.
So I emailed it and waited, waited some more, he wrote back, and still likes it. He asked me to tweak it and pump up the “platform” portion. Publishers like ocean-sized platforms. The bigger the size, the greater the likelihood the author will land a contract and the book will sell well.
My platform size? Maybe a lake. It’s hard to measure these things.
Then along came a Twitter butterfly, who flitted onto my path and landed on my orange daisies. (Orange daisies grow all over my websites, blogs, desk, tee shirts. Orange says “bold.” The petals are tender. Butterflies love em.)
This particular butterfly produces radio and has booked me on three shows so far, with more in the works. Millions of listeners. A much bigger lake, maybe even a Great Lake.
This week I’m pumping up my book proposal with this new platform info and sending it back to the agency for another look.
God willing, this is the day the Lord used a Twitter butterfly to “bring it.”
“This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” Psalm 118:24
And if I cared like Jesus, would I do stuff different?
You bet I would. Less of me. More of him.
Yada yada yada.
However, a message — found at a missions and ministry conference in San Diego (at least this is what I was told) — hit me where it hurts. My pride.
I’d love to think I have it all together spiritually. I don’t. We are ALL in process.
Here’s the message:
I was hungry and you formed a humanities group to discuss my hunger.
I was imprisoned and you crept off quietly to your chapel and prayed for my release.
I was naked and in your mind you debated the morality of my appearance.
I was sick and you knelt and thanked God for your health.
I was homeless and you preached to me the spiritual love of God.
I was lonely and you left me alone to pray for me. You seem so holy, so close to God.
But I am still very hungry — and lonely — and cold.
Busted? Me too.
Sure, I counsel hurting women. And, yeah, I’m putting together a ministry to help child sex slaves. But what about the widows in my church? The single moms? The moms grieving the loss of a child?
Woe is me. . .because I haven’t fed the hungry and clothed the naked or — tra-la-la — slipped into my Super Saint cape and did it all for everyone.
The true Rescuer pulls me out of the quicksand of twisted perfectionistic self-pity and gently reminds me what’s most important: my relationship with him. As I tune in to him, he’ll direct me and his purposes prevail.
Always.
Rather than worry, I must trust that he is in control and. . .
This is a horrible topic, and some of you won’t read past this sentence. That’s OK. I understand.
The thought that one human would use another human like a toilet sickens me. I want to look away. I want to pretend child sex slavery is a myth.
Now a confession: God gave me an idea to hold a yard sale and encourage others across North America to do likewise in order to raise awareness and funds to save the girls.
Have I? No. Do I feel bad? Kind of.
I had been excited about this venture. So simple, really. But then I put it on a back burner. What I don’t know: Was I rushing ahead with my plans, not God’s?
Please pray for this new ministry. A dear, dear friend and nationally acclaimed artist drew the logo for Save the Girls. Her name is Lynn Parker and she’s on Facebook. All I have to do is get t-shirts and yard signs printed.
Meanwhile, the crime continues. In fact, it’s getting worse.
So while I fence sit — uncomfortable! — support Purse of Hope, a nonprofit that sells purses. It’s SO much more. The owners have purchased a home in Uganda, where the freed sex slaves receive Christian counsel, health care (many girls have STDs, even HIV) and job training. When you go to their website, you may notice it isn’t overtly Christian. Why? The owners want to operate safe havens for freed girls in anti-Christian countries. I assure you, the girls receive biblical truth. They discover Jesus. They regain true hope. Next destination: India
Kristen Hendricks, founder of Purse of Hope, tapped these words on her keyboard to describe the sick reality of sex slavery:
Imagine walking past a cracked door and catching a glimpse of a small twelve-year-old girl curled up in the corner hugging her knees to her chest.
This child’s name is Banji and in a tiny, bleak, windowless room that is hardly bigger than her filthy mattress, she is forced to service up to thirty men a day.
Imagine the thoughts that must run through her mind. Imagine her anguish and her physical and emotional pain. Imagine how little the future holds for her.
Now imagine not just one room with one girl, but the millions of children in countless cities worldwide that are being forced to feed the insidious demand of the commercial sex trade.
Now, for just a single moment, imagine that one of those children was yours…
Whoa!
This is not a piece of fiction.
I wish it were.
Several years ago, Kristen and two friends started up a handbag business: funky, conservative, stylish; then she stumbled on a video about child sex slavery. Driven, she researched the topic. And soon found herself in Uganda, ministering to sex slaves.
God orchestrated her steps. Through Purse of Hope, she bought a home in Uganda to provide safety
and hope
and the love of Christ to the girls.
Every handbag sold by her companyJuxtaposie helps the former sex slaves.
You can help fight sex slavery.
First, pray, pray, pray.
Second, tweet this post or put it to Facebook so more people know.
Third, if you’re in the market for a cute handbag, buy one through Juxtaposie. ClickHERE or on the Juxtaposie logo to the right. Twenty percent of a sale goes to support the girls at the Uganda home.
Finally, please share your thoughts here. I think I need a kick in the rear to jumpstart Save the Girls: A Ministry of Message, Rescue and Care. Would you consider holding a yard sale to raise awareness and funds to fight sex slavery? I need ideas. I need encouragement. I need to trust God.
Thank you!
You can change your world because Christ has changed you!
As I watched this video, my heart grew three sizes and tears ran down my cheeks. I had glimped God’s beauty, his strength. And I wondered, would I have picked up the injured “enemy”? Would I have put the opponents’ interest before my own?
The unselfishness of two truly beautiful softball players remind me of Jesus. The most unlikely person, according to human standards, saves us all. Enjoy.
Please pause my music player at the bottom of the page. : )
Close to three million people listened to me on
Do you care, really care? Do I?
