I’ll never forget how I felt that morning.
I knocked on the door, but no one answered.
Surely they haven’t left
the house already, I told myself.
I just kept knocking.
Finally, I heard a voice,
“¿Quién es?”
Who is it?
“Abby”, I answered. “Is Carmen ready?”
Andre answered, “No, she’s not here.”
I paused to catch my breath.
“¿Qué?”
What? Surely I had heard wrong.
“No está aquí.” She’s not here. She went to
her mom’s house, Andre explained.
I couldn’t believe it. Whose house? Her mom’s house?
The one who abandoned her to work in the streets?
Andre opened the door to stand in the hallway and talk
with me.
"Yes, she’s at her mom’s house, since 6 in the morning," he said.
"Doesn’t she remember that today is the day she said
she would move in?" I asked.
"I don’t know," Andre said. "She just said she had to
talk with her mom, and left early."
I slumped down to the floor.
"What are you doing?"Andre asked.
"I don’t know. I’m waiting," I said.
I opened my Bible to catch the tears that were
brimming in my eyes. They weren’t ready to fall yet, though. I was still
fighting, still holding onto hope. I began to intercede.
God, turn this around somehow. I don’t understand why she would go to
her mother at a moment like this. Her mother who doesn’t love her. Those aren’t
my words, those are Andre’s words. I might as well be her mother for all that I
love her, even if I have shown it in imperfectly, oh God. Even my flawed love
is better than the love of a mother who turns out her own child, knowing she
will sell herself just to survive. What does Carmen’s mother have to do with whether
or not she moves into the safe house, God? Why should she care what her mother
says?
There in the hallway, slumped against the wall, I
prayed for wisdom. I prayed for hope. I prayed for the situation to somehow not
be as bad as it seemed, for fear my heart would break in two.
Twenty minutes later, Andre peeked through the door
again.
"You’re still here?" he asked.
"Yes," I said, my Bible open on my lap. "I’m still here."
He stared at me for a few seconds.
"Abby, Carmen is here," he said.
"What?" I asked. "Here, as in where?"
"Here. Here in the apartment, in bed, hiding."
"Andre, really?"
"Yes."
I didn’t have the heart to ask him why he had lied to
me. I just asked if I could come in. He said yes.
Carmen was laying on the bed, at the end of the room
where you had to crouch down because the ceiling was too low.
I asked her if she still wanted to move in that day.
"No."
No, she didn’t want to. Not today.
I sat down on the floor next to Carmen’s bed, and
began to cry. I didn’t mean to manipulate Carmen, but at the same time, I hoped
my sincere tears would help her catch the tiniest glimpse of her value as a
human being. I sat there and prayed for her, silently.
Suddenly, Carmen started to
sing a popular bachata song with some really lustful lyrics. The song is really
catchy and was always playing in the streets, but I really disliked it because
it has such a wrong message. I really felt that happened at that moment for a
reason, for me to know what to intercede for. I felt the curtain had been taken
off to show me what kind of spiritual warfare I was dealing with.
I wrote later, “I don't want
to paint Carmen as some kind of promiscuous woman because she really is just a
child—but she has been accustomed to being consumed in this way, and has maybe
even attached some kind of personal value to that. You can't expect a child who
has been abandoned to know what true love really looks like. Please pray for
God's true love to break through all misconceptions of love and for His power
to break every chain! Jesus' blood speaks a better word over Carmen!”
“Why don’t you want to move in today?” I asked her.
"I’m sick," she said.
It was true. So was Andre. They both had bronchitis
and a slight fever.
That day, instead of taking a bus to Juan Dolio, we
trekked around the Colonial Zone to the free clinic, back to my house to get
some cash, and then to at least four different pharmacies, in search of the
prescribed antibiotic.
On the way back, I told Carmen she could change her
mind if she wanted to, but,
“I don’t want you to have to reach a new low to want
to escape this again. You finally made the decision because you lost your baby—because
that was the most pain you had ever experienced. I saw you in that pain,
reaching for hope. Now the pain has numbed a bit, and instead of reaching for
hope, you’d rather stay in the same situation, where the same thing, and worse
things, can happen all over again. Carmen, I don’t want to see you reach
another low again, before you choose hope.”
I asked Carmen if she didn't want to move because of
her mother. She told me that, yes, she was anxious about her mom finding out later through children’s' services that
she was in the safe house, and would rather tell her herself. This presented a
difficulty because she couldn't even describe where her mom lives or how to get
there, and she didn't have a cell phone number.
I told Carmen,
"Look, your mom
abandoned you and I respect your attempts to respect her and communicate with
her, but when someone who is your family doesn't care for you, and you are
blessed enough to have God put other people in your life who do, we are more
your family to you than she is.
I didn't know how much she understood. My words were difficult for her to hear and I could
tell she was processing them, but was also very wounded and just plain
exhausted after walking around the city in the harsh sunlight, with a
slight fever.
Over lunch, I prayed for her and Andre to be healed. I
told them to drink a lot of water and rest, and that I would check on them
later.
That night, after collapsing
in tears at my mentor’s house, I wrote,
“We prayed a lot today and I
really want to see God coming through, but this is not my decision and it has
to come from Carmen. She has to really want it, and tell me that. That's what I
have told her the whole time. I cannot control or pressure her but I do love
her and it's hard to see her wavering back and forth. Only the Holy Spirit can
draw her, so please pray for Him to work. I know He has been, but today was
just a hard day.”
Erica wrote back,
I know
it seems frustrating not to bring her right into the house....but these are
EXACTLY the kinds of lessons that need to be experienced as walk "on the
way" in God's timing. Continuing to pray for the details and the ministry
you have in her life "for such a time as this."
Don't get discouraged. Many times we see the decisions of the girls/women
as reflection of our doing - it's not. They each have to choose their path...we
can only encourage & LIVE IT OUT before them!!! Thanks for living it out in
front of Carmen. She may need more time...but we all grieve knowing TODAY is
always the best time.
I have learned
that many of the girls want "change." But they don't necessarily want
Christ. I am praying for Carmen to be drawn by the Spirit and
choose Christ --- not Lily House, not the Christians, not a safe house, not
pretty jewelry making......but that she understands her basic, most terrifying need is
the forgiveness & love of the Son of God.
