Chapter 3: Encounter

The next day, I was praying, reading the Bible, and worshiping God on my own at home. I don’t remember what I read, but I know I felt so refreshed, I decided to run on the malecón, or the boardwalk by the ocean. I had never run on a Sunday before, but that day I wanted to be near the ocean and feel the sun’s heat.

As I ran, I turned up the music and began to meditate on the lyrics and my own conversation with God. I was surprised I didn’t have to dodge more snack vendors, tourist police and other joggers enjoying the breezy afternoon. Sunday truly seemed to be a day of rest. Yet, in my own way, running was a way of resting for me, of communion with a God I had felt distant from for too long, wrapped up in Excel spreadsheets til late at night, secluded in my 3^rd floor apartment.

To my left, the ocean’s waves crashed on the rocky ledges, carrying with them bits of trash washed up from the city’s river. The malecón isn’t a beach, but it’s still the ocean.

In the distance in front of me, I saw a young, dark-skinned figure clad in an elastic, bright yellow strapless dress. It wasn’t an unusual sight to see couples or young families sitting together on the low, concrete wall that divided the sidewalk from the grass—and then the ocean. But this girl was all alone.

She’s a prostitute.

My mind blurted out the assumption. I kept running.

Wait, a prostitute?

Go talk to her.

Yeah, right. You’re crazy. What are you going to say to her?

I kept running. I had no reason to believe that was true. Even if it was, I didn’t talk to strangers in this city. At least, not unless I had a good reason. I was running, too. Why stop based on a fleeting thought that could be totally off-base?

But with each step, my heart felt heavier.

OK, God. If it’s really true that she’s a prostitute, and You want me to talk to her, let her still be there, all by herself, in the same spot.

I turned back, walking to slow my heart rate.

There she was.

“Hola.” I introduced myself, a bit awkwardly at first, and asked if I could sit down. She said yes, and told me her name was Carmen*. She seemed open and friendly, so I asked her the kinds of questions you ask when you first meet someone. 

"Tengo diecisiete años"—I'm seventeen years old. she told me.

“Do you have a job?” I asked.

“Si.”

“¿Dónde?”—Where?

“Aquí”, she answered, motioning to the oceanside boardwalk. It didn't mean my suspicion was true, but it seemed probable. I continued to speak as if nothing was outside of the ordinary. 

She told me she "lives" in the Jaragua, one of the casino resort hotels along Avenida George Washington.  But as we continued our conversation, it came out that she only stays there a few nights a week, when someone pays for it.

After years of hearing stories about underage prostitutes, attending awareness events advocating the abolition of modern day slavery, and waiting at countless red lights praying for God's light to shine in the red light districts in this country, here I was, speaking face-to-face with this girl. 

And that's just what she was--a girl. We sat on the concrete bench, our legs dangling beneath us, and chatted. Her hair was pulled back into a tiny bun, the flyaways pinned with several bobby pins. She had a quiet laugh that often spread from her beautiful brown eyes to her serene mouth. 

I told her God loves her no matter what, and that He has created her with potential and intelligence and grace.

“There are so many opportunities for you, Carmen”, I told her. “If you ever want to do anything else, don’t feel limited by this. And don’t ever believe the lie that God loves you more or less based on what you do.” I don’t remember what else I said, I just remember that I felt ill-equipped to say it. I didn’t know what to say, but I just opened my mouth and spoke. I was nervous, but I felt the peace of God filling me as I spoke. Finally, I asked if we could pray together. She said yes.

When I got up to leave, she looked at me and said,

“Dios te mandó aquí.” God sent you here.

The weight of what she said struck me. God had sent me here. But just in case I had any doubt about our conversation earlier during my run, He put those words in her mouth as confirmation.

“Yo lo sé.” I know.

Back at the apartment, I wrote to my family,

I had been feeling so discouraged over the past several weeks, but I had been seeking God so much today….

Please pray that if God wills I can see her again and we can meet to study the Bible together! I believe there is hope for her in the Name of Jesus. Carmen is one of so many in this country, and I have been praying every time I am at a red light, for God's light to shine in the red light districts. . . 

I wondered if I would ever see her again--or if my chance to shine the light had left as soon as it had come.