Chapter 12: The Battle on Our Knees

The next few days were a struggle.

Erica, the missionary at the only safe house that could possibly accept minors, told me “Conani”, or Dominican Children’s Services, had scheduled a meeting with her. I wanted desperately to look Carmen in the eyes and tell her that there really was a place for her—a place to work, to laugh, to heal, and to love and be loved by the Father and His children. But Erica could only tell me,

“I’m sorry not to be able to bring her in immediately, but because she is a minor we legally have had to start going thru Conani and that can slow things down. I pray she is in a safe place in the meantime.”

I didn’t have much faith in Carmen’s safety. After she visited church with me for the first time, I had seen a car drive slowly past her, and yell something out the door. I couldn’t understand what he said, but I wrote to Lidy later to say,

“He didn’t have anything good in his mind."

I put myself next to Carmen and looked right at him. The car started moving again, and he left.

"I feel that her whole being is telling her, deje eso--leave that behind. Stop, this is not for you anymore. But if she doesn’t have another environment to live in, she is going to start all over again—because she is known in the streets here. She’s not in school, and she doesn’t have anyone to take care of her."

"SHE DOESN'T BELONG TO THE STREETS", Lidy wrote back in all caps in the chat box. I agreed. This wasn't her destiny. 

Erica asked me to explain why Carmen got started in prostitution, so she would be able to answer Conani’s questions. Carmen’s answer sent chills down my spine.

She told me that several of her friends from school decided to do this together. “Everyone was doing it”, and it seemed like a good idea, so she did it, too. She said she remembers the first time her 13 year-old friend took her to a bar, and that was her first night “on the job.” Around that same time, she had gotten pregnant.

I asked Carmen if she sees those girls out "working" still and she said yes.

But she has since told me one of those same girls has disappeared.

I didn’t want Carmen to be the next. I didn’t want to wait until it was too late.

But all I could do now was wait, and pray. I prayed for the meeting to go well. In Sunday, the worship songs were about God’s faithfulness. My friend and mentor, Viola, encouraged me:

"Trust in the Lord
He sees her He knows her by name
She is not hidden from His sight
Sweet dreams and visions...night"

The next day, I heard from Erica that Conani just needed a birth certificate to approve Carmen as a resident at the safe house. I was relieved to hear they would approve her residence, but I didn’t know what to do about the birth certificate, since Carmen told me she didn’t have one—and she didn’t want to ask her mother for it.

Carmen had not seen her mother in over 4 months. Her dad had been in Puerto Rico and hadn't sent any communication or support to the family for several years. Andre told me bluntly that Carmen’s mom "doesn't care about her,"

But Carmen had been born in San Juan, which was a few hours away. Perhaps there was a way to get the certificate from the hospital, or from public records.

I had never been  to San Juan, and would have to take a bus. Not only that, but I would have to talk to Dominican government officials, which from past experience was not my favorite pastime. The whole thing seemed daunting.

I really didn't know where to start, but then a friend reminded me that our pastor is from there. When I called, he said he knew someone in the appropriate government agency there in Santo Domingo who would check on things for us, and that she would give me a call. Two days later, I still hadn't gotten a call from the woman he mentioned. Finally, I just decided to call around until I got the friend's phone number. She took down all the information and said she was going to call the government office in San Juan to check their records, and that she didn't know how long it would take. I told her I would call her back tomorrow to see how things were going.

When she knew we needed to find her birth certificate, Carmen had finally shared her real age. When I first met her in September, she was 17 years old, and then her age dropped to 16 the second or third time I saw her. Then, it was Andre who told me she was only 15. But that night she came to church, it came out she was actually only 14, but would turn 15 on December 31.

“Is that your final answer, Carmen?” I joked with her. She laughed and said yes. I cringed a bit, because the truth was harder than the lie.

Almost every day after work, I stopped by Carmen’s tiny apartment to give her a progress update, and occasionally share a meal or snack together. I knew she was still recovering from the loss of her baby, emotionally and physically—but she was also getting bored.

I prayed for the process to go faster, so Carmen wouldn’t want to reconsider her choice to be free.

I prayed so much in those days. I knew God alone can open and close doors. I begged Him to open every door, and knock down every obstacle and distraction that would try to get in the way. 

And I waited.