You have supported me through prayer, encouraged me in words, and financially made this trip possible, and I am deeply grateful. That which has been awakened in me over the past year has broken me into action, spurred by a passion to be about the things that God's heart breaks for and to give my life for it. I am so thankful to have had this opportunity, and couldn't have gone without you.
Over the last 329 days, I've seen miracles, healings, and the supernatural, things that the book of Acts is all about. I've seen 26 other young radicals awaken from their slumber into a realization of who they are, and who they are NOT. I've seen God manifest Himself in ways that are virtually not comprehendible by my mind, but that my spirit simply cannot deny.
Over the last 329 days, I've also seen injustices that should rightfully make any follower of Christ ill. I've seen and sensed the demonic presences in spiritual atmospheres all over the globe. I've seen problems that can easily be solved by just a little personal involvement, as well as problems that will take more energy and time, both of which desperately require the Church.
I've only scratched the surface. And I want you to know that your gracious investments in me are not returning void: God is calling me out. Again. And I've told Him yes.
Here is the bottom line: there is a lot of work to be done in the world for the Kingdom of God, and I want to go get my hands dirty. Someone has to go to the nations. And the reality is, in order to do the Kingdom work, we need resources. Not everyone is in a place where they themselves can/should physically go-- God may not be asking you to leave the mission field of America to go into a foreign one. You may support missions whole-heartedly, but not be in a season of life where you can/should physically go. I believe that this why we need the Body of Christ to function as a whole: for the nose to be a nose, the eyes to do their part, and the feet to operate at full capacity. Some are called to Thailand, and some are called to send them. Both are equally important.
So I'd like to ask you to consider joining me in my next step. Prayerfully, would you ask God if He would have you support this movement, and support me in being a part of making it happen?
Here is the vision: Locally/Nationally: In early January, I'll move to be based out of Port Huron, Michigan to be a part of a team involved in making The World Race a viral movement under the authority of Michael Hindes. I strongly believe in The World Race as a vehicle to drive this generation from their apathetic and complacent slumber. (Please read this blog for the vision: Taking Me Out to Bring Me In ) God has strategically brought together a team who have gifts all across the board: in strategy, vision, writing, video production, speaking, marketing, designing, as well as the prophetic, exhortation, worship, pastoral, and teaching. Together, we will be working to:
1) Expand The World Race (recruitment, awareness; universities, etc venues; marketing)
2) Create an alumni base and a stronger re-entry process for Racers who come off of this year-long journey and are seeking to do what comes next, whether that be empowering them in their communities or abroad.
3) Raise awareness on a national level about issues like human trafficking and the AIDS epidemic in Swaziland. Personally, I'll do it through every method God has given me: video, music, and experiential curriculum writing (similar to my Stations program, for those of you who are familiar with it)
Internationally:
1) Film the stories that people need to see (like Michael Angelo's story – sold at three into the sex trade).
2) Develop new contacts worldwide
3) Lead small teams (supporters, churches, specific interest) for short term periods into places like Thailand, Malawi, and Swaziland
4) Be involved in the discipleship processes of the current on-field Racers (going to debriefs to teach, impart, encourage, and worship)
5) Human trafficking: This issue is HUGE, and widely unknown. It has been kept in darkness for far too long, but we intend to shed light onto the issue, first by bringing awareness. The sex trade is happening not just in obscure, foreign countries, but also on American soil. I go to sleep thinking about this issue, and wake up thinking about this issue, and we're gong to need to tap into every resource that we can to work to STOP IT.
One of the many things God has taught me this year is that I can't do any of these things by myself... and I need your help. My goal is to raise the funds for travel to take teams to work on the streets and in the bars, to storm the gates of hell's human trafficking ploy, to go film the stories from around the world that need to be told in order to raise awareness and money (i.e.- AIDs orphans, human trafficking, social injustice), and to help breathe life and depth into the American generation by further developing The World Race.
Our goal is to send 500 people on the Race in 2010 and 1,000 in 2011. Our goal is to do everything in our power to do something about human trafficking, through raising awareness and raising a ruckus all over the country and the world. Our goal is to GO, and to make disciples (not converts) of all nations.
To do that, and to do it with quality, I've got to give my part my full attention, and therefore need to be freed up to do the work.
Will you consider being a part of this by financially and prayerfully supporting me in 2009? My goal is to raise $20,000, which will cover the costs of travel, living, and team expenses. You'll be continuously aware about all our progress via blogs, emails, videos, and hopefully visitations. I hope you can view this as an opportunity to join forces together to bring Kingdom to the nations, including America, on earth as it is in heaven. What we sow, we will reap.
Click on Support Me or send me an email to: kimberlydaniels25@googlemail.com . Maybe you prefer a one-time donation before the end of the tax year, or to give on a monthly basis. Either way, your support is tax-deductible.
Thank you for reading and taking the time to consider supporting me, and ultimately working together as a team for the Kingdom.
If I possess versatile abilities, talents, and strengths...
If I see angels and speak in a language unknown to human ears...
If I passionately rattle cages and the gates of hell...
If I breathe fire and have faith that can move mountains...
If I do all kinds of good works all around the globe...
...but don't have love...
I am nothing.
Anything I set my hand to...
Means nothing.
Any past victories, growth, or strengths...
Are worth nothing.
Without love, nothing I do or am, nothing I have done or will be, matters.
I want to be patient.
I want to be kind.
I don't want to envy anything or boast.
I don't want to be proud.
I don't want to be rude.
I don't want to seek anything for selfish reasons.
I don't want to get angry or frustrated easily.
I don't want to keep a record of wrongs. I want to live in a place of sheer excitement about the truth. I want to protect. I want to always hope. Always trust. Always, and in all circumstances, persevere. Never, ever give up.
I can prophesy, but that will cease.
I can speak in tongues, but that will be stilled.
I can have knowledge, but that will pass away.
The only thing that does not cease, pass away, and will not be stilled... is love. And upon re-entry into America, I feel the pains of expansion in my heart... a stretching. I see how much more love is required of me.
Love is hard for me to wrap my mind around. Everyone says a lot of different things about it... for centuries people have eloquently written about it, sung about it, and tried to come up with brand new ways of expressing what they feel it is or what they've learned about it... I have nothing to say, except that I desperately need it in it's purest form, and that, a lot of times, I know I'm really not good at it.
I DO know that it was Love that drove Jesus to the cross... and Love that kept Him there. And to be like Him, the same will be required of me.
Love is grace and mercy, and those are the only things that can melt my rough exterior, my spitfire, tell-it-like-I-see-it mode... love, grace, and mercy are the only things powerful enough to soften what becomes hard in me.
~
I've got to be honest, it's hard to be back in America. This has not been such an easy transition for my mind and heart, and 'life goes on' with tension and struggle these last 72 hours.
The injustices we saw... I go to sleep thinking about them, and I wake up thinking about them... there is not an hour that passes by that I cannot see their faces in my head, and "it's not just their problem..." resonates in me.
Sometimes, I want to crawl out of my skin. I sometimes want to yell. I sometimes want to curl up into a ball, break down and cry. Sometimes I know that my best bet is just to be silent. I want to do more than I know I am capable of alone, and I want to run harder and fight longer than I know I'm trained for yet... and there's so much to do, so many people who are not even on the map that need help, and I feel overwhelmed...
I'm tired... I want to sleep a lot... They called it ‘culture shock'. They told me to be prepared. But I don't know how I could've been really. Everywhere I go, something is called into question, and I have few answers. Still, there is peace. Walking around Southern California in all its
affluency and wealth, I didn't feel choked. I can breathe easily. But I see right through what I couldn't see before... my eyes are a little more trained to see the unseen than they were 11 months ago.
One word rings louder and more clearly than anything else: Love.
And Love is holding hands with Grace on one side, and Mercy on the other.
I need them... Love, Grace and Mercy. I'm more aware today of how much I need them then ever before...
Answers to my questions won't still my mind; they'll only make more questions.
Innovating new ways to help won't solve the world's problems.
All hippie-ness aside, it is only love that will melt the rough exterior of the world, and of me. Though God has given me things to say, truth without grace is not love.
I don't feel like I have much to offer except that which has been given to me because of pure, unmerited, undeserved grace. I have passion, but without love, that passion will only be a bulldozer. I have ideas, but without love, those ideas are empty. I have hope and faith, but without love, they don't have any foundation to stand on.
I may not agree with some of
the ways we Americans do things, our attitudes, or our paradigms, and
it may annoy the mess out of me at times and make me want to call down
the fire of heaven... but if I can love orphans in Africa and the girls in the
bars in Thailand but somehow have less love for those of us caught in
western trappings, then there is a problem.
The truth is, there is a spiritual climate over America, just as
there is one in Africa, as there is in India, as there is in Asia. And
we are not fighting wars here between flesh and blood, but against the
rulers and authorities of hell.
Love covers a multitude of things...
And without it, anything I say will sound like a loud, annoying gong. Or worse... nails on a chalkboard.
"Child, in all humility, consider others better than yourselves. In
humbleness, go low. Make yourself nothing, taking on the nature of a
servant. This is what love looks like. And THIS is how you will be used
to change the world. I realize you're complicated... I like that
about you. But don't complicate this. Just Love. My
Kingdom is not one of talk, but of power... and My power flows from the
intensity of My Love. Let Me love you... so that you can be Love, too."
"Faith will become vision,
hope will become possession,
but the love of Jesus Christ that is stronger than death endures forever." -Brennan Manning
Posted in 8-Thailand 2
by Kim Daniels
on 11/21/2008
~~~
I'm coming home.
In 5 hours, I'll be boarding a bus with my World Race family, and we'll head to the airport.
We'll fly for 15 hours.
We'll reach Los Angeles...
Go through customs...
Stand in baggage claim...
Realize that this past year really DID happen... it wasn't a dream...
We'll hear that woman say "the white zone is for the immediate loading and unloading of passengers only...."
And look at each other with a loss for words.
Because life changes. Again.
11 months ago we met in an airport in Florida on one end of the country... and now on the other end of the country and the other end of this year, we'll say goodbye.
I won't bore you with all kinds of sappy emotions in this blog (maybe I'll save that for next week), but only to tell you a few things:
1) For every word of encouragement, prayer, thought, and bit of financial support you have given me, thank you. This year I stopped seeing the Kingdom, and entered into it. The entire course of my life has taken a significantly different turn, and I am so grateful to have had this opportunity. Thank you for loving me from afar and loving me through it. The work we did and the work done in me simply was not possible without you.
2) This isn't the last you'll hear from me via this blog... I have a few things in store to show and tell in the coming weeks. Don't expect silence from this gal... Please stay tuned!
3) Everything, absolutely everything, is about the Kingdom of God. It is not about me. It is not about you. Jesus did not bleed and die on the cross so that we could all have a "nice, comfortable life". We need this generation to rise up, wake up, and change and become the fire-breathing Kingdom brings radicals that have the kind of faith that WILL change the world. I'm committed to being one. I'm committed to finding others. Jesus, help me.
4) There are men and women who have given up their lives to see their dream come to pass: 100,000 leaders in this generation who will stop at nothing but to bring and breath Kingdom, find their tribe, and actually live the life Jesus Christ told us to. They have poured blood, sweat and tears into us, and we could not have grown as much as we did without them. Michael and Kathy Hindes, Seth and Karen Barnes, Andrew and Mo Shearman, and Gary and Lisa Black. We pray deep blessings on them and their families... it wasn't without sacrifice that they have walked alongside of us. We love them deeply.
I think thats it for now. :) I am about to go upstairs and meet the other crazies for our last time of worship together as a squad.... Please keep us in your prayers as we return home. I love ya'll, and am thankful that we went on this journey together...
But really, this journey has just started. We've only scratched the surface.
Posted in 8-Thailand 2
by Kim Daniels
on 11/10/2008
~~~
My toes aren't painted, and I haven't been for a pedicure since... America.
These days, my feet are not pretty, to say the least. I've been wearing the same Rainbow sandals all year.
Here's a glimpse into comical World Race life reality: My wardrobe consists of 3 pairs of $2.00 pants that I bought in India (which most people think are not only a fashion 'no-no', but are truly hideous), shirts that are officially 'hole-y', and a couple of raggedy hats. Actually, if you saw me in the mall in States, you'd probably think I was homeless and might offer to buy me a Taco Bell for lunch.
Today I went to check out the Siam Paragon Mall in Bangkok, because it's one of the largest malls in Asia. I was in sensory overload with everything springing into competitive action to grab my attention... So many smells, lights, sounds... I felt I'd entered a world that was somehow, for some reason, familiar to me... almost as if I'd lived it in another life...
In my overloaded daze, I stopped to stare at a brightly colored dress hanging on a mannequin with a very long giraffe neck and no head. I felt eyes on me from somewhere, and noticed that, to my left, there was a woman with a name tag, a crisp tailored suit, and a look of disbelief (or disgust, I don't know) on her face. She was starring at my feet.
Like a rubber band I was pulled into her mind from my own and saw what she must be thinking about my feet, which were, by the way, thoughtlessly accented by my hideous $2.00 pants. She looked up at my eyes, then took a glance at my ratty hat.
I smiled, because I saw her question-- "What are YOU doing HERE?"
Her gaze almost read "pity". I could tell she felt sorry for me for having such ugly feet. I mean, lets just be honest here-- I'm surrounded by Gucci, Armani, and Calvin Klein. I don't blame her. She probably doesn't see many homeless-isque people in the Siam Paragon.
I looked down at my feet in their cracked sandals and saw the lack of beauty, especially contrasted against the pretty, vibrant, swirly designed carpet. Once again I looked up, feeling a little awkward that we'd just spent at least 45 seconds silently discussing our obvious social status. I smiled again.
I wanted to answer her unasked question by saying, "You don't know where I've been." But instead, I told her that the dress was beautiful and to have a good day, and turned to watch my Rainbows take me outside the shop.
One step-- Peru. Carmencita. Aldolfo. Axel. Nicole. The ruins of the earthquake. The stories of family death. The disease in the refugee camp. Overwhelmed at how much needed to be done and how few resources we had.
Two steps-Nauta. VBS. The kids who naively played the ouiji board. The jungle. The heat. Squad boat breakfast. The brilliant lightening storm; we sang "How Great Is Our God" in such awe and reverence; the lightening seemed to flash right on cue to the beat.
Three steps-Iquitos. The drunk woman no one would talk to. The church services. Spanish songs. Holding little Sally. Mud fights with kids. Knocking on people's doors and telling them all about Christ.
Four steps-Africa. Orphans. Starvation. AIDS. Malawi. Miles to the remote Muslim villages in the heat. Harvest was plenty. Workers were few.
Five steps-Johannesburg. Gunpoint.
Six steps-India. Spirit of mass confusion. 600,000 different gods. Enough ‘sacred' cows to feed the entire starving country.
Seven steps-Bangkok, Thailand. The bars. Beer spilt on my sandals by some drunk guy hanging on one of our new Thai friends as he took her to his hotel.
Eight steps-Phomn Phen, Cambodia. The stench of poverty. Human trafficking. Yelling "FREEDOM!!" from the rooftops. The beggars on the streets, the children playing in the trash. The Killing Fields.
"...You don't know where I've been..."
I wasn't feeling defensive, just very aware of the misunderstanding gap between us. Siam Paragon's world is all about image, and me and my feet were just not up to par. Though they've led me to some of the most beautiful people I've ever met, and into the most tragically, beautiful redeemed places I've ever been, the world doesn't see that. When they see me, they see an aesthetic disaster.
Those well-weathered cracks in my shoes tell stories. They have beer stains on them because I was introducing girls to Jesus in the strip bars. They look full of dust because, well, they are. They are falling apart because they've walked hundreds of miles... side by side with these other World Racers who have become my family, through some really deep stuff.
They don't fit well in a world that says, "Newer is better", and "Shiny is IN". But what I'm wearing is all I have. The truth is, I was tempted to go buy myself a pair of jeans and a normal t-shirt just so that everyone would stop staring and snickering at me. But I didn't come out here to pretend to be poor. I actually really am. In comparison to the places we've been this year, living on $4 a day for food and carting around a backpack of stuff makes us kings and queens, but by America's standards... I'm waaaaaay below the poverty line. And I wouldn't change that. Not for all the money in the world.
Or even for a pair of high heels and a pedicure.
~
I think love looks messy. Dusty. Well worn. It's smelly. It isn't well packaged with a bow on top, shiny and put together. Love has war scars, which would look horrible in a photo shoot. Things aren't always what they seem, and what we expect may not be at all what we need. I mean, they expected their Messiah to come and take over the Roman government, clothed in gold and with every high school marching band within a 50 miles radius to preface His arrival... not be born in a manger, work as a poor carpenter, ride in on a donkey and die a bloody, humiliating death.
Seeing what is seen takes no courage at all. Seeing what is unseen requires faith.
My Kingdom is not of this world.
So the next time you see a homeless-isque person somewhere, offer to buy them
Taco Bell for lunch while you sit and listen to the stories of where
they've been and how they got there. Chances are, what they say will
blow your mind, and you'll have just brought Kingdom to earth in Taco
Bell.
Posted in 8-Thailand 2
by Kim Daniels
on 11/7/2008
~~~
Kind of like something shifted in me the night we got held at gunpoint in Johannesburg, South Africa, something shifted in me the night I found myself on the rooftop in Phnom Phen, Cambodia yelling freedom over the city with my brother Matt. Most of our squad is in Cambodia working in the slums, but 8 of us are back in Bangkok, Thailand for the next 7 days... back in the bars.
The World Race ends for me on November 21st. Just when I thought I was near done... nope! We're going to pump it up a notch at the end of this thing here. No fizzling out. The word 'autopilot' means nothing.
Its hard to describe what it was like being back in the Nana Entertainment district again, except to say that I knew I need to be there. Not just last night. Not just tonight and tomorrow night. But in the future. As I sat sipping my water, God told me, "Kim, you belong in the strip bars."
He made me smirk at that one. I like it: I work for Jesus in the strip bars.
We went back to Nana for the first time since GATO left Thailand 2 months ago. I'd felt intense all day, and it culminated especially as I stepped out of the taxi and laid eyes once more on the chaos of the downtown scene. The lights. The pounding music. The men. The women. The beer. The smell...
Once I get into intense mode, it takes the jaws of life to pry me out. I wanted to just get in there. I walked fast, fiercely praying through the downtown streets, blessing little kids and speaking limbs into cripples. I tend to feel the physical weight of spiritual atmospheres; it manifests itself in extreme aches in my body, headaches, nausea, stomach issues, etc etc. Over the last couple of months I've recognized it as hell's pathetic ploy to keep me at home. So whatever. I say no to hell. "Hell, no."
Caroline, Andi, Matt S, Mark, Gretchen, Patrice and I split into smaller groups and headed into the 3 story entertainment center, which read "Nana Entertainme". The 'nt' had burnt out. Caroline, Andi and I went into a bar on the 2nd floor that was hidden behind a green curtain.
As we sat inside, drinking our waters, a random man named Lonny (that's what we'll call him) came in and sat down. After about 3 minutes of trying to hit on me, he realized that getting hit on was not what I was in this bar for and started to ask some different questions and listen to mine. We talked for about an hour.
His was a classic story: He'd come with his two friends from Australia to Thailand to 'do what the Thai people do' after his 3 year relationship with his girlfriend had ended. Basically, he was here because he was angry, felt rejected, and was in the mood to dehumanize others and make them feel worthless because he felt dehumanized and worthless himself. Behind me were Andi and Caroline, praying. Behind him were his two buddies, making out with the almost naked women.
He asked why I was in Bangkok. I said, "Those girls up there", motioning with my head and turning my eyes to the girls on the poles. He followed my gaze and looked back at me. "Those girls are somebody's sister. Somebody's mom. Somebody's daughter. No matter how they ended up here, none of them are too far gone. Basically, I want then to know that they CAN get out. And if they won't yet, I at least want to tell them that their intrinsic value has nothing to do with their outward beauty or how much men will pay to sleep with them. Most of these women have never ever heard that in their life."
He played along with that for a while, saying things to make me think he agreed. I saw that he hadn't let it hit him yet, so we kept talking. I asked him, "So, Lonny, can I ask you a question?" With his yes, I said, "If you really think all those things about the girls- how sad it is that they are doing this, and how you don't think it's right- then what are you doing here?"
He looked down at his beer bottle, smiled and nodded his head as if to say, "You caught me." He said, "I'm here with my buddies. They know I don't agree, but I didn't want to be alone, so I came. And I have a pretty screwed up life, ya know Kim. Probably nothing like your's. I've been really depressed and almost killed myself a few times. I've lost the love of my life and lots of my close friends and family have died. I've had near death experiences, and have been on and off of all kinds of drugs for years. I bet you don't know very much about that."
I smiled. "Actually, Lonny, I know about all that. Our circumstances are different and I won't ever assume to know exactly what your life has been like. But I do understand depression. I was in it deep and heavy for years, and I understand the suicidal thoughts that go along with it. I get death-- my dad died suddenly of a heart attack and I've had quite a few friends die in the war and in freak accidents. I get loosing the "love of your life", and how excruciating that can be. I've been held at gunpoint; that's a near death experience if I ever heard one. And the drugs, well, I've never done pot or coke or smoked, but I was on anti-depressants for so long that it began to alter my personality. There are whole chunks of my life that I don't remember because of those doctor prescribed drugs. But your illegal drugs and my legal ones both have the same origin: using human re-doubled efforts to feel better, or to numb pain. Neither one of those ever works."
His eyes were glued on me. He said, "What are you really doing here?"
I told him about my Hero, who said that you have to loose your life in order to find it. And so I left everything behind, gave Him my life, keep giving Him more of it, and apparently it's led me all around the world.*
He told me about his Catholic background, and how it just never really worked for him and he couldn't figure out why. I asked him if he ever felt boxed in, like there were a bunch rigid standards that he could just never live up to, a list of do's and don'ts that he was supposed to keep and always found himself missing the mark. He said yes, and so his response to it all was "Forget it. I can't measure up anyways" and concluded that he was just a bad person and that God was really angry at him.
The law had brought him death.
He told me that he hated religion. And I told him that I hate religion, too. His eyebrows raised... "Wait, I thought you are a Christian..."
"I am," I answered. "But I'm not about religion. Religion sucks the life out of me and makes me want to whither and die. I'm not about a system that tells me how to live a nice life. I'm about the God who raises the dead and still makes all things new, who is also the same God that doesn't judge me on my performance or love me with condition."
That's when he broke. I watched his eyes change. They softened and then deepened, and he looked really vulnerable all of a sudden, like someone had just exposed his child-like innocence from a facade of pseudo-man pretending to be tough and calloused.
"What do you see when you step inside of Nana, Kim?"
"I see the Matrix. We're in the Matrix. Have you seen that movie?" He nodded. "Everything we see right now is not the real world. I can touch this wall, and I'm sitting on this stool, but these tangibles are not the reality of what is really going on in this bar. I've taken the red pill, and now I'm so deep into the truth of reality that I can never go back. What I see going on here is a battle for these girls' souls, and for the men's souls, too. There are lies here, accusations, greed, depression, hopelessness, lust, all things manufactured by hell. But there is also Light, and Life, perfection and beauty, restoration, hope, truth, and freedom. What I see when I step inside of Nana is it drying up. I see it not existing. I see the whole strip-bar scene going back to hell where it came from and Nana becoming a place that reflects the Kingdom of God, on earth as it is in heaven."
His eyes kept softening. "...I want what you have. If I could have whatever this is, I'd scoop it up with both hands so quick..."
"Hey, good news then. Its for you..." I said. "Jesus is especially fond of you..."**
I saw that facade begin to whither, but then something like a black sheet dropped over head. He stood up all of a sudden and got really flustered. I was surprised at how abrupt it was... He said, "Okay, um, I don't know what this is", motioning to his chest and stomach area, "I don't know whats going on, but its really unfamiliar, and... I just need to go. I'm just going to go."
I saw the discomfort in him... I saw that he'd been stirred and it freaked him out. But I smiled, thinking Oh, boy, God met you in the bar tonight. You came for sex and left recognizing your hunger for Someone else... You're much closer than you think... "Okay" I said. "Wherever you go, look for truth. Real truth, Lonny. And don't settle until you find It."
I watched him walk away quickly, his head down, oblivious to the girls all around him. I knew that God had gotten a little too close for his comfort zone.
That's part of my dream for Thailand. It's not just for the bar girls, it's for the men here, too. That they would travel halfway around the world thinking that they'll dive deep into pleasure and ignore the pain that drives them here... but instead of meeting girls for sex in the bars, they meet God instead. Because God's Kingdom invaded the bars incognito, and they didn't even see it coming. And in the very place that they thought they'd play Jonah to keep running from Him, they crash into Him.
This was written by Marisa Banas, an October 2008 World Racer. It needs to be shared.
~~~
What do you see when you look at this picture?
Obviously there are 4 feet, two from an adult and two precious little ones from a toddler. I bet that you would never see or assume the truth behind this image, this haunting portrait. The two little feet that you just see were sold for $60 US Dollars to a pimp.
A three-year old turned sex slave. His name is Michael Angelo.
Welcome to Navotos, where Michael lives!
Navotos is a community of 10,000 people who live on top of tombs in a graveyard in the Philippines. Michael lives in the part of the community that is raised about 12 feet off Manila Bay's polluted waters. All 9 of his family members live in a 2-story makeshift squatter home. Most of the bottom level is rotted out and can't be used. You get up to the top floor by climbing a slippery ladder and once you get up to the top, you realize that this family literally has nothing. Each child has one shirt. Some don't even have pants. The baby's bottom is diaperless and the severe rash has bubbled his skin over to look like a think crust. Michael spends all day alone in the house with the baby and his other 2-year old brother while his father and mother go out to try to find work so that they can eat. His older siblings are left to govern themselves and find work.
When the pimp came to the door with a picture in her hand, the family thought that their luck had changed. She promised them that by giving Michael to her they would become rich. She said, "At the age of 20 Michael will come back to you with a million dollars and you will not have to struggle like this anymore." She also promised that Michael would be taken care of and treated like a king at his new home in Japan. The exchange was made. A child for $60.00. A poor boy turned to "king" in a matter of minutes.
PCF has 2 schools., one in the dump and the other in the graveyard. One of the teachers found out about Michael Angelo and notified the social work department at the school. Three of the social workers decided, despite how scared they were that they were going to do something about this tragedy. They worked tirelessly to find out all the details. They discovered that the pimp worked for a couple who live and own a bar in Japan. They also sell children undercover. The pimp became pregnant herself about 4 years ago and it was decided by her boss that she would pimp out her own child when he was around 3-years old. The time had come for her to give up her son but she could not bring herself to do it. She took a picture of her son around the Navotos village to find a child that looked like her son. When she found Michael Angelo, she found a way to save her own flesh and blood.
The social workers called the mother into the school, sat her down and scared the heck out of her. They told her that the adoption was illegal and that she could be put in jail if she didn't get the child back. The conversation took hours before tears streamed down her eyes because she realized that her child would be used for sexual pleasure by a man 4 times his size. They said that it took her about another hour to find the courage to go to the pimp's house to retrieve her son.
On June 15, 2008 at 12:00am, mere hours before the child was scheduled to leave the country and fly to Japan, Michael Angelo was back in her arms.I asked the social worker, do you think she will sell him again? She shrugged her shoulders and said, "We will notify the police to arrest her is she does. She is still thinking about that million dollars."
Last week I had the pleasure of photographing Michael Angelo. He didn't smile too much. Perhaps the shock of a white woman with a huge camera and lens planted right on him was a little shocking. His face was severely bruised because he had fallen through one of the cracks in the floor. The dark color around his lips is not chocolate, it is dried blood. I don't know how survived the fall a 12 foot fall. It's as if the Lord's hand is on this child. When I left the rickety house I turned back and saw his little head peaking out of a make-shift window. Through his swollen check and black eye he surprised me with a smile that radiated joy into my entire body. In the frozeness of this scared child I saw a glimmer of hope. He waved his tiny little hand frantically from side to side in such excitement as he sent me off in a heart-felt joyful goodbye.
I stopped by the house one more time before leaving to see if I could find the mother and tell her that there was no million dollars, but we couldn't find her anywhere. Michael was alone in the house with his two other siblings. This time, I captured his little head peaking out for you. So you will remember him. Remember his bruises and his face. Remember that he was sold and then saved. Remember him, pray for him, and give your money to send missionaries to do the work of getting children like him out of danger and back in the Father's arms!
I don't even know how to start this blog. I've been starring at a blank screen for a while, trying to come up with some kind of structure for this thing... but I can't find any structure. And honestly, I feel like structure would do this subject a great injustice, anyway... box it in... make it seem like it's less messy than it really is. So, this might be pretty raw...
Tonight, a few of us watched the movie "Human Trafficking". It's a 3-hour, 2-part movie that depicts intense realities of the buying and selling of humans all over the world.
The trafficking of human beings is happening right now.
This very second.
Not just in some obscure foreign country, but in America. Maybe right down the street from my house.
The credits rolled and I was bursting at the seams. Half of me wanted to stand up and start rattling off war cries in tongues and prophesying LIFE and telling hell to quake while the other part of me wanted to cuss at the injustice and keep on cussing until I felt better. So I did both. I was enraged.
I found myself minutes later outside on the balcony of our house in Cambodia, my eyes blurred with tears, torn by the images and sounds that were lazored into my mind... the faces, the countries, the way they are abducted, the hell they are put through... these children bought or stolen from their homes and forced to turn tricks with men, working 12 hours a day or more... these young girls who are manipulated into thinking that they are going to have modeling careers and are instead packed in a truck and shipped in groups to brothels.
Until this year, I didn't even know this was going on.
I'd heard of ‘human trafficking' when one of my college professors mentioned it, and I saw a brief special on it on Dateline once, but until I got to Thailand and Cambodia, I had no idea that it was like THIS.
And now that I know, I can't go back to not knowing. I can't pretend like its not happening. I can't have mere coffee table conversation about it, and then move on to the next subject of politics and the weather. I can't find a place of reconciliation in living comfortably at home while over 18,000 children, both boys and girls, and young women are kidnapped and swept away with force from their families and homes, coerced to be sex slaves for hundreds of men over the course of their young lifetime... and then just thank God for my American given freedom.
Some children play with Little Tikes behind a white picket fence. Some children are beaten into submission and live inside a chain link fence.
I can't find a place of peace in thinking that I'll just let other people deal with it, or some other kind of cliché that says "its just not my calling in life". I am not satisfied with excuses or every reason in the world why WE can't be the generation to actually DO something about it.
I wept until the only thing that would come out of me was a deep hacking cough. I felt like I might vomit, so I stayed close to the rail and ground, rattling off in a language that my spirit understood best... and I lifted my eyes to look at the city of Phnom Phen from the fourth story of our house. I could see shadows and silhouettes moving in windows and I wanted to scream. What if it was happening right across the street?
I couldn't hold it in. A geyser was welling from my core, and I yelled out at the top of my lungs over the city in a voice that I barely recognized as my own. I haven't yelled like that ever in my life.
"FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!" And sobbing... and it welled up in me again.
"FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It was almost blood curdling.
"FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I lowered myself to my knees and could only speak "Jesus" now, my forehead to the ground and the tears flowing upside down into my hair.
And in my spirit I cried out, "Oh God, forgive us... our apathy is disgusting to you. Our complacency once we're brought out of ignorance still lingers, and we wade in it like we would a pool of human waste. Oh God, forgive ME. Forgive me for my selfishness. For my self-centeredness, my attitude of trying to fit your will into my life..."
"Kim, daughter, you ARE my will. Be the change you want to see in the world."
This issue is HUGE. And far too unknown. It is going on every minute of every day. Children exposed to this filth are crying every day. They are injected with all kinds of sexually transmitted diseases. Women who've been stolen from all over the globe are threatened and paralyzed to escape or do anything about it. They are trapped.
They are enslaved. Used, re-used. Used. Re-used.
Right now, I don't know where to start. The truth is, all of this goes on underground in a network of ‘business men', behind locked and barred doors.
I don't know where those doors are. I don't know where the entrance to the underground is.
I'm overwhelmed. I'm coming alive this year, but being alive HURTS. I can't walk off this Race talking primarily about my journey of self-discovery. That journey was jump-started and I'll always be learning and changing, so I'm so, so thankful. It's just doesn't make much sense to focus on who I've become this year when 18,000 people this year will not have that chance. They are, instead, what they are told to be: property. Worthless property.
So while I'm thankful for all the personal lessons I've learned, I'm driven by an urgency to tell everyone I know that this IS A REALITY of the world we are living in right now.
When I see the men walking with the young boys and girls, I just want to grab the little ones and run. Lets be honest, many of the unsolved mystery cases in America have their unending end here. Kidnapped children whose bodies are never found aren't dead; they've been trafficked. We wonder where they've gone? Hidden and deported to an underground brothel somewhere in the world. Maybe somewhere in the United States.
I have more questions than answers. I don't know where to start.
...Except to begin raising awareness to my family, friends, and anyone else who will listen. I WILL yell freedom off of the rooftops and I WILL pack up and go to where its dark when God says so.
86,000 little Indian girls are sold every single year into slavery for $75.00. They will be raped, abused, and will die. Heaven is looking for some people who are going to be fanatical, whether by going out themselves or by financially supporting people who can and will. The truth is, we need resources to fight these battles.
The more I know, the less I know.
But I DO know this: I cannot follow Jesus truly and not embrace a radical life. And I, nor anyone else, will never ever be the agents of change that this world needs by being ‘nice Christians'. It's going to take something permanently shifting in our spirits. And that begins by praying a very dangerous prayer: "God, break my heart for what breaks your's."
Her name is Susie, and she is the coolest breed of grandma around. Actually, I think she might be the coolest breed of person around, too.
She's sassy. She doesn't take any punk-talk from my grandpa... and he punk-talks a lot. She tells him to ''stuff it'', and they always have a good laugh. For 57 years, they've modeled the kind of relationship that makes you think: "Really...? THAT kind of love is possible? Friends who laugh? Lovers who are still feisty and flirty? The other one's biggest cheerleader and fan? Protective, safe, and adoring? Spurring each other to greatness and to bringing Kingdom to earth? Really...?"
The greatest thing about my grandma is that she really and truly, innocently and maturely, tried-and-true, loves Jesus. She's lived life with Him and for Him for many years, and has followed Him all over the world on the mission field.
And today, she went to be with Him.
Grandpa, I wish I was there. I wish I could hug you and be your "little friend"... it is breaking my heart to be so far away, though I know you want me here. I love you, treasure you, and I have the utmost respect for you because in a world where 'until death do us part' doesn't mean diddlysquat anymore, you have taken care of your wife faithfully, tenderly, completely, selflessly, and without excuse. You are my hero, and have set a standard of grace and faithfulness for me. I'm proud to call you my grandpa. No one --no one-- holds a candle to you.
Grandma..... shooot. Just dance now. Enough of that wheelchair non-sense. You led a beautiful life of sacrifice and full of love. Thank you you supporting me, molding me, and for loving me so deep, hard, and long. Tell Moses all your dumb jokes, enjoy Light and Life in their purest forms, worship Jesus without constraint, ask God about if America really went to the moon or not, and when you see him, please hug my dad for me. You will always, always be precious to me...
Grandpa, when I come home in December, we can play Duck on a Rock, eat bread with milk, sugar, and M&Ms, and I'll take YOU for a spin in the little red wagon! I'm talking to God about you all the time... I love you so much, "little friend".
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He made me smirk at that one. I like it: I work for Jesus in the strip bars.
I smiled. "Actually, Lonny, I know about all that. Our circumstances are different and I won't ever assume to know exactly what your life has been like. But I do understand depression. I was in it deep and heavy for years, and I understand the suicidal thoughts that go along with it. I get death-- my dad died suddenly of a heart attack and I've had quite a few friends die in the war and in freak accidents. I get loosing the "love of your life", and how excruciating that can be. I've been held at gunpoint; that's a near death experience if I ever heard one. And the drugs, well, I've never done pot or coke or smoked, but I was on anti-depressants for so long that it began to alter my personality. There are whole chunks of my life that I don't remember because of those doctor prescribed drugs. But your illegal drugs and my legal ones both have the same origin: using human re-doubled efforts to feel better, or to numb pain. Neither one of those ever works."
hat this family literally has nothing. Each child has one shirt. Some don't even have pants. The baby's bottom is diaperless and the severe rash has bubbled his skin over to look like a think crust. Michael spends all day alone in the house with the baby and his other 2-year old brother while his father and mother go out to try to find work so that they can eat. His older siblings are left to govern themselves and find work. 
The social workers called the mother into the school, sat her down and scared the heck out of her. They told her that the adoption was illegal and that she could be put in jail if she didn't get the child back. The conversation took hours before tears streamed down her eyes because she realized that her child would be used for sexual pleasure by a man 4 times his size. They said that it took her about another hour to find the courage to go to the pimp's house to retrieve her son.
Tonight, a few of us watched the movie "Human Trafficking". It's a 3-hour, 2-part movie that depicts intense realities of the buying and selling of humans all over the world.
18,000 children, both boys and girls, and young women are kidnapped and swept away with force from their families and homes, coerced to be sex slaves for hundreds of men over the course of their young lifetime... and then just thank God for my American given freedom. 
T
Grandma..... shooot. Just dance now. Enough of that wheelchair non-sense. You led a beautiful life of sacrifice and full of love. Thank you you supporting me, molding me, and for loving me so deep, hard, and long. Tell Moses all your dumb jokes, enjoy Light and Life in their purest forms, worship Jesus without constraint, ask God about if America really went to the moon or not, and when you see him, please hug my dad for me. You will always, always be precious to me...