Mom walking us through her story of finding out her daughter was trafficked. Picked up down the block at the grocery store....
Transported. Drugged and abused. Bought and sold, bought and sold. From pimp to pimp, John to John. Exploited.
Dad looking away as mom recounts the horror, the agony. I can hear him sniffling as he is turned, looking blankly at the fish tank.
My heart cries out. Oh God! I know you hear these cries, you ask for action, you ask for us to do something.
As I sit in their home I can feel the grief, the unknown, the frustration, the intensity of - she's gone! The process. The community coming together to search. The cry of someone, anyone help us! I can feel the panic, the emptiness, the hopelessness.....
Then found. Not every story has that part. It's not over though. The journey continues on. The recovery process is not a quick one.
I can hear mom saying - It shouldn't happen to anyone's daughter. Not mine, not anyone's.
I can hear God saying I am hope.
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How strange for you guys and us (Adrian and I) to experience a mother's desperation in having her child abducted around the same date. I wonder how many "abductions" and "kidnappings" would be considered human trafficking...? It is one thing to watch a movie or even talk to people working to fight against it but entirely another to talk to someone who knows the pain of the unknown when it comes to THEIR own child being the one missing. Thank you, God, though, that His hope is not the same as the world's.
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