What ifs can be the point of an arrow, slicing
through skin and marrow.
Last April my husband and I decided to travel from
Eastern North Carolina to San Ramon, California via the southern route. Our
destination was to visit our daughter and her family. Along the route we had
friends to visit, vistas to explore and foods to tantalize our taste buds. We
had few plans, less agendas, no maps (don’t count GPS), a book for pet hotels,
lots of snacks, water, and, of course, our Boston terrier, Miss Lillie.
We set a routine. Get up, do our Bible Study, have
coffee, walk Miss Lillie and be out the hotel/motel by 9:00am. Every day, no
later than 4:00pm, we would stop, walk Miss Lillie, and head somewhere to eat.
I would often spend the last few minutes before we stopped to search for local
diners with specialty foods.
One afternoon, we stopped at a rest stop near
Henrietta, Oklahoma. It was a beautiful area. We all set out on a walk to
stretch our legs and encourage Miss. Lillie to relieve herself. In the
distance, I heard a screech. As we continued walking, the screech became a
tormenting sound, horrifying. My husband and I turned round and round looking
upward, thinking it was a hawk attacking some innocent or ailing animal. The skies
were empty. The sound erupted again, piercing and fearful.
We immediately zeroed in on the center of the sound.
Below us in the parking lot were two people standing next to a motorcycle. A
feeling of wrong permeated the area. The high pitched cries continued as we
moved closer. The only other time we had ever heard this kind of penetrating
sound was when we attended a hawk exhibition at The Greenbriar in West
Virginia. Hawks soared releasing attack cries as they lunged at smaller birds.
Fear escaladed. We finally made out the two figures
as a man and young girl. The man was tall, dressed in jeans, a long sleeve
white shirt, and had a red-white-and-blue bandanna tied across his head. The
girl was slight. Her hair was in a fountain of corkscrews, flying around her
face each time she moved. The man grabbed and shook her. When she threw her
head back, the deafening noise filled the wind, hitting us painfully in the
face.
“It’s coming from that child.” Words flew from me in
anguish. “What can we do?”
Before Dallas could respond, the man grabbed the girl,
slamming his hand over her face and screaming words we could not understand,
but knew were not English. She responded by dropping to the ground, trying to fold
herself into a ball as he plummeted her back, legs, arms—anything he could find
to hit.
Dallas, Miss Lillie and I rushed down to the parking
lot, edging far enough from the scene not to be noticed. That’s when we spied
another observer, a Chinese man. Dallas told me to stay put, and he ran towards
a utility truck that had just pulled up into the area. My eyes went between
watching him run from one person to another in the rest area for help, and the
blatant abuse of the child in front of me.
Even now I cannot quell my fear or tears. The images
are too real and frightening.
For two years I had been reading about human trafficking.
I had a flyer on my desk to check into a new chapter opening near my home when
I returned. How could I be standing here watching? Why were my feet immobile?
What if I didn’t respond? What if I was the last one to see this child alive?
In my heart, I knew what was happening. I could not
believe it. I thought the world and everything in it had crashed into a million
ugly pieces. I cannot tell you the horror I saw in that child’s bruised face or
his guttural language that left no need for interpretation. The threat was
clear and menacing.
Wide-eyed I searched for my husband. Silent screams
hung in my throat. Bitter gall rose in open defiance. Then I heard the
motorcycle roar. Swinging around, I saw the man pick up the girl, slam a helmet
on her head, thrust her onto the motorcycle, and tie her hands to the seat
back. She struggled with every ounce of her being. He paid no attention as she
kicked at him. He just took off. He left. No one was running after him. No
siren was blaring. Only the Chinese man and I stood with frozen looks of horror
on our faces.
No one did a thing.
What if I had run forward? What if I had screamed?
What if? What if? What if?
I have nightmares. I see young girls and boys in the
hands of perpetrators being taken from their homes. People stare. Then they
walk away. Uncaring.
My heart died a little that day. And every day since,
I see her face, and I go through the same horror. Asking myself the same heart
wrenching questions, over and over again.
In November, seven months after that incident, I
went to the Women of Faith Conference in Charlotte, North Carolina. One of the
speakers was Christine Caine. Her talk? Human Trafficking.
Folks, it’s real. It’s a threat to everyone in big
cities and small towns.
Defeat? NO!
Empowerment? Yes. God shared one of his greatest
heartbreaks with me. I pray for that child daily. I pray for anyone taken
hostage. I’m on the lookout. I will never stand frozen in horror again. Evil is
not a figment of my imagination. It is real. I saw it. I have the nightmares to
prove it. I am on a quest to learn all I can to be prepared to respond in the
future.
In my book, Cries
of Innocence, there is a scene similar to the one I witnessed. The ones
taken into hostage are called Desmios, the captive ones.
What do you know about human trafficking?
Has it touched your life yet?
Check out Christine Caine’s website and A21.
Blessings!
