if you know anything about me, you won't be shocked when i tell you that i have just recently started reading a book that has graced the bottom of my over-sized purse for more than five months. it's a thing i do. somehow i come across books that i know have the ability to shape my opinion on a particularly interesting topic and with every good intention i stow them away in the depths of my bright yellow bag, excited about the possibilities at hand. but at the end of the day, who am i kidding...i am a talker not a reader. so, inevitably these books are at some point half read then forgotten or all together abandoned for a series of conversation with strangers or the latest re-run of grey's anatomy (which i am ashamed to admit). but i am proud to announce that my literary choice as of late, escaping the devil's bedroom has held my attention quite nicely.
tonight, as my housemates were off to their neighborhood groups, i set down to read the next installment. i have been captivated by it's author since the moment she explained how ill-equipped she was to write on the subject of sex trafficking. like most middle class, evangelically conservative twenty-somethings, she was quick to admit that "she had next to zero awareness of sexual exploitation, had never seen a red-light district, and felt miles away from the weight of the issue."...a statement which i identify with greatly.
as i have continued through the pages these last few weeks, i have taken on the role of it's characters and felt broken for them. dawn jewell, the author, endlessly trudges through the stories of women and men whose lives are stolen every time they are raped. i have come to tears on more than one occasion after realizing that my daily struggles include no more than mere inconveniences. several times within the last couple of months i have caught myself complaining about how uncomfortable the springs in my bed are some nights. i'm not the kind of person that thinks everyone should forsake their belongings and live in a box but come on...the owners of these stories would most likely kill just to have one night alone and safe in a bed half as nice as mine.
so tonight, after beginning the thirteenth chapter of the book, i pulled myself back into my own shoes, turned the page down and walked to the kitchen to make some break and bake chocolate chip cookies. it's almost unfair how easily i can escape someone else's plight and my own convictions but how tragically relentless the pimps and lover boys of amsterdam, thailand, greece and las angeles are this very evening...thousands of miles away.
may He he help us to see through the scandalously clad outfits and crude suggestions so that the broken and abused can know Him by our love.
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