Seems like we have been hearing a lot lately about child trafficking. I can hardly wrap my head around this hideous crisis. In fact, the word “child” should never end up in the same sentence with “trafficking.” As they say on Sesame Street, “One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn’t belong.”
Over the past few weeks there have been reports of immigrant, unaccompanied children flying into small Tennessee airports in the middle of the night and then leaving on multiple buses...to go where? What in the world? Why do we not hear the rest of the story? Are we all assuming someone else is looking into it?
There were also news reports recently about 150 missing children who were found in the state of Tennessee. And similar reports surfaced in other states across the country. I had so many questions. “Why did my phone not go off 150 times with an Amber alert for each child? Why did we not see 150 signs flashing over the interstate? Where are the 150 happy reunions with tearful parents?”
I made some phone calls, contacted state politicians, and did a little research to see if I could get answers, and what I discovered did not make me feel any better. After everything I learned, I am even more alarmed about the children getting off those planes. Even our government officials are having trouble getting complete information and the details just seem to be spinning. Hearing the stories and watching the videos of this same scenario across the country made me want to cry and scream at the same time. I think it is easy to forget that every single child has a name and a face and is probably confused and afraid, not to mention, homesick. I suspect there are lots of tears and there will be more in the days to come.
As for the children in our own backyard, apparently many of the missing children in Tennessee simply got lost within the system. Children who were placed by the state with one person and somehow ended up with another. Some were runaways. This explanation was presented as if to say, “at least it wasn’t child trafficking.” Well, that may not be the case. Child trafficking can take on a lot of different shapes and sizes.
Over the past couple of years, we have seen a dramatic increase in the number of children, even as young as three years old, who have been victims of sexual abuse. Every single day we observe the short-term and long-term impact of this abuse on the women and children we serve, and we know the time and tremendous work it takes to heal from the trauma. On top of that, after a crazy year of quarantine, I feel we need to brace ourselves for the stories we will hear going forward. In fact, we are even taking measures to strengthen our children’s program to address their trauma when these little ones show up on our doorstep.
Honestly, this whole issue has really been heavy for me. There are a number of times through the years when I have tried very hard to report what was obviously child sexual abuse - and it went nowhere. I remember a three-year-old girl who was molested by her grandmother’s boyfriend and after months of taking all the necessary steps, the entire investigation came to an end simply because he denied he did it. Case closed.
Or, in the case of another, because the pedophile was considered such a fine, upstanding man, no one would listen to my suspicions. As a result, the abuse went on undetected for years, and now that it is finally out in the open, it will take even longer to undo the damage.
I went to bed recently with such a grieving heart. “Lord, there are so many children hurting. I feel so helpless because I can’t seem to make a difference. How can we stop these monsters?”
That same night I had an interesting dream. I was trying to get to Blue Monarch. My trip was longer and more difficult because I was traveling on foot for some reason. When I got just a mile or so from our campus, I came upon a busy intersection where I found a very long line of little, shiny red cars crossing the road in single file. Each miniature car held only one child. They reminded me of the child-sized cars I loved to drive at Fair Park in Nashville as a kid.
Suddenly, the long train of little cars came to a halt and several of the children hopped out to stop traffic and help me cross the road. There was a young girl in particular who seemed to be a little older and directed the others as if she was in charge. I noticed right away her freckles and strawberry blond hair looked familiar.
The children seemed to be very happy as they giggled and chatted among themselves. As soon as they escorted me across the intersection, they cheerfully waved, got back into their little cars, and continued on their way as if they were excited to reach their destination.
The next morning as I reflected on the curious dream, I thought back on the young girl who looked so familiar. Who was that?
Suddenly I realized who she was.
There was a day when I felt an overwhelming need to visit a family that lived at Blue Monarch years before. This is not something I typically do, but I could not get this nagging thought out of my head. So, I got in touch with the mother, found out where they lived, and made arrangements to visit one day after school. She did not seem particularly excited about my visit but agreed to let me come by their house.
It was great to see her kids and catch up with them. They had grown quite a bit since I had seen them last, and they were so excited to see me, they talked on top of each other as they reminisced about their favorite Blue Monarch memories. The mom stayed to herself most of the time.
At one point a man walked out of the house, got into a car and left. All four kids looked at each other and immediately stopped talking. Red flag.
Finally, one child looked at the oldest and said, “You need to tell Miss Susan.”
“Tell me what?”
This eventually turned into a long, detailed, very ugly and troubling story of repeated sexual abuse. The victim was the oldest sibling with freckles and strawberry blond hair, who was now a young teenage girl.
Sick to my stomach, I drove away in a rage over what this disgusting man had done to this girl who was so innocent and unharmed when I saw her last. I remembered how she used to run into my office after school with grades that made her grin from ear to ear. She was so proud. I reported the abuse right away and was relieved to see that a case was opened a few hours later.
Of course, after making a report like this, I always wonder how things transpire and what kind of drama unfolds behind the scenes. I couldn’t help but wonder if this girl would be angry with me because it was pretty obvious who made the report. I had to do it, but I hoped she would understand it was to protect her.
Amazingly, a few weeks later I ran into this young girl and her family in a nearby town. The mother was angry and grumbled about all the trouble I had caused, but the freckled girl immediately ran up and gave me a big bear hug. That was my answer. It sure was nice to see she still loved me. Her sibling, who urged her to tell, hugged me even harder. I couldn’t help but notice the young girl looked prettier than she did the last time I saw her, almost as if she had become a child again.
Later, as I reflected on how this turned out, I also thought back on how happy the children were in my dream. And then in my heart, I heard God say, “There have been lots of children rescued because of Blue Monarch - and there will be many more in the days to come. Sometimes the difference one makes is not visible to anyone but me.”
He called a little child and had him stand among them. And he said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever welcomes a little child like this in my name welcomes me. But if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.” Matthew 18:2-6
