Aching tummy, aching heart.

Last night, I tossed and turned from hot flashes and chills for a few hours, but ultimately ended up hunching over the toilet until there was nothing left in my stomach. As I laid awake, sipping on cold water and trying to eat saltines, my mind kept wandering to the images of little Indian girls I met on the street yesterday. While walking down to Anatalie’s apartment to meet up with the women in the sewing program, I turned the street corner and was confronted with a chorus of “Hello sister! How are you?!” There were about 6 ten year old girls, dressed in maroon school uniforms and pigtail braids, giggling to each other as they waved at me. Smiling I replied, “Why hello sisters! I am fine, thank you! How was your school today?”
“Fine, sister. See you!” Their shining faces and swaying backpacks continued down the road, and as I watched the group wander along, my heart was warm from their happy greeting and thoughtful as well…

The average age a girl is sold into prostitution in India is 12 years old. Where would that precious bunch of girls be in two years? Images of commercial sex workers standing on the road at night flashed in my mind, but I became distracted by a man with a cart of bright yellow mangos who was beckoning me to purchase 100g with a “special discount,” and let the thought slip away.

I pulled the sheet up over my shoulder and stared at the wall of our bedroom, praying for the aching in my tummy to ease, but asking for the aching in my heart to grow. I want to love these girls as much as Jesus loves them… I want my heart to ache for them as His does. I prayed for my spirit to break into irreparable pieces, so that I would never forget the suffering of the women and the future of millions of little girls if no one intervenes in the sex trade in this country.
I read a statistic today that said “At the current rate of growth by 2025 one out of every five Indian girl children will be a child prostitute.” While this statement is concerning and shocking and sickening, I struggled to understand just exactly what that meant—the numbers and percentages all become a blur after awhile, until you have a face to put with them….

That face, that child, that little girl, sat in my lap on the way to a wedding tonight.