We found ourselves there by accident.

By miscommunication.  And ignorance.  And impulsively hopping off the taxi-truck too early.

We thought we were headed to a pedestrian walking street, with ice cream shops and t-shirts for tourists.

But one wrong alley later, Matt and I found ourselves with our three little children in the heart of potentially the

worst red-light district in the world.

We clutched little hands tighter, and we started walking faster.  Matt and I talked-cheerful to our three blondes, but we caught each other’s eyes, and we both knew. We felt the weight, the oppression, and we prayed desperate-God-you-have-to-rescue prayers, as we navigated the maze of alleys and bars, searching for another taxi or a safer street.  But, the further we went in, the harder it was to find our way out–dead-ends and more alleys that only lead to more bars.  It was waking up in a nightmare–exposed, vulnerable, trapped.  Cheap sex dripped from everywhere– billboards, music, people, clothes.  It was evident that we did not belong, and so they all stared.

Short-skirted asian women, applying makeup, on tall bar stools.

Overweight white men, drinking beer, on leather chairs.

And we left as quickly as we could manage, physically sick to our stomachs. We took a taxi back to where we started, bought icecream on the beach with our kids, and prayed.  We had only spent a very-accidental 15 minutes in Pattaya’s red-light district, famous for it’s blatant sex industry, but it had left both Matt and I shaken and marked.

And today I cried on the beach.  While my three little ones shoveled sand, I cried for the injustice of it all.  I sunk under the knowledge that we humans can be such an evil bunch, and I wept for the realities of women in this country.  I cried for the understanding that just blocks away from where I sat under an umbrella, precious souls were selling themselves for eight dollars a night, and I cried for the men who were paying for it.

And honestly, I just wanted to bury my head in the sand at my feet. The knowledge so heavy and sickening,  I found myself wishing I had never seen, had never understood in the first place.

And the sea breeze floated in, and I wondered afresh what it must have been like for Jesus to walk dusty earth–

to see the blackest evil,

to know the details of each Story,

and to understand fully what could have been.

And I marveled at the weight he must have carried from the knowledge of it all.

The weight he still must carry from the knowledge of it

all.

Carrying the weight of any knowledge right now yourself?

*Originally posted by Laura at ALifeOverseas.

I wanted to share this quick illustration of the three different components of the fight against human trafficking. This word-picture could be applied to many social justice issues, and I heard it first from our friends over at ZOE Children’s Homes.  Call me crazy, but I just do better with simple analogies I can understand. . .

With that said, I realize that we can’t be passionate about every social justice issue that plagues our world today.  Let’s be honest, there are more really-massive global problems than our hearts or minds could count. Personally, though, I have found that I typically care about and get involved with the injustices that are either A} Right in my face, B} that God stirs a deep compassion for, or C} that I’ve personally had deep connection with.

Sometimes you just gotta jump.

Gotta trust and risk and let go.  Have to change and move forward and choose.

Sometimes you just need to step into the arena.

And, maybe, at the beginning, you’ll not know what to expect.  Maybe there will be stars in your eyes and dreams in your head, but maybe that’s okay.  Perhaps the idealism is a gift that urges you onto the platform in the first place.

 But then you tie and secure and double-check the ropes.  You plan and prepare and pray as best you know how.  You use your mind and your hands, and you ready yourself to leap free-falling into air.

And in the moments {or days or years} before the jump, you will taste both giddy expectation and anxious fear.  Your fingers will hover over the harness and your feet may shuffle towards the ladder, and the way back down,

to stable and safe and known.

But, time moves us forward, and platform-living doesn’t really make a life.  There comes a moment when all the talking, all the planning, all the praying, all the conversation culminates into

A choice.  A step.  A leap of faith.

And you close your eyes.  And maybe hold your breath.  And shoot off a desperate prayer.  And you commit.

And then you jump.

And, oftentimes, it is

Absolutely.  Terrifying.

And after the leap, you find yourself all-in and out-of-your-own-control.

Completely dependent on the One holding the rope, the One who called to you in the first place.

And though the leap itself is yours and yours alone,

the jump is always richer when lived out in Community.

Shared with people who feel the fear of before and the wind of after.  With others who, if you’re lucky, jump at the same time.

Shared with people that know your story and can hand it back to you.

People that are brave enough to speak truth and are present enough to know when to speak it.

People that love, anyway.

And perhaps it is family.  Or friends.  Or partners.  Or teammates.  Or even connections over wires.

But the journey, the jump, is always, always better when shared.

Because fly and thrive or crash and burn,

the leap will always leave you forever changed.

Forever.  Changed.

And perhaps the status quo isn’t something to cling to so tightly, after all.

Matt and our interns spent a day last week enjoying the Flight of the Gibbon here in Chiang Mai.  It was one of the team-building highlights of the trip, thus far.  You can read more about their own experiences on several of their personal blogs: Caitlin, Ben, and Kelly.

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Are you being asked to jump into anything new right now?  A relationship, a move, a new job, a different season, a transition?