"Do you need help leaving a life of prostitution?" I asked.
Probably not listed as the top ten ways of opening a conversation with a stranger, but I've been told to let the Holy Spirit lead me, and that's what came out of my mouth. It was likely as much a surprise to me as to the young lady I was speaking to.
"Did you just call me a prostitute?" she asked, her voice slurred, her steps stumbling. Her midriff was bared and she was covered with tattoos.
"Well, you and your friend were lifting your shirts to show us your breasts. Frankly, those are the sorts of things prostitutes do."
"I didn't do that...just my friend."
"Do you need help leaving addictions?" I asked, "It is clear to me you are high or drunk...or both."
"How far is McDonalds?" she asked.
"Not far," I said, "I'll walk you there."
It all started when this woman and her friend began spewing lewd invectives at us pro-life sidewalk counselors in front of the busiest abortion mill in the area. One bared her breasts, but both were gyrating in front of us in sexual manners. They'd been dropped by an older man, and they had a friend in the abortion mill. They had listened to us on the microphone, calling out to the women swarming into the mill, and they both were clearly spaced out on drugs. They both were stumbling, and slurring in their speech, provocatively dressed, and utterly lewd and mocking as they yelled at us.
I had started my time on the microphone with a heartfelt appeal to consider the humanity of the child within the women, reading excerpts from "Horton Hears a Who." ( "A person's a person, no matter how small.") We'd already had an incredible day of miracles. Three women chose life for their babies. That brought the number of saved babies that we knew of to 504 babies this year alone. One very emotional incident was when a woman left the mill in her car, and stopped by us sobbing. We asked if she chose life. She was so overcome, she couldn't speak, just nodded and dissolved in heart wrenching sobs.
We gave her our literature, with our phone numbers and told her to call if she needed anything, or just someone to talk to. We would do everything in our power to help her. Then I handed her a baby crib cover, and she began crying harder. I think the enormity of what she had almost done was hitting her with hurricane force. Fellow counselor, Chrissy, gave her a bag of baby gifts. She took them all, and let me hug her, and promised she would call. This was the outpouring of someone who had heard God's voice clearly to abandon the evil path she had almost chosen. Her tears were of conviction. Good tears. All of us were deeply moved.
Then the lewd mocking girls began their suggestive dance. One of them approached me, as fellow counselor, Flip, on the microphone, urged her to take my literature. She stopped in front of me, her eyes unfocused, and waited.
"Take this into the clinic, to your friend," I begged. She took the pamphlet, nodded, went to the curb and sat down, flipping through the booklet. After a little while, she threw it down. Then she and her friend got up, stumbling and laughing, and went to the other side of the parking lot.
I followed along the sidewalk, and saw them sitting on steps, partially shrouded by the foliage. All of us were concerned that these were girls involved in sex trafficking. If this were true, I needed to at least offer them help.
I called through the bushes, "If you are being forced in a lifestyle you don't want to be in, please let us help you. We can find you help." They laughed at me, screamed more vulgar things and obscenities. Then, one went into the clinic, and the other started across the lot and to the street, where I intercepted her.
"Is McDonald's far?" she asked again. She was struggling to walk in a straight line.
"I'll show you, if you don't mind," I said.
She nodded.
I told her that I had hope and help for her if she was tired of a life of covering hurt with sex or drugs. She made a feeble attempt to deny the drugs, but then fell silent. We both knew what the truth was. I asked how old she was.
"Twenty."
"I have kids around your age," I said.
"Does someone force you to stand on the sidewalk to call out to those women?" she asked.
"No one forces me. I volunteer."
"Why?"
"Because I love God, and I love His children. And I want to help them if I can."
She looked at me with her glazed eyes, but I saw a spark of interest.
"I had an abortion," she told me, "Do you think I go to hell now?" All the mockery in her voice had vanished.
"Do you believe in God?" I asked.
She nodded.
So we walked together, and I told her the true meaning of Christmas, how Jesus was born a baby to come into this world to save us from our sins. We talked about how it is impossible for any of us to be good, and that we all deserve God's punishment and condemnation. Then we talked about Jesus, and how He offered to take our punishment upon Himself instead. All we had to do was accept it.
I would not have believed it if I hadn't been there. Her slurring stopped, her gait began to straighten, and she began to ask me about Jesus. Her eyes had stopped sliding about like jello, and she looked at me with steady intensity.
Then she stopped suddenly and cried, "I'm so tired! How much further to McDonalds?"
"I know you are tired," I told her, "And the Bible talks about being weary. Do you know Jesus tells us 'come all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest for your souls.' ?"
She looked at me, and didn't speak. There was so much longing on her face, I wanted to cry.
"Here is a pamphlet about Jesus. Would you like to read it later, or would you like me to read it to you as we walk?"
"Read it to me," she said.
We continued walking and I read her the steps to accepting Jesus as Lord.
As I finished, Flip pulled up in his truck. By then, we had walked about a mile, and I'd been gone a long time. I don't even know if the other counselors had seen me walk off with the girl.
"Hi Flip," I said, as he rolled down his window, "S is very tired. She wants to go to McDonalds. We've been talking about Jesus. Could you drive her the rest of the way?"
Flip is a minister, and a kind man. I knew he would bring her Jesus, and a McCheeseburger.
"Sure," he said, "Hop in."
"May I hug you?" I asked S.
"Yes," she said, turning to me, "Thank you for everything."
I jogged back down the hill. A few minutes later, Flip and S pulled up. She had a bagful of food and a drink. She smiled at me. Her face shone with hope, gentleness....perhaps even peace.
"Thank you," she said, with genuine sweetness in her demeanor and voice. Flip asked to pray with her, and I lay my hand on her shoulder. We all bowed our heads together, beseeching the only One who can eternally heal the pain each of us carry.
As she walked back to her car, Flip said, "That was a miracle."
"Yes," I said smiling.
"She is not the same girl she was when she started up that hill with you," he said.
No, she was not. No one who has been broken, and healed with the hope and love of Jesus is ever the same.
"When she gets back with her crowd, she may fall right back into what she has been," said Flip, "But she will never forget that walk up the hill with you."
I hope not. Neither will I.
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If you would like to be hope and light to women who are hurting, or donate to this frontline ministry, please contact Lisa Metzger at lisametzger@cities4life.org
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Praise God!!!! Your boldness is of God. You are a Spirit filled warrior. A shining light on a hill. S knows where to find you. I pray God will protect her.
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