The Story Begins

The story began back around April when I had a week of in-my-face God trying to get my attention. I had a conversation with a girl on facebook about pole dancing and prostitutes; for some reason the same topic came up at work; I watched "Price of Pleasure" because my friend, Chrissy, recommended it (it's a documentary about porn); then, God spoke in a voice only audible to my heart, but it was crystal clear.

I sat through the service in church that Sunday, and I couldn't tell you what the message was about, but at the end the pastor told a story about a Christian business guy on a business trip. I remember wondering what the story had to do with the rest of the message, but whatever the case it had a lot to do with what God had to say to me.

Here's my version of the story (it's something along these lines): He can't sleep and he hears some noise in the pub below him. He walks in and orders a coffee, and asks the man behind the counter what all the commotion is. "Oh, it's the prostitutes getting off work. Happens like clockwork every night at this time." He overhears one of them, a girl called Agnus, mention that it is her birthday the following day, but that no one ever celebrates it with her. After she leaves, he suggests that they throw her a birthday party the following night. So the next night there are decorations, and a huge birthday cake. When Agnus walks in they sing happy birthday to her and throw her a party. She asks if she can take the cake to show her friends. She runs out the door, telling them not to move and that she will be right back. In the awkward moments that follow, the business man suggests that they all pray for Agnus, and so they do. "Hey," says the man behind the counter, "I didn't know you were a Christian. What kind of church do you go to?" "I guess the kind of church that throws parties in the middle of the night for a prostitute," he answers. "That kind of church doesn't exist," says the man behind the counter, "and if it did, I would go to it." The story pierced my heart. As I sat there at the end of the service with a piece of bread and a cup of juice, I asked God to speak to my heart. And He did. "Rescue these captives, Julie. They're so precious to Me. Go to the ghetto."

Prostitutes? I've known I've been called to young girls since I was in high school myself. I knew that was my ministry. It IS my ministry. And I even understand how 'young girls' and 'prostitutes' fit together, but . . . .

I didn't forget what God said, but I knew He was going to have to show me more.

About a month later, I visited my dear friend, Ashley, in Lancaster. On my way up, I drove through what I term "the ghetto." And I fell in love. It was cute, the people were outside together experiencing community and investing in one another. I thought about all the sinful life cycles that lived there, and all the hurting girls, and I knew God was tugging on my heart. As I sat on their couch, we talked about me moving up there when I got back from camp, and living with them for awhile, but it seemed almost a joke – something that wouldn't ever really happen. On the way home, I passed a church that I looked up later online that has ghetto ministries happening weekly. It may seem clear, but it wasn't until later that I started putting things together. Prostitutes, the ghetto, and now provision to move into the ghetto by having an in-between place to live.

A couple weeks later, I was in D.C. Although we didn't drive through the ghetto, it was sketchy enough to count for something close! And again, I realized how much my heart yearned for a place much like it: poor, yes, but with so much need to see Christ in their next door neighbor. I had been reading through Luke, and each time Jesus sat down with the poor, the 'sinful', and the unexpected, it was confirmed again.

That's who I'm called to be. The next door neighbor who, by inviting them over for dinner or sitting out on the front steps with them, will really just be doing what Jesus did.

But that was before I left for camp. There was still a distance between those thoughts and the real thing.

Now, the real thing is in a few weeks. Looking for a job is real now. I began looking for jobs near the ghetto in D.C., Baltimore, and Lancaster. I have come across a part-time job in Lancaster, and as I train in the next few weeks that's going to be real too. Decisions are not only real, they also have to be made quickly now. No more time to sit and think about it. The real thing is saying goodbye to my family, friends, church, Bible study groups, and my girls' small group. And, if the ghetto is getting more and more real, so is the prospect of ministry with prostitutes. Don't know how it's going to play out, but I know that what I heard that Sunday morning was real. Maybe it will be a girl next door. Or maybe it will be much bigger than that.

It's almost too much to process. All the things that need to be done overwhelm me: job search, calling BGE, taking care of address switches, seeing friends I haven't seen all summer and telling them goodbye again . . . . All the emotions overwhelm me too: excitement, fear, nervousness, sadness, anticipation . . . .

I remembered the story from Genesis 12 when Abram leaves when God tells him to go. He doesn't wait around. He trusts. Until recently, I wasn't really trusting God to provide everything I needed in order to obey. But as I lied in bed one night, my heart swarming with thoughts and feelings, God and I talked. And I felt peace. He's taken care of little things: a place to live for awhile, a place to store my things until I have a few paychecks and can find a happy ghetto (or near the ghetto) apartment. And He'll take care of the big things too: a second job, a church, friends, . . . . Finally, this heart of mine sat still long enough for me to trust. Long enough for me to surrender. Long enough to hear that voice in my heart call me to the ghetto, to girls, to prostitutes, and have peace in it.

That's my story. And it's probably just the beginning . . . .