When Dreams Come True: The Day I Walked Into a Strip Club (part 2)

It was almost seven o'clock on a chilly Monday night just like this. It felt like years of dreaming, hoping and praying were all going to be fulfilled in a matter of moments.

Our car pulled in and parked in front of a rundown strip mall on the outskirts of town. There was no flashy sign or shileouettes of busty women to alert unknowing passers-by as to exactly what kind of establishment this was. As I opened my door, I held tight to paper plates and plastic utensils I was charged with bringing and prayed under my breath. I'm not sure what I imagined would be behind that solid metal door, but since there was no window in sight I would have to wait until I was inside to find out.

I lingered just behind the other ladies I came with, close enough to feel safe but far enough back that I could take in this one last moment. You know that moment. The one before you can no longer say you are blissfully unaware. That period in time where ignorance provides you with the perfect cover to sit back and do nothing. I knew once I walked through that door I would be accountable for what I saw and for the people I would meet.

So I took one last deep breath of ignorance, closed my eyes and walked into my destiny.

Before I could even open my eyes, the smell of smoke burned inside my nostrils and the music overwhelmed my senses, playing so loudly I could feel the base reverberating inside me. When I did open my eyes, it wasn't at all what tv had made it out to be. The seemingly glamorous and swanky set-up filled with business men in suits was instead replaced with rickety stages, a dimly lit room and drop tile ceilings. The smell was a mixture of alcohol, smoke and body spray. The well dressed men were instead men who looked as though life had gotten the better of them.

My heart went from anxious, excited, scared and oblivious simply to sad in a split second. I had no idea how to reach these girls but I knew in that instant that they had to know there was more to life than this. They needed to know that this job did not define who they are or how God sees them. They needed to know they are loved, not just by a group of random women, but by a savior who died for them because He loved them so much. And they needed to see this love in a tangible way. They needed Jesus with skin on, and that's why we were there, simply to show them the love of Christ by being there.

Our evening wasn't spiritual, rather it was predictable and dependable- consistent. "The church ladies" as we are known there, are a staple every Monday night.  The girls know we will be making our way to them with a hot meal and some sweet treats. We serve them their food and do our best to get to know these sweet women on a personal level.

The thing about ministering in a strip club is that it scares people. This is not a place where hope and freedom abound, nor is it a place Jesus' name is often mentioned in the proper context. It is dark and every time I walk out my heart is heavy for these women. But God has not called us to comfort, convenience and ease, as some in the church may have us believe. He has called us to be His light in dark places. He has called us to smell like smoke from time to time.

As I drove home that night, I sat silent in my car. I tried to process what had just happened and without provocation I found myself gently pulling my hair to my face and breathing in the smoke that was embedded in every strand. Tears began to pour down my face. This smoke was a perfect encapsulation of what these women were facing. It latches on to you and doesn't let go. It reminds you of where you've been, a constant demon on your shoulder whispering lies into your ear.

But as the tears of sorrow for my new friends overwhelmed me, God whispered into my ear a prayer I prayed as a young girl.

"God let me get so close to the gates of hell to pull people out that I smell like smoke."

And just like that my tears of pain turned to tears of hope, for they had a Savior who was yearning for their hearts far more than I could ever imagine. He placed this dream in the heart of a twelve year old girl, not just to give her something to do, but because He knew that long awaited dream had less to do with her and everything to do with the lives He so desperately wanted to have an eternal relationship with. He has allowed almost 20 years of prayers and passion to build up in my heart so that these girls, my friends, can know that He loves them.

When Dreams Come True (part 1)

When I was twelve years old, God began to speak to me. It wasn't an audible voice, but through unexplainable thoughts and pictures in my head. I would wake up remembering seemingly strange dreams and quickly began a lifetime of journaling these visions and pictures so I wouldn't forget them. I would spend hours on the floor of my closet just listening to Him and my heart quickly became burdened for a group of women few my age even knew existed.

While many of my friends were starting to dream of wondrous careers for their futures- actress, athlete, writer, musician- I was dreaming of the day I could work with women in the sex trade industry.

Yes, that was my dream at twelve years old- to love on sex slaves, prostitutes and hookers, exotic dancers and the like. This was long before wonderful organizations like A21 brought so many of these issues to light for our generation. During that time, it was a fairly taboo subject in the church as a whole. Thankfully the church I grew up in didn't shy away from issues that many chose not to discuss.

I saw a video at a church youth retreat about young virgin girls in India being sold to much older men to be sex slaves. To make matters worse, many of these men had STDs and it was believed in their culture that having sex with a virgin would cure them. Of course not only is that not the case, but now these innocent children are being sold for sex and being infected with terrible diseases. Unwanted, unloved and sold by their own parents, I couldn't wrap my head around it. I didn't know what I could do. I was just a kid. But I knew I had to do something. So I did everything I could. I saved up money and incrementally sent it to organizations who were buying these young girls' freedom and then housing and educating them. I prayed continually for these children and I had my heart and mind set for at least a decade that when God opened the door, I would go there in person to be the hands and feet of Christ and put my faith into action. I was dead set on it. I WAS going to India.

As the years passed, I felt God asking me what I wanted to do. My heart was still in India, a placed I'd never been, but He had been changing my focus ever so subtly to see that there are women in different facets of this industry all around me right where I live. He was asking me what I wanted to do. Did I want to stay or did I want to go?

I honestly don't remember making a conscious decision, but through small decisions I was making everyday it was becoming more and more apparent that my heart and my ministry (at least for the time being) would be here.

I happened upon a book about seven years ago called Scars and Stilettos about a woman God saved from a life of dancing and prostitution. I read the back cover, bought it on the spot and finished it in less than 24 hours.  This woman's life was changed by the power of God and then she chose to go back into those places that caused her years of pain and heartache to share the message of Christ's love with the same women she'd previously danced along side.

A ministry INSIDE a strip club?? How does that work?? How is that even possible? I want to do that!

I had never heard of such a thing but that one seed was all it would take for God to stir a new dream in my heart.

It would be five years later before that dream would become a reality. A day like any other, a Thursday morning. I was sitting in the back of a women's meeting (admittedly, not really paying attention) when they began to give women from different ministry opportunities a few moments to share what they do and how we could get involved.

A lady who had been sitting right next to me got up and started to speak. One sentence in and I literally began to cry.

"I'm a part of a group of women that goes into strip clubs and loves on the dancers," she said.

I went completely numb. Tears ran down my face and I'm sure the table of ladies I was sitting with thought something was wrong with me.

FIFTEEN years had gone by and not a single opportunity had presented itself for me to be the hands and feet of Christ to these women who so desperately need the hope and love of a Savior. But on a Thursday morning when I least expected it, God put it on a platter before me.

I have zero idea what she said after that first sentence. None. I threw my contact information on a piece of paper and stuck it in her hand on her way out the door with a desperate plea to connect with me soon.

And that was that. Fifteen years of waiting and the door was finally open...

A Lifetime Collector of Things

JulianaRosePhotography

I will be the first to admit that I am a "collector of things." As a child, I could not bare to see a single reusable item be put in the trash can. Of course what I saw as reusable and what most people would see are two totally different things. I wasn't ahead of my time in being environmentally friendly or an avid recycler. I just knew all of these things could be used to make something else and it would be a waste to simply throw them away. I collected cardboard toilet paper rolls, empty Coke bottles, used paint stirs, anything you can think of, I kept. I would hide them under my bed because I was certain they would come in handy one day. And when that day would come, I would dig them out of their hiding place with an intense sense of pride because they did, in fact, prove useful. Then I would create silly games, special presents or "helpful" gadgets out of my treasures. I considered myself quite the inventor.

Fast forward twenty years later and I'm still collecting "things." I'm an avid collector of other people's junk. Garage sales, flea markets, you name it, I've done it.  And if that's not enough the Target clearance bins call my name every time I enter the store.

"Bethany! Bethany! You NEED me!"

Highly unlikely and yet I succumb to its beckoning more often than I'd like to admit.

But this past year as we added another member to our family and all of the accouterments that come along with having more people in your home, I began to see all of these things for what they really are- things.

The things we work so hard to accumulate were in reality the exact things that were causing me so much stress. 

My house stays a mess, partially because I have three children but mostly because the things I've gathered are more than we need and more than can fit in our home. I had the epiphany- I've done this to myself! I have no one to blame but me.

Something has got to give. I understand that a lifelong habit doesn't change overnight. But as I prayed about what God wanted for me in 2016, one thing I felt Him say was that I needed to invest more in people than things.

So that's my goal. And while I know I'll still enjoy some Saturday morning garage saling and I'm sure I'll browse the clearance bins occasionally, my goal is to focus more on storing up my treasures in Heaven where they matter and less on amassing unnecessary junk that in the end means nothing.