When Things go Wrong

Our team was in the middle of a rescue operation.  This time, as often happens, there was a tip off.  The girls and the perpetrators scattered before we reached the building, and the rescue fell apart.  It was crushing.

An operation is an exercise in patience.  Investigators spend countless nights undercover gathering information.  These courageous individuals risk their lives every time that they are in the field.  Our legal team ensures that every single technicality is followed in order to create the best possible chance for a conviction.  Without perpetrator accountability, rescues are empty; they only leave vacuums that will be filled by others, essentially creating a market for new girls.  Our aftercare team scrambles to arrange immediate support for the victims.  If not, these girls are so traumatized that they may become uncooperative, try to return to a brothel, or refuse to tell their stories and allow their abusers to walk free.  Planning can be frantic, but it is always aims to be meticulous, because the stakes are extremely high.

When it goes wrong, it can be devastating.

I was listening to a sermon online when I got the news—a text message explaining that our rescue had failed.  It was just then that the speaker began talking about times when God may allow even the best of plans to be thwarted.  He talked about how God, in his loving sovereignty, will sometimes say ‘no’ to who he uses and when, but never to what.  His mission is always the same: rescue. 

My heart needed that reminder.

The next day, we did not have our regular morning meeting.  Instead, putting any differences aside, we just sang and were reminded that God loves those girls more than any of us do, and that He is infinitely more committed to their rescue than we are.

I would be lying if I said that this makes it easier to sit with the result.  It does not.  It is so difficult to grasp God’s purpose in face of this kind of injustice, but I do not want a faith that closes its eyes to seeming incongruities, or fails to ask questions that lack trite answers. 

I want a faith that is deep enough to wrestle with the truth of God’s goodness in the reality of suffering.  Anything less would be delusion.  But I am thankful for a God who draws near in our questioning, and who is big enough to answer.  

- Lauren