'she was looking beyond the glass...'

i wonder if i try to join causes to feel something. to feel what? important? to feel good? to feel humble, do i expect praise for my 'generosity'?

Thirty-two. i write a check for $32 every month for a girl i don't even know. she is six years old; she shares my birthday; and she lives in Indonesia. i feel like she should be a larger part of me, of my heart, i feel compelled to love her, but thousands of miles separate us. and yet when should that stop love? love has no limits, it's not contained in true form. she is the most beautiful little girl i've ever seen. but all i am is that check. i feel like some part of me should travel along in the envelope, somehow reach her and wrap her up and hold her and tell her she is meant for greater things, things almost as beautiful as she is. i want to meet her. but until i do, i only remember her one day out of every month, and that's besides in prayer. her picture is on my bulletin board.

nearly one year ago i came across an account of someone i admire and almost look up to, in a way; of traveling to India. he and others were going to help out at a shelter for girls who have in some way been 'rescued' from the horror that is the sex trafficking market. it is the second largest moneymaking business in the world. it sickens me to my very core and sends shudders and tears through my eyes. girls being sold for merely cents on the dollar; little girls, who shouldn't have the innocence of their light robbed from them so quickly.

i recently stumbled upon an organization devoted to ending this once and for all, called Love 146. the story behind it tells of the co-founders traveling undercover to a brothel in Thailand and gazing at a group of little girls, all in red dresses; their names stripped away from them and replaced with numbers; huddled around a small television, crackling with static; all behind a panel of glass. one of the co-founders recounts how there was no life, no light, in any of their eyes. but he noticed one little girl, possibly new to the brothel, not staring blankly at the television, but rather, through the giant panel of glass separating them from the potential evil awaiting them on the other side. he says, "she was looking beyond the glass. she was staring out at us. her piercing stare. there was still fight left in her eyes. there was still life left in her..." the number pinned to that little girl's red dress was 146.

the website says i can become an 'abolitionist' by just using my voice. this and everywhere else i seem to be in this world behind the screen seems to be the most effective way of using my voice and getting this message out there.

i want to help. i want to mean something to this world, but rise above it. i don't want to belong to this world; this world consists of those looking hungrily and selfishly in at the other side of the panel of glass; this world belongs in that small TV, holding nothing but static and the attention of those without any more hope; robbed away from them. i want to belong to the fight in that little girl's eyes; i want to belong to the love that eminates from the picture of my little girl on my bulletin board and in my checkbook, and that is written on the arms of those who have found hope again and won't let go. i want to feel real caring and compassion and humility and love, and the only way i'll find it is by dropping the map and letting it happen.

if i do have a purpose or calling in life, i feel that this is the start of it, or the start of something, if anything.

Dear Lord, please guide me in this. let this be the start of something big. the something called purpose, called life.

-d