I sat on the couch with a prostitute today. I never thought those words would come from this blinking cursor, but it’s 2:30 AM and all I can see is her face.

Dear beautiful girl,

I watched as your pimp drove up in his slick brand new car, and out stepped you, a beautiful, broken girl that was still a child herself. Shoulders exposed from your tank top in the middle of February and hair matted to your porcelain face. I’ve never seen eyes like yours. Defensive, hollow, broken little eyes that pierce into my heart so deeply exposing my naivety, my sheltered little world that only thought those eyes existed in movies. I’m in your home because you, a child yourself, have a child. And as bad as you want to know how to Mother that baby, as bad as your heart longs for that, you just don’t know how. You’ve never known love. You’ve never been tucked in at night, or told that you’re beautiful, or more importantly, told that you’re worth it. Your Mother pimped you out as a child. You were literally sold at a price, taken for an animal in this cruel, cruel world.

Your precious innocence was exchanged at the expense of cheap, meaningless, loveless sex.

I walk into my house that night and step into my shower, hoping to wash off the smell from your home and the bitterness of my heart. But all I can do is stand and cry. I wish so badly that you could stand in a shower, too, washing away all of your memories of deceit and hatred and heartbreak. I wish that you could step into a shower that erased the memories that tell you that sex is about being used. Oh precious girl, the measures I would take to put you in a shower like that. Tears roll down my eyes because here in this earthly life, scars are not just erased—they are deep within us, engrained in our hearts to make us the people we are.

But I know that crying is not the answer. No matter how many tears that fall from my eyes, tears don’t bring you healing. Tears motivate me but they don’t help you.

I know that I can’t stop with tears, but I must start with prayer.

As I fall to my knees and begin to pray, my anger and frustration build into words that accuse God, “Why have you let this happen? Why do some little girls get Moms and Dads that would never miss a single preschool performance and other little girls get Moms that are so desperately in need that they sell their daughter’s innocence in order to eat that day?”

And there in that moment, I realized something about Jesus that made me fall more in love with Him. Do you know who he chose to spend time with when he was here? Prostitutes and tax collectors. And don’t get me wrong, I know there is so much I don’t know about Jesus. I haven’t been to seminary, I haven’t read the entire Bible (or even most of it), and I am as stubborn as they come. But, precious sister, if I know anything, absolutely anything about my Jesus, I know that you are one of His favorites.  I know that you have to lie in bed at night and wonder why you got handed these cards.

But, sweetheart, if I know my Jesus like I think I do—if we believe He is half as loving and hopeful and sure as He promises us that He is…He is coming for you. There is not the slightest doubt in my mind.

I wish I could tell you why all of this is happening and exactly when He will come for the rescue. I wish I had all of the answers and could swoop in and save you from the hell that you’re in, but I know a God who does. So if I could sit down with you again and hold your precious head while you cried, this is what I would say: I love you and I’m so, so sorry. You are beautiful and you are strong and you are worth fighting for every single day.

But most importantly, you have a Dad that does not let even one of His little girls go unseen. No, not one of His little princesses can be too lost or too broken or too far gone. He would go to the ends of the Earth for you. He would hang on a cross for you. And, precious angel, He is coming for you.

Hang on.

Hey Becky Bee,

Read this blog post from a Momma of 2 (soon to be 3) in Oklahoma and couldn't help but think of you. I pray every day that you will one day have a Daddy that is an earthly example of how much God loves you. But either way, earthly example or not, remember this Momma's words from her story:

"My daughter doesn't talk about how big the waves were. She doesn't talk about how they came one after another. She talks about how her Daddy held her hand, how she clung to his neck, and how they danced holding onto one another."

Love you, little one--Hope you're laughing lots today.


http://www.scissortailsilk.com/2014/05/15/you-call-me-out-upon-the-water/

My high school boyfriend and I had to be the most frequent visitors of the Cartersville Sonic. I mean seriously, we probably paid for most of the building with how many late-night slushies we bought. Don’t ask me why we picked Sonic, but probably 2 or 3 nights of every week we would end up sitting in our cars at Sonic laughing and asking for extra ketchup. Starbucks was where we went to break up; Sonic was for smooth sailing. Needless to say, white chocolate mochas don’t taste nearly as good to me anymore—but I can always put down a good lemon-berry slush.

We were pulling out of Sonic on one of our routine nights and saw a man sitting by himself on the side of the curb. The sign in his hand read, “Hungry—could use any help.” The guy that I was dating was the kind of guy that wouldn’t pass him without helping—so we stopped. And that’s when we met Billy. Now, if you consider “meeting” a homeless person as putting twenty dollars in their hand, I had “met” a homeless person. But this was different. We sat and talked to Billy for probably thirty minutes, hearing his story—how he was looking for work here and was therefore forced to be separated from his wife and kids for the time being. How he felt like he had failed them. How he loved them so much and dreamed of the day that he could provide for them.

See, Billy was the first homeless person I had ever really seen.  Of course I had seen homeless people prior to our encounter at Sonic, but by “seen,” what I really mean is that I passed someone driving in a car, or handed someone a few dollars while rushing out of the Walmart parking lot. I had seen homeless people, but I hadn’t really seen them. I hadn’t heard their stories; I hadn’t prayed with them; I hadn’t carried their burdens or sat down on the side of the road and shared a meal with them. They were homeless people to me. They weren’t my brother or sister. They weren’t my mother or father. But Billy—I saw Billy. And for the first time in my life, I realized that the Billy’s of the world have something that the Haley’s won’t ever have.

I sat in my bed this very morning and prayed. I have a really hard time setting aside time to pray—I can go days and not even take a breath to notice. But this morning, I just started praying and I was amazed at what came out. “God, lead me to someone homeless or hungry or needy; please make our paths cross.” All of the sudden, something that hadn’t even really been on my heart blurted out of my mouth. I wish I could say that I pray this every day and that I pray it so that God would lead me to needy people to help. But that wasn’t really the case. I was praying this selfishly—I wanted to meet another Billy because Billy brought something out of my heart that no one else in the world had. He sat on the cold cement, having faith that someone, anyone, would bring him food. He was alone and away from everyone he loved. He hadn’t showered and he had no future plans. But he smiled and he looked at me with bright eyes and said, “God loves me. He’s taking care of me and there is nothing like having Him on your side.” And Billy believed that with all of his heart. Billy might look different to the world, but Billy was pure. He was hopeful and sure and he wasn’t defined by career or money or status. He didn’t own a home and he wasn’t a CEO and he didn’t make three figures. But he knew who his Dad was and that was enough for him. And this morning, all I wanted was to hug a Billy. To be so close to someone that knew my Father so well.

The Bible is full of commandments about taking care of the poor. And yes, I think that Jesus was telling us that, in part, because they need us. They need their brothers and sisters to step up and feed and clothe them. They need shelter and jobs and family. But honestly, more importantly, I think that Jesus said that because He knew that we needed them. We need their faith; we need their trust; we need their perspectives and their stories. Jesus points us to these brothers and sisters because I am convinced that they are some of His favorites. They know something that we don’t know. And by “we” I mean me—the girl that hasn’t ever been hungry a day in her life. The girl that never questioned if college was an option. The girl whose parents wouldn’t stop loving her if she slapped them in the face and ran the other way. I need Billy. We need Billy.

And we won’t ever know Billy if we don’t share meals and stories and houses and churches. We don’t see people when we crumple dollar bills into their hand or pretend to look past them when they’re standing at the stop sign. Take time. See them.

Because I have a feeling we’re really, really going to miss out if we don’t get to know the Billy’s.

All I can think about is Mary.

When I close my eyes on this rainy, seemingly hopeless, somehow perfect night, all I can see is her sweet face.

Can you imagine watching your baby boy be nailed to a cross? Your baby boy. You aren’t watching someone kill a stranger. You are watching soldiers take your son and spit in His face. The same little boy that you fell in love with the first moment you laid eyes on Him in that stable thirty-three years ago. Oh, and to watch that whip. Every time that whip hits your little boy you cringe. You want to yell, “don’t do it again!” and right then you catch a glimpse of the scar on his leg. And you remember how he got that scar when He was playing with His Daddy outside twenty-five years ago. How you wish that was the only scar on His body. And then you watch them take a hammer and hit the nails into your perfect little boy. Your stomach sinks and your heart is torn in half because you love those hands. You had those tiny warm hands touch your cheeks and lean in close for a bedtime kiss. You’ve watched those hands hug and hold and heal as your baby has turned into a sinless, selfless, perfect man. And now, those perfect, sweet little hands that you have grown to love are being crushed in front of your eyes. And all you can do is just fall to your face and cry. And every once in a while, only when you have the strength, you raise up on your knees and kiss your precious little boys feet. You press your lips up to those feet and you squeeze your eyes shut and you pray for God to take this pain away quickly. You pray that it happens fast and you can take your precious one down from that rugged cross and hold Him in your arms where He should be. And just as you ask for that, you watch Him breathe in one last time, and you hear the words, “It is finished,” and you let out one more sob as you press His still-warm feet to your cheek.

And there is no understanding in that moment. There are no cliché comments made like “You’ll get through it,” or “It all happens for a reason,” because for heaven’s sake, this woman just watched her little boy die. Die on a public, humiliating, disgraceful cross at that.  And she knows, deep down, that this was supposed to happen…that it was His will. But it still hurts. She knows there is purpose but she just can’t think of that right now. It just still hurts. It’s her little boy.

Tonight, when I close my eyes and think about that night thousands of years ago when my Savior hung on a cross, I can’t help but wonder who was at His feet. I try to imagine myself 2,000 years ago and wonder where I would have been. Would I have been shouting with the crowds to “Crucify Him?” Would I have been at home cleaning the house because I didn’t believe that He was the One? Would I have been sitting right next to Mary? Would I have put my chin on her shoulder and my arms around her and held her as she watched her little boy die? Would I have stayed the whole day, right at His feet? Would I have cried until there were just no more tears? Would I have run up and hugged his feet and tried to wipe the blood stains off of my blameless Savior whose feet were not worthy of blood?

God, I hope so.

God, let me have a heart like your Momma’s. Let my heart break like hers.

What I would have given to see her smile on Sunday morning when she got to see her little boy. Her perfect little boy, restored. What I would given to have seen that hug—that joyful, thankful, heart-wrenching hug that her son was alive, and even more so, that her God was faithful.

Oh, God, help me love you like your Momma did. 

For those of you who have read my blog before, you probably remember Becky. I am absolutely in love with every child at the orphanage I have been visiting for the past three years and will do everything in my power to show them that are loved beyond belief, but I feel a special call to take care of this sick little three-year-old girl. My college years have been incredible and I have met people that I will call my best friends for my entire life, but I also miss this little one every single day. My dream is to be "Mommy" to orphaned children, and I write these blogs so that they are able to look back and realize that God placed them in my heart far before they ever realized.

  For Becky, The 15 Things I Hope You Do Better Than I Have 

1.     Always look people in the eye when you’re talking to them. Not at your phone, and definitely not at your watch. Let people know that you are genuinely interested in what they have to say.

2.     No one has it together. I promise, no one. Don’t live to please everyone else. You be you, all the time, whether that means being the most innovative surgeon in the nation or waitressing down the street.

3.     Don’t grow up too fast. Be a little girl as long as you can. Don’t wear make-up or shave your legs too soon. Trust me, it’s all overrated.

4.     People like to get hung up on the details of things. My advice: stick to the big picture. It really isn’t our job to choose what is right and what is wrong. Focus on loving God with all of your heart and loving others with all of your heart and that should be enough work to last a lifetime.

5.     Let your dating years be fun. I overheard a girl talking yesterday about how her boyfriend is so “wise” and “intentional.” Those are great things, but also remember that laughing until two in the morning is just as important.

6.     And when it comes time to find Mr. Right, make sure he loves you more than he loves being in a relationship with you.

7.     Start tithing when you get your first job. If you’re faithful with the small, it will be so much easier to be faithful with the big.

8.     This is so silly and I still don’t understand it, but politics can cause a lot of fights around here. My advice: don’t get into arguments over them. You aren’t going to change their mind and they aren’t going to change yours. Believe what you believe and don’t post about it on Facebook.

9.     Try and treat everyone like you would treat Jesus. Your best friends, the girl alone at lunch, the homeless man outside of Walmart, the girl that says mean things about you behind your back. Everyone. 

10. It’s good to love people that are different from you. Sometimes the world tells us to run away from differences; I say run towards them. If you don’t get to know all of God’s children, you’re missing out on a huge part of who He really is.

11. Always bring a fun game in the car. Your Mommy is the world’s worst at directions. I promise we’ll get where we’re going eventually, but it may take three hours when it’s supposed to take an hour and a half. And on that note, I may be the world’s worst at a lot of things at first (or my whole life), but know that I’ll never stop trying to be the best I can be for you. Never. So be patient with me.

12. Write hand-written thank you notes. And it doesn’t have to just be for gifts. Thank the people that got you where you are.

13. When you do start to wonder how you ended up with me, know that I will be there to hold your hand. Also know that if I had the choice, I would take back every hurtful thing that brought you to me. But on that same note, you are my angel on earth. I have never been so thankful that God brought someone in my life.

14. A lot of people don’t understand adoption. Kids may ask mean questions. But always know this: God took a clueless, sheltered, small-town loving girl 5, 048 miles away from her home, and then 5 hours out into a tiny village to find you. He has raised thousands of dollars to get me to you. He has worked out timelines and moved relationships so that I get to you. Never doubt we were brought together for a purpose.

15. Know I’ll always be your biggest fan. Always.