Osito Teddy

I watched it a second time – The Sound of Freedom. In some ways it was harder to sit through that last time than it had been the first. A flood of emotions engulfed me. What if my child’s bed was empty? How could I sleep at night? I’m sure it would take the exhaustion of my weeping and grief to get me there as they had in a previous season of my life.

Osito Teddy. This was the name given to a little boy sold into the abyss of trafficking that now permeates every continent. He was seven and had woken up a year older hardly aware he had even had a birthday. His life had no existence outside of constant abuse and threats for compliance. This broke my heart even more as I thought about a recent experience my son had waking up in a foreign place with no familiarity or security in sight.

I had left him sleeping in a space nearby thinking he’d remain that way until my return. But he didn’t. From downstairs I could hear his frantic cry as he paced the floor and attempted to free himself. The difference between my kid and the one in the movie, representative of a real child who suffered real abuse, was that I was able to quickly come to my son’s rescue and comfort him. After I did, I asked him how he had felt. And he told me three words: sad, alone, and afraid.

When I’m overwhelmed with the weight of many things, I know more than anything else I need to seek two things – my Father and outdoors. I often meet the two on a trail I like as I attempt to release what is too heavy for me to carry. I did this the other day. With tears streaming down my face, I told God over and over again how mad I was. I struggled to fathom how people could do the things they do to other people. To children. In anger I spat those four words again: “I hate this world.”

Those words stuck out to me even more that day because a sister from church had just said the opposite earlier: “God loves the world.” I grappled with how He does, how He could, why He would. Thankfully for all of our sakes, I AM NOT GOD. I thought about writing a blog on “A Grieving God.” Perhaps, one day I still may with more detail. But I will park here and say that this is what God must do every day as a Creator, as a Parent – grieve and weep over what His creations and children do.

I know this answer may bring no comfort to many, but to the believer, it’s everything. This dichotomy – my hate and God’s love is a chasm separated by a cross. Because that’s where He poured out the wrath those people, those evil and vile people deserved upon His sinless, spotless Son instead. All of the wickedness ever crafted and employed paid for for all eternity by the One and Only who truly never deserved it. I remembered that I’m that evil and vile person. I am the thief on the cross. I am Barabbas. And God took my place.

For some time now, God has been awakening me through the challenges my son experiences in his little body, heart, and mind that he could be one of those trafficked youth. And He asks, “What would you do if his bed was empty?” Deep within me without the grace and righteousness of a perfect Savior, is a violent woman. My response is often that I would burn any and all things down until whoever had my child released him. Recently, I was presented with an opportunity to test that theory.

When I went to pick my son up from his preschool, unlike every other time, no one came to or opened the door. I rang the Ring doorbell twice and took long pauses in between before my mind started to wonder. I peered at the window and saw a string of paper silhouettes shaped the size of children. In that moment, they were representative of the countless children trapped like puppets in a master’s scheme.

It took me just a few seconds to scan the terrain to determine what I was going to use to get into that building by any means necessary. I spotted a cinderblock by the road and in five more seconds, it would be going through that window. As I made my way down the stairs towards it, I peeked inside one more time to see if I could see anything or anyone. And I did see one of his teachers sitting in the dimly lit room. In just a few seconds, the door swung open and my kid’s preschool window was saved.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the depth, height, and length of the problem of evil in this world. And then I must remind myself of the depth, height, and length of the love of God who’s sovereign over it all. As I walked on that trail vacillating between frustration, pain, and hopelessness, I saw the words “LOOK UP” spraypainted in one of the tunnels. Look up and seek my Father for His help and guidance and not at the mountain standing before me, before any of us. Look up and ask, “What is the one thing I can do to save one Osito Teddy?”

My one thing is prayer. I’ve mentioned before that I go to an area called Lo Block representative of the dark recesses prisoners remain trapped in… even if they are able to physically leave every day but remain chained in every other way. And there I march and pray and worship and trust God to do the impossible. If you feel this nudge to pray too, then reach out to me. Maybe we can set 10,000 enemies to flight together.