Heads up: this post will get a bit heavy. No photos today.

I’m not sure why, but it seems that most of Matt’s and my discussions about goals, dreams and asppirations seem to come around 11 pm when we’re laying in bed, knowing we need to fall asleep so that we’re not exhausted the next day. But somehow, we keep talking. Because those goals, dreams and aspirations are more important than missing an hour of rest. Such was the case last night.

When I was in college, I was fortunate enough to be welcome in as a part of an organization called CRU. I had the enormous fortune of being discipled (mentored) by a woman named Debbie, who has forever changed the way I think look at sharing my faith. One thing that most disciplers have you do is sit down and go through a survey that helps you determine your spiritual gifts. There were literally dozens of gifts- teaching, hospitality, discernment, etc. I knew that I really like helping people, so it was no surprise that my strongest gift came back as “compassion.”

Compassion? Awesome. That sounds really spiritual. But what do I do with that? I remember thinking. I didn’t have any idea how to apply that to who I am, my goals, my dreams. I knew I wanted to be a wedding photographer, but compassion? I guess that means if something goes catastrophically wrong on a wedding day, I’ll be really good at feeling bad about it?

Fast forward to this past February, and all the hype of the upcoming Superbowl. Someone on Facebook posted an article about an unfamiliar issue associated with the big game: human trafficking.

I don’t know about you, but I (along with the majority of America) always used assume when I heard about prostitution rings being broken up and women arrested for selling themselves that the WOMEN were the criminals.

But guess what? The overwhemling majority of those working as prostitues are forced into it. Most of them aren’t criminals- they’re victims. Women who’ve been snatched off the streets, forced to sell themselves to meet nightly quotes, lest they meet the wrath of their angry pimps.

Reading the article from Facebook, I learned that each year during the Super Bowl, thousands of women and children are funneled into whichever town the game takes place to satisfy the disgusting demands that traffickers know to expect. Children as young as toddlers are sold, sometimes several times a night, to people with an insatiable lust for everything disgusting, sinful, respulsive.

Researchers estimate that there are over 100,000 children working as sex slaves in the United States. IN AMERICA. In a country where we assume that the only place these sorts of deeds go down is in a back alley in the bad part of town.

When I first read that article, I felt unclean. Like someone had thrust this ugly piece of information on me, like an unwanted package, and I had to hold it. I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t pass it off to someone else. I couldn’t get it out of my head. It ate at my heart and my soul.  I remember during one of our late-night talks, sharing the information I’d read with Matt and weeping for the innocence lost, for the terrified women and children who couldn’t break out on their own.

The second or third time I brought up human trafficking with Matt, he made the intuitive observation that this was something I seemed to be really passionate about, that maybe we should start praying about ways to help. I was silent for a second- I felt like something inside had just clicked. This makes sense, I remember thinking.

There are some AMAZING organizations working to put an end to this travesty- the Polaris Project, The A21 Campaign, Children of the Night and more. I haven’t quite figured out how I fit into this equation, but I know that my God-given gift of compassion and my love of photography were meant to serve a purpose.

I love weddings and engagements, but I KNOW that there’s a reason this burden was placed on my heart. I know there’s a way to follow my love of wedding photography while also working to make a dent in human trafficking and sex slavery. Maybe it’s volunteering with the Polaris Project in DC for a weekend every month. Maybe it’ll mean taking a two-week trip to Greece to help in one of A21’s safe houses over there. Whatever my role looks like, I want to fulfill it.

All I know is that I have a burning passion to do SOMETHING.