All That Glitters Is Not Gold

The plane banks to the right. I look across over the wing searching for the ground below. The lights glitter across Atlanta, Georgia like lights on a Christmas tree. Beautiful. And just like the lights on a Christmas tree distract the eye from the imperfections of a freshly cut tree, the lights of Atlanta attempt to deceive my heart from the ugly truth: Beneath the lights of this bustling city, children are slaves, forced to have sex with the highest bidder.

I chose the window seat on purpose. I wanted to peer down over the city I had just heard so much about at the National Conference for the Prevention of Child Sex Abuse and Child Sex Trafficking.

Atlanta, Georgia is a hub for air traffic for the United States. Atlanta, Georgia is a hub for child sex trafficking in land of the free and the home of the brave. Every month, in the state of Georgia, 7,200 children are sold for sex. (Georgia Demand Study,” A Future. Not A Past., February 2010)

The city lights continue to glitter. But they don’t blind me from the truth—the truth I can no longer ignore. I hear the whine of the landing gear moving into position. I pray. One heart filled prayer from one concerned mother, 10,000 feet up, for someone else’s child. “Jesus, free just one child tonight. Please. Just one.”



Thank you for joining me on this journey. I know it’s difficult. But together we can and we will make a difference. Share what you’ve learned today with one person. Our strength builds with knowledge and a conscious decision to look past the glitter and embrace the truth.

What Can One Momma Do?

“Why are you interested in writing and speaking about sex trafficking?” I ask.


Tears welling in her eyes. Her passion flowing from her heart. Palpable. Her voice quivers, “I was sexually abused by one person for two years. These kids [children who are sex trafficked] don’t even get a break to go down the street and buy a Popsicle. I cannot fathom how they survive the repeated violation of their bodies by hundreds of perpetrators over the years . . . sometimes their whole childhood.”

No rest. No play. No childhood.

It is a horrible subject, I know. We don’t want to think about, I get that. We certainly don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But what if we could actually do something about it? If we could change the life of one child or woman who has endured being trafficked, would it be worth our minor discomfort?

I am one momma with many children. What can I do? I am a sister. What can I do? I am friend to many who have been sexually abused. What can I do? Sound familiar?

I know. I get that. I understand.

Let’s take a journey together over the next several weeks. I’ll do the research. I’ll write the blog. And together we’ll find out what we can do.

Together. Hearts linked. Minds ready.

So we can think about it. So we can talk about it. So we can do something about it.

Why Children Don’t Tell (Part 5: They Protect)

Children of abuse (physical, emotional, and or sexual) amaze me. They spend their childhood freely giving unconditional love, often to spend their adulthood recklessly seeking it.

And so it was with my survivor friend who wrote The Tearless Princess, a creative exercise used to assist in her healing. Please read the following paragraph describing her molestation, posted this week, in its entirety.

“Then one day, Princess Marissa was on her way back to the castle when she was attached by a pack of gypsies. They tore her beautiful purple dress right off her and ran away, leaving her with nothing to cover herself. Princess Marissa was so upset, but she did not shed a tear. She was so ashamed and embarrassed, but she told no one . . . especially her father the king. She knew if she did, he would have all the gypsies in the kingdom killed.”

Children are protectors. Dr.Wess Stafford, president of and CEO. of Compassion International, writes in his book, Too Small to Ignore: Why the Least of These Matters Most, “Child psychologists study this phenomenon with great amazement, as it has occurred throughout history. They have found that children can keep awful, awful secrets to protect the ones they love.” (Page 141) Stafford knows this well. A survivor of horrible abuse at the hands of house parents and teachers at a mission school, he and many other missionary kids, kept silent of their abuse—for years.

Princess Marissa knew, if she told, her daddy, the king, he would be upset and the kingdom would be in chaos. And because her abuser was somebody who her family knew, trusted, and loved, she chose to protect everyone, except herself.

She concludes her paragraph with this line: “The princess went on with her life as if nothing had happened, but a piece of her soft heart became hard like stone.”

She protected others and in the process lost the sweet softness of her child heart; she spent years, as an adult, trying to find it and make it soft again.

And that is why it is an adult’s job to protect children from childhood sexual abuse.



We must teach our children about childhood sexual abuse. So we can protect. So they can know. So they can tell.