Angels for prostitutes

This is the real story of a single mother who found a boyfriend. You can imagine that she was happy to have someone in her life. Raising children alone can be difficult and lonely.

Among the children she was raising alone was an 11-year-old daughter. I met her daughter much later in life, when the girl had become a woman. But I met a woman still scarred beyond belief.

A few weeks ago, I conducted several interviews on my radio show, 24/7 on KMOX, about prostitution in the St. Louis area. As a result, our contact with Dream House, a rehabilitation center of the Joyce Meyer Ministries, brought in three women. Each had a heartbreaking story that started out as a normal life. However, this women’s life was not normal for long.

She did not want to be the first to be interviewed. I understood that. Even though there was no audience present in the studio that night, she was nervous. Judging from her demeanor, I was certain it would be difficult for her to describe her circumstances.

One woman said she started out as a stripper, then got hooked on meth and began work as a prostitute at a brothel outside of Las Vegas. A few months into her new gig, she met a client who just wanted to talk. They’ve been married now for over a decade.

The second woman also got addicted to meth and began selling her body to get the drugs. Her drug dealer, who happened to be her boyfriend, shot her in the head one night. She doesn’t know why, because she doesn’t remember anything. She’s been in recovery since last November.

But it was the story of the nervous one that sticks with me. She doesn’t work the streets of St. Louis but serves as a call girl, the higher-priced sort of prostitute.

I asked her how she got into the business. She said it began when she was just 11 years old, when her mother’s boyfriend began raping her. The molestation would continue for years, but the anxiety and sadness would continue for much longer.

She says the crime was made worse for her because her mother never believed that her boyfriend could do such a thing. Sounds like a movie, doesn’t it? She says she began looking for love, but found drugs instead.

Because I could tell that her pain was still a very present reality, I asked her when was the last time she had used or had been used. She didn’t want to answer at first, but did say, “Recently.”

What is so strange about the interviews is that I did not go home feeling sad for these women, or overwhelmed by the horror of their stories. Instead, I drove home that night thanking God that Dream House exists and that there are angels among us who dare to drive around the streets of St. Louis and East St. Louis in the middle of the night, urging women and men to have hope that their lives can be different, that their bodies are worthy of better treatment.

I’ve been invited to drive around with these angels and see for myself what has happened to far too many in our community. If you’d like to get involved, just let me know. Such angels are amazing, but I’m sure they can always use some help.