Nope, It's Real

NOPE, IT’S

REAL.

OUR (MESSY) ARTISTIC REACTIONS TO THE REALITIES OF THE SEX INDUSTRY IN VIETNAM AND CAMBODIA.

NOPE, IT’S real.

Creating this book wasn’t in our plan, and staying two months in red light districts was definitely never part of our plan.

However, when you stare reality in the face, or in our case, wake up next door to it; you have the chance to change your plans. We didn’t do anything drastic or noteworthy, we never busted down a brothel door or planted secret cameras, in fact our response was shockingly small- we simply decided to make ourselves available.

We shrank down our judgments and walked up willing to be fully there, to listen, to speak, and to understand. The voices of the women sounded surprisingly like our sisters and mothers, the voices of the men like our fathers and brothers.

We make this book for ourselves, in order to remember these people and to remember the face of our God whom we saw in the midst of it.

These pages of art are our reactions to the darkness and the heaviness, as well as the resounding joy and forgiveness that live in these two countries. // JOANNA BRANSON

A WARRIOR’S CRY

// KINZI DEMPSEY

Sometimes a warrior’s cry is one of weeping.

We are told as children of the light to walk in the might of our identity and to delve into the darkness to set the captives free. We follow the Spirit where He leads, and He directs our eyes to the broken and the lonely.

But sometimes we lose heart. We come to know the hearts of the faces we sought out; The intricate personalities of poverty- be it poverty of the spirit, or poverty of the world. You look at [it] in the face, and the situation seems desolate. There doesn’t seem to be any hope for these precious men and women involved. And you try to do something- ANYTHING- to help. And you feel like you can’t do anything.

You go back to your hostel bed at the end of the day, and all you can do is pull the blanket over your head and whimper. You squeeze your eyes shut, the tears leak down your face, and all you can do is whisper a prayer, your voice husky and breaking with emotion.

LORD, HAVE MERCY. Jesus, PLEASE SAVE HER. HELP HER. You pray as a desperate man. Pleading for salvation for these people you’ve come to love so dearly.

JESUS. PLEASE HAVE MERCY.

J ESUS

please have MERCY.

// CLAIRE HENNING

Love, “Mama�

// CLAIRE HENNING

Their skin is black with dirt Their hair is matted and oily and often bleached Their teeth are brown and yellow Yet they are beautiful.

Their English is little and broken Their hands express enough Their ears have heard too much Yet we know each other well.

Their eyes are deep sunken and tired Their lips are dry and cracked Yet their nose wrinkles when complimented.

Their voices are high and loud Their arms are strong to carry and punch Their clothes are few and filthy Yet they are gentle and sweet.

They are bodies are little and short The boys are not chiseled, their shoulders not broad The girls have no curves, their chests are still flat They are beyond their years And yet, they are children Precious children.

// ABI STOREY

BROKEN

// ALEX NICASTRO

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

In the beginning, we Were made for community, To live in unity.

Creations coalescing with our kingly Creator Eve was not the slave to Adam, Nor Adam the dictator But as time progressed, From the east to the west, Morals decayed and life became less Than it was made for.

A woman bought and sold, Told that she’s only got value in her flesh That’s not what she was made for.

A man paying for the privilege to rape That’s not what he was made for.

We were given the gift of choice To do evil or good.

To choose to love.

And with that gift came The unlocking of possibility throughout the universe.

The sounds of doors flinging wide reverberated off the halls of existence.

And when those prison doors clanged open, The world was flooded with potential The potential to love To live, to laugh.

To repay evil with kindness.

But following close behind was The potential to hate, To kill, to steal, to rape.

And we took that possibility and ran with it It latched itself onto our backs.

It dug its fingernails into our shoulder blades, Its skin enmeshing with our own Until we don’t know who is who anymore.

Those who would be His sons Imprison those who would be their sisters.

The ones He so desperately wants to call princes Reject their birthright for cash and an orgasm, Living in homes bought with their sister’s skin Painting their kitchens with the blood of their kin They become the thugs with the guns The puppeteers behind the scenes Pulling the strings Hooked to the corners of her mouth Forcing her lips upward into a smile That never touches her heart.

And the King sees it all Behind those brothel walls And he weeps at the scenes that he sees.

His daughter, who only wanted a better life Has a broken spirit, and dreams of a knife To end it all.

See, we use the word “Broken” Too much.

We’ve spoken too much about how if you’re sad And you don’t know Jesus You’re broken.

We’ve weakened that word To the point where broken doesn’t work They are shattered.

Chained to a toilet And their will is raped out of them What word could be more fitting than broken?

But Jesus loves the broken.

He sees the hopeless and the helpless The dejected and infected.

And He loves them so dearly And not merely the victims.

He loves the aggressors.

And he hates the lusts that so quickly possess us.

No one is too broken.

No one is too far off.

No one is too evil for God to change.

And we need a change.

A hope for salvation at the end of the age.

And we need a shift in our collective mind.

Burning away the evil entwined so tightly with our hearts.

Only a shift in our culture can do this.

The only catalyst is the Love of God. When we choose to set our eyes on Him. Then… Then will we see the worth within Each and every one of his kids.

And the pimps and the johns will see more than just skin.

To cut off the supply, We must remove the demand There must be a change in the hearts of man If we want to see this end.

We want to see this end.

So let’s bring hope, let’s bring life.

Usher in love to overwhelm the strife that destroys us.

And when in the joy of Christ, every man rejoices Then, we will see this end.

‘

NHUC

// KINZI DEMPSEY

Elisha and I went out to do ‘art with the street kids’. We found him sitting on the sidewalk next to Crazy Girl’s, and so we sat next to him. He purposefully ignored us, and was using a mangled bobby pin to poke holes into a cigarette. As we waited, Elisha started sketching the bar across the street, while I played with the potteryshop owner’s dogs.

Nhuć lights the cigarette and spears it with the end of the bobby pin. He looks at me, and jerks forward- as if to burn me with the butt of the cigarette. I tell him off, and try to make light of it, but he keeps pushing it, getting closer and closer to my skin each time. He makes a fist, and brings it across his shoulder as if to hit me, but I won’t have it. He keeps shooing us off, the ferocity in his eyes telling us to leave, but Elisha and I both make it perfectly clear that we aren’t going anywhere.

Finally, after some more time, he begins to warm up to us. He notices my star earring, touches it, and gestures. Elisha points to her earring, and moves to take it off, asking him if he wants it. He looks at her, shakes his head, and looks at my earring again. I ask him if he wants mine, and he nods. I let him unscrew it, and then he puts it into his own ear lobe. I’m pleasantly surprised by how good the star earring looks on the fire-breathing boy. In this instant, the image becomes symbolic of the dreamer I’d love for him to be.

I pull out the oil pastels and the paper, and now he’s interested in drawing. He pulls out the pink, and proceeds to draw a penis. He looks up at me, challenging me to react, and I just shake my head at him and laugh. I wave it off, and say “What-ever, man,” and he grins maliciously and turns back to his drawing. The penis begins to evolve into a rocket, and just as he finishes filling the whole thing in with color, he throws the pastel to the ground. He suddenly rips the page out of the book, crumples up the paper, and shoves it in my mouth. After I take it out, he grabs it from my hands and tosses it away.

He leaps up, slings his bag over his shoulder and walks away. We call after him, but he shakes his head and ignores us. We sit in silence for a couple moments, and then Elisha reaches over to pick up his discarded drawing.

She opens it up with care, and smoothes it out.

Good-bye, Nhuć. I’m sorry if we hurt you by leaving.

PHOTO // ELISHA HOWARD

Forgive us.

WELCOME TO CAMBODIA! // RACHEL SHELDON

Excuse me, gentlemen!

Welcome to Cambodia To bars and temples set Under stifling heat To late nights spent staggering Down rat-infested streets Where you crash in $2 hotel rooms And more often fall unconscious Than actually fall asleep.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

Excuse me, gentlemen Welcome to Cambodia!

Where ghosts and motorbikes alike whine down half-empty roads and the kids huff bags of glue to get stoned.

The moon rolls in the sky as they crawl beneath and when they smile, cigarette smoke stains their baby teeth.

Excuse me, gentlemen welcome to Cambodia!

Where the bars by the river leak alien light And they summon in strangers long into the night.

In a way, like a church Welcoming!

Accepting!

We take you as you are and that means everything.

But then again since when has the dark been discriminating?

Excuse me, gentlemen Welcome to Cambodia!

Where the girl at the bar gives a dull look from her seat.

Jaded already, but only 18 and what she knows best is pool cues and how to mix drinks.

You talk and her pupils turn to planes in her eyes “Take me away I saw on TV you can buy a better life and if the cost involves me well, I’ll pay any price.”

Excuse me gentlemen!

Welcome to Cambodia!

To dark skin and brighter eyes Glimpsed through flashes of hell And paradise Where the color of the ocean Parodies the color of the sky Where you fall asleep Under the coconut trees With the wind sawing across the palm leaves as time surely passes you by.

HEART OF DARKNESS

AN INTERVIEW WITH VANESSA SANCHEZ & TAYLOR KONKEN-DEHAAN

// RYAN SEYMOUR

What was your first impression of Heart of Darkness (one of the many clubs/ bars in a red light district in Cambodia)?

When we first walked in, we actually felt comfortable. We had peace and joy even in the weird atmosphere. Usually when I walked into clubs/bars I was uncomfortable.

Can you briefly describe what was happening in this place?

Vanessa: It looked like a dark temple. You could feel the darkness tangibly in the air.

Inside there were idols all over the place, people worshipping the idol heads and dancing with them. We saw people going to the dance floor and doing weird dance moves. It was not just a club; it was a temple of sin, in every corner stood a different idol. You could feel it beating in your whole body. The whole place was living and breathing, so many young girls and boys in the arms of big white men, a lot of gay and random people.

Taylor: It was dark. There was extremely loud music, fog machines, and old men everywhere. Weekdays, mostly old men were there. Some backpackers would come but then leave after 20 minutes. A lot of prostitutes were there, very young in some cases. During the weekend, it was more of a party spot. Backpackers would come to drink and party. The old men were in there primarily for the young boys.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

Who went?

Taylor: Joanna, Nate, Spencer, and Vanessa were there the first night. A bunch of nights it was just Vanessa and I. Some others from our team would come in some hours at a time or just for a night, but we returned consistently. We were just drawn to this place.

What were your first conversations like in there?

Vanessa: I just smiled at first to everyone. This one girl was with an older man and I smiled at her. Then she came up to me asking if I knew her. I said no. She smiled, went back to the man, but the rest of the night kept looking over at me just to smile. And the second night I went, one of the prostitutes from the night before came up to me, told me her heart was broken, started crying and then told me about her life and why she was heartbroken.

Taylor: My first conversations were awkward. I would do trial and error, trying to get a feel for the place and for what kind of conversations to have. But then God told me to just be bold, that boldness would be rewarded. So I started going up to people, still a little uncomfortable, but God rewarded the boldness.

Describe overall time there in 2 sentences.

Vanessa: I was going in there dancing with the girls, some of the boys, and some of the clients. I went to bring joy and let the girls know that I wanted to be there for them. Bringing God’s presence to that place was a joy and an honor.

Taylor: It was a learning experience. Everyone there was broken, and no one was trying to hide it. No one would fight the positive message, because everyone was too tired to put up a front that they were okay. A transgendered guy told me he never felt loved, and I got to pray for him later that night.

From the time you started going there was there an atmosphere shift?

Taylor: No, people constantly come back. We helped when we could, brought genuine love and joy, but that place doesn’t sleep. Prostitutes keep coming back.

Drug dealers keep coming back. Clients keep coming back. The effects we saw were on an individual level, not as a whole.

Vanessa: It was maybe less of change of atmosphere but more a change in me. As I would go back, I grew bolder. As I grew bolder, I could see the light and bring it in stronger. I still saw horrible things every night, but I was stronger.

What did God show you over the time you spent there?

Taylor: Boldness is rewarded. Rejection comes with that, but if you step out, it is surprising how much the broken people crave something more than alcohol, drugs, and prostitutes.

Vanessa: God is bigger than all of this darkness. His light shines brighter. Even if I don’t see anything change, God is still God. It doesn’t matter if I don’t see anything change. I don’t do this for me; I do it for Him because I love him.

After all your time spent in such a dark place, can you still say God is good?

Yes, a little bit of light shines so brightly in a dark place. He was always with us.

God is good all the time. All glory to Him forever.

“HEART OF DARKNESS” // TAMLYN WHITE

// TAMLYN WHITE

HIS VIEW

// RYAN SEYMOUR

She is easier than love. She’s a quick 39 to get my 69 when I’m in my primal state of mind. I desire her, but she’s trapped inside herself. So I’ll force her to accept me. She doesn’t love me, but she’ll exchange my money for sin. She spends her day waiting in a window for me.

She dances and spins and exposes her beauty for all eyes to see. Her eyes are bright blue, and see right through the love I think I have for her, but she still does all the things I prefer.

She hates me, but she calls me baby and maybe, maybe one day she will see that she is my hope. In all my brokenness she is reality and helps me cope. Her touch is more real than the depression I feel. She holds me for a night and right then and there, she is my air. She is more love and care than I have ever known. Her skin tone is home and that is why I see her every night. Because my life is too hard for me to bear. I swear, I love her. She is not just a purchase. Our connection is more than just on the surface. But why do I walk away empty?

Why am I hurt by a short exchange of names and a quicky? Why won’t anyone love me for anything but my money? I’m desperate to let someone in. Desperate for a new beginning. I long to be accepted.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

There’s something in me that cries out for a clean slate, to forgive myself of the fact that I am what I hate. I want to be redeemed, to have self esteem. But that’s not possible. There’s no hope for me. Just alcohol sex and dope for me. Fast nights and red lights are home to me. So I’ll spend my time among this beautiful filth, right here where I fit in, in this trap that I’ve built. To believe that I can escape is a hopeless endeavor, belief in something like a better life is impossible to find when nothing but drunk nights and quick sex are on my mind. So she will be my true love. She is the only one who receives me with open arms. She is the key to my hopes and dreams, but she seems to be more of the lock. My lust for her is the bolt that fastens the door to liberty from the outside.

So I will reside inside and confide in none but the whiskey in front of me. I’ll tell all my secrets to the glow of dim lights on the empty streets, and I’ll confess my sins while I commit more in the sheets of a back alley building; privacy shielding my shame from the rest of the world. In my broken heart, she is my one and only, my hour long companion when I’m lonely. She holds half of my heart, while I hang on to the lustful part. So while I wait to visit my love, I’ll drown myself in alcohol. I’ll drink away all my fears, wash my sins away with beer, and continue to survive. Never to thrive, but just to barely live. With nothing left to give, nothing in me willing to fight, I’ll drag myself back to her again tonight.

HER VIEW

// RYAN SEYMOUR

Wake up around noon, grab my spoon and needle, cook and shoot up. Make myself eat even though I have no appetite, avoid all mirrors and hide the fact that I look exactly like the girls I told myself I’d never be. Selling myself to strange men who think they are better than me. In reality they are. It’s shown in their actions and in our transactions and in the things I’m willing to do in their cars. Before I go to work again, I’ll make sure I’m showing enough skin for the men who want no interaction, but for me to open up and let them in. I was once told I had value, and now I understand, I’m worth how much he’ll pay for my body, my mouth and the work of my hands.

You tell me your Father cares for me, well all of the other fathers care too, right before they peak, they scream out they love me, but I don’t want your love if that’s what love means. He sounds like another person waiting to screw me like everyone else. Like the men who pay for me, and like you people who pretend you care then leave me, another charity case, another animal in this exhibit of a hopeless place. Another pair of empty eyes in the sea of downtrodden faces, swept up in the despairing current that this place is.

If I’m going to be saved, it won’t be by you. I don’t want your pity, your piety, or to practice your pathetic self-righteous church routine. I’m just as much an exhibit to you people as I am an object to these men. Pay your money to come walk through the zoo. Walk by on the outside and see how we live and all the things that we do. Please no flash photography, and do not feed the animals.

Whatever you do, don’t name us, you might get attached. So you come spend your week long trip and feel good about yourself, and leave like everyone else. Put in your few days for your God and then leave. Nothing changes. You walk out on me like everyone else.

So how dare you tell me you care. You don’t even know me. Don’t act like a friend you’ll never truly be. I’m tired of being treated like a broken mirror, where everyone thinks that they see a shattered version of themselves in me. I’m not you nor will I ever be, and whatever it is that you see is only there because you’d like it to be. I am whoever you want me to be because I am never myself. I lost myself in all the men who came and took pieces of who I am and gave me back rejection, despair, and a few bucks, which I spend on drugs to escape and try to repair my heart. To try to put back together the puzzle that is me, but it’s hard to do when all the pieces are missing.

So don’t you come near me and ask these questions unless you really want to bear the weight of the answers. Don’t ask to see my emotional cancer unless you have a cure. I refuse to open up to another person who will leave me, because they always take the biggest pieces and leave me empty.

// NATE LAMPA

RUINED

// KELLEY ROBERTS

Two and a half months of outreach complete, Vietnam and Cambodia.

When I tell people this they say, “Oh, wow! That’s so interesting! I have always wanted to do that. I think it is so cool.”

Well from street kids, to prostitutes, to rescued prostitutes, to old men, to local bar owners, my team did it all. Last week, members of us sat in a circle for a therapy regrouping time. One question was asked, “What would you tell people back home who want to help in sex trafficking ministry?” We all looked at each other and answered, “Don’t.” We said it with a slight laugh, but it brought tears to most of our eyes. “Don’t.”

Do you want to see children selling gum and flowers until 5 AM to get enough money for their parents to let them sleep?

Or do you want to see little girls lead old men down alleyways to fulfill their sexual needs?

Or little girls to go from hostel to hostel finding clients?

Or the older girls, do you want to see them- like clay in a different man’s hands every night? Like invisible, faceless creatures to be bought at a set price.

How about the men? Do you want to see 40, 50, 60, 70 year old men with hands down the girls’ dresses, whispering words in their ears they think will make them feel special?

Or see them grinding at the clubs with 15 year old boys?

Kissing and touching, treating humans as toys.

Would these visions inspire you to end the trendy new Christian focus called sex trafficking?

Maybe they would inspire you…

They inspired us.

For the children, yes, we go play with them ‘til dusk.

Only to return to our hostel beds to cry meaningless tears that do nothing to their heads.

And yes, we hold the baby girls in our arms for hours only to never see them again.

For the older girls, we give them flowers and words of love, only to see them leave with a man who tells them they aren’t good enough.

We tell them God loves them and if they ever need a way out we can help them, no doubt.

And for the old men - I sit with them at bars, talk to them about cars, trying to find the words to tell them not to buy this girl tonight. will we win this fight? [against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places] We will but we want more help.

We pray to the father to send more workers into the field so that maybe all the people involved will be healed.

But I ask you do you know who you are – This is a way to start.

And once you know yourself – look around to see who is left.

Then look to the things that lead to sex slavery - porn addiction, loneliness, and problems in the family.

This is where you begin, at home with the men.

Talk to your uncles and neighbors and see if they know Jesus’ love can save them.

Go to the middle school boys and teach them the effects of porn, that it is an addiction that will only leave them wanting more.

And tell them stories of the old men and how these girls are raped.

Share how it started with just some erotic tapes.

You get a feeling from the images, but to get the same arousement you must move up in the explicit percentages.

Where will it end? It moves into a downward spiral of lust. Lust that doesn’t just cut but that erupts into shame and isolation.

This isn’t to say one will then go take a villages girl’s virginity, but this is the monster that is feeding the prostitution industry.

I encourage you to begin this fight with the knowledge that love will win.

He has already won.

These are the effects: I’m ruined.

I don’t care who likes who or the cats on the street What about the baby with no food or the families incomplete.

I will be like this for eternity – but it is good that I can’t sleep or wallow in my sorrows with ice cream.

And if I have a few laughs they are just distractions from the pain inside that feels like contractions.

I don’t want to become numb to the children selling gum.

This is one of my fears, that I will have no more tears.

Somehow maybe I am glad I cannot sleep, Because when I sleep, I will forget.

LOVE

WILL

WIN.

But I want it to end - I want to return to my normal life, but do I? Is it not possible that I’ve seen great mercies?

And I cannot stop and do nothing but this work because He is worthy.

He is worthy, to call justice and grace upon this problem we face.

Our momentary troubles are leading toward eternal glory, and He gives us new strength every morning.

I trust in you, O, God my Father that you will not leave these people unforgotten. I am ruined.

I have seen the glory of the king of kings.

Yes, here I am, still send me.

YET

HERE I AM, STILL

SEND ME.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER TEXT // TAYLOR KONKEN-DEHAAN

because the wolves are always hungry and a stomach cravinG flesh will never be full.

One hand is holding a plate The other is f illed with

PUPPET STRINGS TO PULL.

// SPENCER BERGHAUSER

SERANA

// AMY POST

He hasn’t forgotten you.

Words can be just words, said for so many reasons, floating comfortably in the sea of everything but genuineness.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

I keep walking these streets late at night, and sometimes I picture her standing there, standing quietly at the end of the road.

The cement blocks beneath my feet are pristine and the architecture is classic and beautiful and perfect in my peripheral… She doesn’t fit in. Nothing about her is polished and perfect, but the heartbreaking beauty of her loneliness that emanates from her brown eyes could hit you like the wave of a tsunami sometimes. I remember it. She doesn’t blend in here… with her dirty clothes and baggy dresses, and sweet face. And she just smiles, sadly in that way she always did, something indescribable behind the gentleness of it. It speaks of more pain then someone of her age should know. I feel selfish walking by, going back to my own life, as I ignore the memory and keep the destination of dinner for the night in mind. The image of her fades. And I struggle for a moment with wanting to forget Cambodia and her small heart shaped face. I struggle for more than a moment with wanting to go back to the ignorance I used to live my life in, and feeling as if a part of my heart would die the most painful of deaths if I ever actually did. If I ever lost that memory… I would never want to lose something so precious. She was my favorite, but I hear the voices of so many children crying out in a language I don’t understand, that I wasn’t there long enough or I didn’t try hard enough to learn. It resonates in my past with the echo of the clicking of my boots against the pavement in these empty clean streets.

I feel selfish in a way I don’t fully understand, walking this familiar path I know so well that’s so different from the dirt roads she calls home so many miles away.

Genuineness; she had it in her eyes.

I don’t want to forget her face. I don’t want to forget her tears. I don’t want to forget because in that moment God gave me the opportunity to have a conversation with myself at thirteen.

To say what I wish someone had told me then. To promise what I had desperately needed to hear..

Sexual abuse takes all the elements of your life and steals the good moments, to be replaced with the pain of your breath. A sadness that roots itself deep in your gut and

with each time, you scream, as it eats it’s way out of you. Until it’s face to face with your death.

The type of death that exists without the sweetness of death. It gloats at the agony that you live in, a triumphant big shadow that darkens even the smallest crevice of light. When you try to live, when you’re forced to exist in the company of it, it’s nothing short of crawling through a battlefield. You’re pulled up to fight over and over with no weapons and no matter how harsh the wounds are each time, they’re often times invisible to everyone but you and you can’t die. You start to resent everyone’s happiness around you. You hide yourself from the world in ways that multiply the longer it dwells in your life and torture only carries the promise that hope will never lead to healing. The wound is too deep. The pain is too much.

THEY’RE LIES. I want to yell it as loud as I can until I can’t speak and my throat cracks at the exhaustion of the words. I want to scream it, scream it at the captives forced into forgetting that there’s an opposition to silence. I want to shout the promise of God until my very last breath of air passes my lips still shrouded in the desperation of telling as many broken hearts as I can reach. I want her to hear me. Please hear me. From someone who against all probability, against years of certainty, through the protection and grace of God, somehow made it out the other side.

You can be taught to breathe again with joy. You can be introduced to joy, and that all consuming shadow, it flees at the company of Christ. Come out of the death of the battlefield and into the rich greenness of restoration, of Eden, with Jesus relieving the pain more and more with each step you take closer to Him. Trust Him. Trust is worth it.

The destination of trust isn’t always pain.

And in those moments when it’s not, it’s more beautiful than you could imagine.

A dawn will rise, warming and healing the land of your soul, at the sight of him.

Trust in Him. You’re haven’t been forgotten.

If I could tell her anything, I would tell her the most important truth.

He’s there, with his hand outstretched.

RUN TO HIM. Turn away from the lies of that shadow, no matter how harshly it yells. I pray that you’ll make it out of that battlefield. You have more strength than you realize. And when you do, I pray that you don’t dwell in the ways of survival mode. I hope you look up at the sky at night and have a moment of revelation at just how special you are to Him. That he’s there and he loves you more than you could ever understand. You’re worth more than a million stars in that Cambodian night sky.

You are loved.

// SARAH LAWRENCE

maybe that’s why God is God and I’m not.

Because somehow He does.

Somehow He loves us. and that's all I have left to clinG to.

A CRY FOR RESTORATION // SHANNON MCCONNELL

Busy streets full of empty shells.

Men call it heaven, I call it hell.

Filling their voids endless noise girls to sell.

Cheap beer, a good time Too bad they can’t see she’s dying inside.

Her mind is gone, with just a little bit left to hold on.

Street children out at night daylight out of sight.

Sell some gum, they MIGHT just get some sleep.

Out here it’s wolves and sheep.

Feeding time looking to feast.

I hate this place, but I love it at the same time.

I see a glimpse of hope in their eyes.

The same hope I had in mine.

We may be different, but our worlds are intwined.

Men, women, children combined searching for a love they cannot find.

// ABI STOREY

but I’ve lost my fear AND I HOPE YOU DO TOO, please believe me sweetheart

THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN’T DO.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER TEXT // TAYLOR KONKEN-DEHAAN

AUSCAM ART THERAPY // KELLEY ROBERTS

In Phnom Pehn, Cambodia, Megan, Shannon, Claire, Tamlyn, and I had the honor of working in a safe home. This organization is dedicated to enhancing the life opportunities of young Cambodian women who have experienced trauma in their lives through; violence, poverty, abandonment, homelessness, sexual exploitation or human trafficking. It gives resources to the girls to attend school, learn about Jesus, and live in a healthy community. Auscam invites the girls selling incense or candles by the river, the girls who don’t have enough money to pay their school fees, or the girls victimized by sexual abuse to gather together to do art therapy. My team made an art therapy curriculum for them with 3 exercises.

The first exercise: a outlined diagram of a brain, face, and body. We told them to color the brain and face how they see themselves and the body how other people see them.

We found that many of the girls thought other people perceived them blandly, while their inside was vibrant. Another girl colored blue as bravery for the inside yet pink on the outside as gentle and caring. Another, deeper colors were on the inside, and lighter yellows and greens were on the outside. Another reds and purples were on the inside, and the outside was left blank.

The second exercise: a blank circle. We told them to draw a self-portrait abstractly or objectively without using human forms. We noticed that nature influenced their work.

One girl drew a rice plant and a flower. She explained that she used to be common and weak, falling over by the wind; now she is a strong beautiful flower. Another said that she is like a lotus flower, something beautiful coming up from the mud. Another said she was like a tree, strong for her family, providing shade and rest for many others.

The third exercise was the Bible verse Song of Solomon 4:7, “You are altogether beautiful, my love. There is no flaw in you.� We referenced this back to the first page and told them that the inside is what Jesus loves and calls beautiful. We shared that the more you seek and know the Father, the more what is on the inside comes to the outside. It was a blessing that girls were so open and honest. We were honored to pray for them and be a part of their healing process.

// SOCHEAT KEO

There is darkness, and there is light.

There is evil, and there is good.

There is death, and there is life.

Stories untold

and novels lived.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER TEXT // ELISHA HOWARD

This is pain, and this is strife,

but this is joy and this is gain.

FEAST OF WOLVES

// TAYLOR KONKEN-DEHAAN

A human that is trafficked, that’s the latest topic the world is trending.

And all those stats and posts you saw on Facebook were all pretty mind bending huh?

But what kind of face is on a number?

Try tell that girl that she’s a stat.

You wanna know what kind of people use her for their hunger?

Oh I’ve seen the face of that.

I’ve felt furious love, engraved in my battle dusty skin.

And these aren’t even words anymore they’re just combustions from a war within.

Now I don’t even want to close my eyes.

Flashbacks, echoes, pictures, faces and cries.

Of children who have to stop dreaming, Because at least the acceptance of no hope numbs.

Up top is where the wolves feast, While the rest are fighting up the rope for their crumbs.

A monument of kings shoots up into the sky.

A little girl who sells gum sees it from her window and asks mommy why?

Why are they so lucky that they can play with angels like on the TV shows?

She feels inside of her mouth in the spot that yet another fang grows.

Though she may only be a child the world is molding her well.

She will learn to suck blood for money and trade a head full of dreams in for a shell.

Because the only constant is currency.

That there’s never enough and always a need for more.

There’s no rest if you don’t get it so you better sell more then just what’s in the store.

Because the wolves are always hungry and a stomach craving flesh will never be full.

One hand is holding a plate the other is filled with puppet strings to pull.

dreams ouryour take ywear

CROWN.

If I could give you my candle so that you could hold the light, Even though my flame is weak will it go out?

Honestly it might.

And even in brief moments of finding hope inside of ashes.

To even hold a flame at all is something that in itself brings clashes.

Because the wolves are afraid of the light, They do their hunting in shadows of desolation.

And if you illuminate the hunting grounds your causing instant provocation.

But I’ve lost my fear and I hope you do too, Please believe me sweetheart there’s nothing you can’t do.

Take your dreams, wear your crown.

Repair your seams, flip up your frown.

Know that with God lifting you up not a thing can push you down.

Well maybe down but I promise never ever out.

This real love, real hope, that I’m trying to speak to you about.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

I’m standing in these streets and I’m screaming out for revival in a land full of denial, mile after mile, trial after trial.

I’m going to lose my head if I see one more baby around a drug vial.

But still there’s hope. There always has to be.

If not then I have been lied to by the same God who’s truth has set me free.

And since that’s not option then I’m choosing to speak life.

And to try give love to the men who are out paying for a one night wife.

The earthly man inside of me only wants to lash out and truly give them a meaning to the pain they think they know about.

But my evil has been forgiven and that’s something I must pass on because if not this feast will continue into the dusk with no hope of a dawn.

MEET KIM

// JULIA ESAU & RACHEL SHELDON

Meet Kim. She is a beautiful woman of 36 with two gorgeous daughters. With her German husband, whom she married 11 years ago, she owns a lady bar named Lulu Bar, which she named after her dog (“Dogs are the most gentle and charming animals on earth. I have a German Shepherd and she is gorgeous! Her name is Lulu.

I named my bar after her.”) .

Rachel and I met Kim in her bar and became very good friends with her; every time she saw us, she would give us free drinks, and even when she was busy, she would take time to talk to us.

We asked her to meet up with us during the day, and ended up going to the zoo with her and her daughters, who freaked out when she told them.

We were confused when Kim told us that her husband didn’t let her go out without him, but she was so joyful, and opened up a lot about her life. All of her energy is put into her business, which is her biggest priority. Maybe it was because her daughters were around, but when we asked her a few questions about the girls in her bar and how she felt about her job, all she really told us was that the girls are around 18 years old, men buy them drinks, and that they would go home with the men depending on how much money the men had.

Looking back, I realize how much God used us to bless her and her daughters.

Even when we didn’t have the opportunity to pray with her, we left an impact in her life. She told us, how happy and honored she was, that she got to know us and I’m sure she will remember us and what we’ve told her.

KIM & HER DAUGHTERS // JULIA ESAU & RACHEL SHELDON

“JULIE & RACHEL” // KIM’S 7 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER

// ELISHA HOWARD & WEI-JAN BOEY

Romans 8:21

THAT

NATURE SET FREE BONDAGE TO DECAY & CORRUPTION & GAIN AN ENTRANCE INTO THE ITSELF WILL BE

FROM ITS

freedom GOD’S CHILDREN OF

// ABI STOREY

January 15TH 2014

A JOURNAL ENTRY

// JULIA ESAU & GHOST-WRITTEN BY RACHEL SHELDON I was lying across a mattress on the floor of our hostel, watching the fan spin dead air around as flies crawled across the ceiling. Why bother going out? I wondered to myself. What I do out there isn´t going to change anything.

We had been in Cambodia for a little over two weeks now. Having spent the previous month doing red light ministry in Vietnam, I wasn´t surprised to see the level of prostitution in Phnom Penh. What did surprise me was how open the girls were and how easy it was for us to talk to them. Almost every night that week, my friend Rachel and I were out visiting the different hostess bars near our hostel. We had even made friends with one of the girls and spent time with her during the day. Despite the relationships we were building, that particular night I couldn´t stop myself from feeling that it was all useless.

So what if we´re making friends with these girls? I asked myself. We´re just going to leave them in a few weeks. We haven´t even prayed for any of them or said anything about Jesus. What´s the point?

I really didn´t want to go out that night. What I did want to do was bury my face into my pillow and go back to sleep. In fact, just as I was about to crawl back underneath the covers with my earbuds in, Rachel came upstairs to pull me out of bed.

“Hey!” she said. “What are you doing sleeping? We said we´d go out tonight!”

The two of us walked out of the hostel and stood on the street outside of the bars.

Neither of us had any ideas about where to go that night, so we sat on a bench in the park and prayed for direction. After a few minutes, we decided to go into the last pub on our street.

It turned out to be the right choice - the girls inside welcomed us in with hugs and cheering. Before we knew it, they were playing with our hair and challenging us to pool matches in the back. Although all of them were friendly, I instantly felt a connection with one specific bar girl named Julie. After we introduced ourselves, we started to laugh about how similar our lives were – not only did we have the same name, but she and I were the same age and our birthdays were both in July.

After a while, we sat down at one of the tables and continued to talk. The conversation soon turned to tattoos and piercings. I showed Julie the Bible verse I had tattooed on my foot a few years ago: Don’t be afraid, just believe, Mark 5:36. Julie was excited by the verse and told us she planned on getting a tattoo of her own. When we asked her what she wanted, she explained that she felt as if she were living a double life – bar girl by night and caring daughter by day. Since her parents were older and they could no longer provide for themselves, it was up to her and her brother to support the family.

“But my brother, you know,” she admitted. “He is very lazy! I must support him and my parents and myself as well.”

Her family knew she had a job but didn´t know it involved being a prostitute at a local bar.

“I would have my tattoo say, don´t forget my lies. I must always lie to my friends and family about what I am doing.”

We ordered her a drink (what the men typically do when they want to sit with one of the girls) and listened as she shared even more of her story with us.

“I get drunk all the time here because I don´t want to think. I smile at the men, but inside I think I´ve already died. I keep trying to push my feelings away so I can be numb.”

At this point in the conversation, I was so nervous I couldn´t stop fidgeting in my seat. I found myself praying: Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus! I looked over to Rachel for help, but she seemed just as speechless as I was. What in the world was I supposed to say to this girl to bring her hope?

All of a sudden, I found myself blurting out: “Do you believe in God?”

Rachel’s eyes widened – she later explained to me that she felt as if we had to ask that same question. At first Julie was confused by it and didn´t quite understand what we were asking her. When she finally realized what we were trying to say, she almost bolted out of her seat exclaiming, “Yes! The other girls think I am crazy, but at home, I pray all of the time. They tell me I´m only talking to myself, but I know that someone is listening. I have heard a voice before – but it´s not like a physical voice. I don´t know how to explain it in English. Somehow I hear it inside my head.”

“You´re not crazy!” we told her. “That voice is real – it´s God trying to speak to you.”

We went on to say that Jesus loved her and He cared about whatever it was she was going through. I asked her if it would be okay if we prayed for her. The moment the words were out of my mouth, I couldn´t believe what I´d just said. I´m the type of person who lets someone else lead the conversation and balks at the thought of praying for a stranger. I tend to be more comfortable letting other people handle the situation.

“Remember my tattoo?” I told Julie, carrying on anyway. “You don´t have to be afraid of circumstances or what other people think. If you call on God, He´s going to show up.”

We leaned across the table and took both of her hands. I remember desperately praying that God would help her find a different job to support her family. We also asked that He would continue to speak to her and help her understand His love. To be honest, I don´t really know where all of the words were coming from, especially since I was praying it out in English.

Maybe it was just me, but Julie looked happier after we finished praying for her. She seemed touched that someone cared about her life and also relieved that we - unlike her friends at the bar - didn´t think she was crazy.

After we talked for a while longer, we realized it was almost 2 o’ clock in the morning and the bar was about to close. The girls were stacking the chairs on the tables and motioning us towards the door. We promised Julie we´d come back to the bar and see her again before we left Phnom Penh.

// JULIE & JULIE Rachel and I stepped out of the bar and onto the street. We each sucked in an enormous breath. Rather than heading straight back to the hostel, we sat down on the curb opposite of the pub and talked out loud about everything we´d just seen. Right as I started to speak, I burst into tears. It felt like God had just punched me in the face.

Why had I spent so much time earlier doubting that He could use me to reach out to someone? What we were doing wasn´t worthless. And the pain I was feeling over Julie´s brokenness was the same kind of pain that God felt for her. I suddenly felt guilty for all of the times I doubted we´d be able to tell someone about Jesus.

Looking back on that night, I can see that something inside of me shifted. Even now, I can´t quite pinpoint what it was. Maybe I do know but can´t put it into words. As hard as it was, I believe that I had to hear Julie´s story firsthand in order to realize that it doesn´t matter if you´re the first person or the tenth person to tell someone about Jesus. You can´t know what´s going to happen to someone after you´ve left them – all you can know is that you did everything you could to encourage them and point them in the right direction.

When we went to see Julie for the last time, we left her with a note and a Bible. Even today, we still talk to her over Facebook, and we hope to continue to be friends no matter how many kilometers are between us.

SVEY TAN

// VANESSA SANCHEZ & TAYLOR KONKEN-DEHAAN

Don’t stop your dreaming when you open your eyes, Your Father is listening. He hears your cries.

He counts your tears as He watches them fall.

His heart aches for you to be free from it all.

Come here baby girl let me wipe your eyes, I know that older boy told you those lies And he don’t give a damn about your cries But don’t you put your head down baby Keep it aimed up at the skies.

Come here baby girl let me wipe those tears, Let me shelter you from your fears, I know you hate what you see staring in the mirrors but your vision’s hazy baby Let go, come and make it clearer.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

I would give anything I have for you to see you through His picture But greed, lust, blood, sweat, tears, dust are toxic to the mind in mixture.

I can’t think of a better way to word than His love is furious And it’s the only thing I can see for sure through eyes of blurriness caused by the tears of being blessed to feel with God’s heart.

And even though I know it’s a blessing admittedly with my head it’s messing These wounds still bleed, it’s time for you change your dressing.

Learn your lesson and get the rest off of your chest and stop the reign of terror I see tearing you apart.

Don’t think the evil people of the world can hold you down forever baby girl Trust me they aren’t even close to being that smart

What are you doing in the arms of a stranger?

The love that I have for you doesn’t come from me.

The God that I serve has brought me to my knees.

He saved me from death and this is why I sing.

His name is Jesus, He’s the hope that I bring.

He says, “Come to Me, come to Me all who are weary and I will give you rest.”

What are you doing in the arms of a stranger?

Come here baby girl let me wipe your eyes, I know that older boy told you those lies What are you doing in the arms of a stranger?

Come here baby girl let me wipe those tears, let me shelter you from your fears.

Don’t stop your dreaming when you open your eyes, Your Father is listening. He hears your cries.

He counts your tears as He watches them fall.

His heart aches for you to be free from it all.

He counts your tears

AS HE WATCHES THEM FALL. TO

his heart aches for you BE F REE from ti all.

THE SKIN COLOUR MISSION // WEI-JAN BOEY

The streets of the backpackers’ district were loud and buzzing. Tourists from all over the world congregrate at Bui Vien Street for cheap alcohol and even local girls.

I’ve walked down this street many times before and I’ve had to deal with all sorts of strange looks from people. Once, I was walking with one of the guys on the team and a local taxi driver looked at me as if I was ‘bought’ by him. I’ve also had to deal with foreign men scanning me from head to toe only to realise that I wasn’t a bar girl or prostitute.

Curse of my Asian skin.

And there I was, at one of those bars, sipping on overpriced Coke. I was on my own, but in the corner of my eyes, I could see a few of my teammates sitting down and praying for me. Why? I was on a mission to reach out to these foreign men on my own even though I’d be regarded as one of those women who are to be bought.

It was a unique mission and of course, it has its own set of unique issues. I was constantly objectified by the men at the bars and their lustful looks were beyond my comprehension at times. There were also times I was condemned because I was thought of to be one of the bar girls that people didn’t want to have.

PHOTO // WEI-JAN BOEY

But the mission still goes on.

I go into the bars with the intention of distracting them long enough to stop them from buying a girl.

I go into the bars to show these men that there’s more to life than paid sex and substance abuse.

I go into the bars to be a source of light in the darkness.

I go into the bars to make known the Father who loves them.

My skin colour may have been thought to be a curse but God turned the tables.

I hope those men felt the difference.

I hope that one day, they’ll find all their answers in God. I hope they’ll know they’re God’s beloved sons.

That’s all I ask for.

In Slavery to Sanity // ALICIA MONTANEZ

It’s two in the morning and my teammates are finally shuffling in through the door.

The scent of the streets follows them like a living mist. One of them is nearly in tears. I don’t try hard to piece together the stilted bits of short-lived conversation they try to make. Sometimes it is just better not to know. So I sit back and watch in silence as everything crumbles.

Night after night they go out, dipping themselves into the waters and hanging on to a prayer in the hope that they won’t go under. Sometimes the waters barely touch them, other times they drag themselves back drenched and gasping for breath. I don’t know whether they can’t feel it or just won’t.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

There are nights I feel ashamed that I’m not brave like them. I’m ashamed that I won’t go out to the lowest of low, to stand in the mire and filth in hopes of maybe pulling someone out. It takes a while, but one night I wade in and stand among the fangs of the monster that picks its teeth with shards of broken souls. I watch as the dark waters lick around my brothers and sisters and that scares me more than the shadows themselves.

I don’t want to go back out again. I can’t. I want to cry out every night as they get closer to the waters that spiral maddeningly downward, but since I’m not swimming with them, they can’t hear me. And I can’t convince myself to join them.

They build kingdoms in the sand and sit back with pride, but all I can see is their hands getting dirty and the incoming tide. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open as I watch them drown.

But there’s so much more to it that I can’t see. And while I’m in slavery to sanity they’re out there saving humanity.

while i’m in

slavery to sanity they're out there SAVING HUMANITY.

// JULIA ESAU & RACHEL SHELDON

January 21st 2014

A JOURNAL ENTRY

// MEGAN OWCZARSKI

Yesterday we visited a former brothel in Svay Pak, a village formerly notorious for child trafficking. It was once estimated that over 90% of the children living in the village were victims of forced prostitution. In the brothel they showed us the one room they still have intact. At first it just seemed like a room to me but, then I turned around a saw this drawing on the wall. Suddenly this room was real to me.

So many girls were trapped inside the four walls I was standing in. Some young girl probably drew this picture while she passed the horrific time between clients. The artist has a name and a story.

Yesterday made me so thankful for where I come from. That no economic pressure has ever made my parents even consider selling me into prostitution. That as a daughter I have value and I am important. Not just another income. I wish this was the story for every child.

LIGHT IN THE DARK

// WEI-JAN BOEY

Imagine holding one candle while standing in the middle of a dark forest.

The darkness is so dark that when light steps into the darkness, it battles with the intensity of the darkness, hoping it can remain lit while trying to stop the darkness from engulfing the only source of light there.

The flame of the candle can go out at any time. Just a little wind can put it out.

Imagine everything else that doesn’t want light to be present.

This is when we struggle the most.

This is when we wonder if hope is gonna melt away from our grip.

This is when we question if redemption is imminent.

We’ve been beaten, struck and hurled about. But we wrap up our wounds and get up anyway. It’ll hurt so much as we push through, but we hang on to whatever fuel we have left in us to stay bright.

To the... ...impoverished mother of five, who lives under the bridge, whose fifth child is held at a hospital because she couldn’t pay the medical fee;

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

...cancer patient who only has a month left to live, and all she can say is that her present suffering is a result of the sins of her past life (Buddhist theology); ...gangsters and drug dealers who roam the streets and parks at night to terrorise and instill fear and hopelessness; ...bar girls who put on masks to let themselves come to terms with being sexually exploited by old foreign men; ...bar owner who only wants the best for her children; ...tourists who come here looking for “love” to fill the emptiness in their souls;

...two young brothers who spit fire and swallow snakes to earn a little money to support their family; ...beggar, who was affected by Agent Orange, who goes around every bar and restaurant to survive; ...university student, who was about to commit suicide; ...disabled children and orphans affected by Agent Orange, the lepers without limbs, who are so beautiful yet so helpless; ...ladyboys, who are usually drugged up and high as they walk along the streets looking for customers; ...nine year old girl who goes around the buzzing streets asking foreigners to buy her little stack of chewing gum and even her body just so she could take care of her drugged-up shell of a mother...

As much as it pains me to say and sometimes believe, you are all dearly loved.

“There is hope.”

Yes, you heard me.

I know it doesn’t seem real or near, and even as the darkness tries to consume the little light I have left, I want you to know that there is hope.

It’s a miracle that I can still stand in this overwhelming darkness.

I think it’s because I personally know the only source of miracles in this world.

I hope you’ll run to Him someday, if not today. And He’s here, waiting for you.

I love you.

THERE

is HOPE.

KINTSUGI

// MEGAN OWCZARSKI

Kintsugi: the Japanese Art of fixing broken pottery with a lacquer resin sprinkled with powdered gold. It is a restoration process that seeks not to make broken ceramics as good as new, but to make them better than new.

We have all been broken at some point. Sometimes it’s just a small fracture and other times we are left completely shattered. But, as Christians we are never beyond repair. We are never too destroyed for God to put us back together. God has this amazing way of taking the ugly and the broken and making something beautiful out of it. To me God is the ultimate Master of the Japanese art of Kintsugi.

He perfects this art on us daily. Taking every situation that we have been through that may have broken us or chipped away at our spirits and turns it into something beautiful. This is a way to visualize what God’s redemption in our life really looks like. His truly beautiful redemption. But, what truly amazes me about God and his healing is that he doesn’t tell us to hide it or forget about it. He could just as easily fix us with clear super glue and make it so no one could ever see the places where we have been hurt. But, instead he reminds us that the goal is not to pretend these situations never happened. But, instead to find healing and turn our wounds into a weapon.

A weapon valuable not only to us but to God. God urges us as Christian’s to see that the broken are also the most beautiful. They valiantly bear the marks of the redemption that God has given them. The greater the damage the more gold that is used to heal the wounds. Making their worth so much greater than before. The life changing power of the Body of Christ takes our wounds, our scars and sculpts them into beauty marks. Marks that are unforgettable reflections of God’s ability to transform our pasts from something life halting to life altering. We are not people who get thrown away when they are broken. But we are people who are transformed by God’s love into beautiful works of art.

// MEGAN OWCZARSKI

No, I didn't make you weak, but you can be weak in front of me.

It's okay to be honest, I want you to yell.

Scream out your fears and I'll cast them down to hell.

And you will be free from all that your eyes no longer want to see.

It's not scabs falling and your blood gushing from those past wounds.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER “LETTER FROM GOD” // AMY POST

MY BLOOD

has covered them

and what you see falling are

petals of a rose, surrounding the real you.

VISUAL PROMISES

// KINZI DEMPSEY

I found my art turning into the visual translation of a desperate man’s prayers.

With the initial challenge to put up art throughout the red light districts of Ho Chi Minh and Phnom Penh, came confusion on my part. What was I supposed to create that would make a lasting visual impact? And even if I worked out what to create, there was no guarantee that my pieces would last a night without being ripped off the grungy walls.

Half way into our trip, we had a time of prayer in which we declared the promises in store for the people inhabiting the streets we walked every night. And then it clicked; my art would become a visual promise for those in poverty.

Poverty in its definition to me became much more than a lack of money and ability to provide for one’s self. I looked and interacted with the upper class Vietnamese and noticed as much lack in their own hearts as the lack I found in the lives of the precious street children that I played with. The prostitutes who work in the center of the city, the villagers living with limited electricity, the dying patients in the hospitals we visited; all had a very noticeable deficit of love, hope, joy, and peace in their lives. And so, I set to work on creating art pieces that could become prayerful proclamatory promises for those in poverty that I had personally gotten to know.

Each piece carries its own significance while still functioning within the series concept. “HY VONG” was pasted on the putrid walls we found in the red light district of Ho Chi Minh City by myself and other Vietnamese partiers who found what I was doing interesting. It also became an important message that a girl working as a waitress at a Japanese maid fetish cafe took away from the friendship we were able to forge with her. “Let There Be Light” was also pasted on many of the dark walls of the alley ways of Ho Chi Minh City, while “Let the Dreamers Rise” was inspired by a 5 year old street girl that stole a large piece of my heart in Phnom Penh. Finally, “You Are Worth Blood” was modeled off of an image of one of the Khmer Rouge victims from the S21 genocide museum in Cambodia.

These four pieces are messages.

Messages for the Desperate and the Desolate the Blind and the Broken the Dead and the Alive the Lonely and the Lost.

“HOPE: YOU ARE CALLED TO FREEDOM” // KINZI DEMPSEY

“LET THERE BE LIGHT” // KINZI DEMPSEY

“LET THE DREAMERS RISE” // KINZI DEMPSEY & WEI-JAN BOEY This piece was first printed in a grungy, hole-in the wall printshop of Phnom Penh, Cambodia. It was discovered by a cleaning lady of the “Happy 11” hostel we were staying in. She was found sitting against the wall outside our room, holding this piece and weeping.

And when we finally pasted this piece on the streets of the red light district of the city, a postpunk prostitute from Australia helped us put it up.

But all that is beside the point.

This is a piece that is the visual translation of a desperate man’s prayers for the street children of Cambodia.

The little girl portrayed in this piece is 5 years old. Her name is Mal. Her mother leavers her to wander the halls of a strip mall that prostitutes and male sex tourists frequent. Her teeth are rotting, her clothing is torn, and her feet are black with filth. She is a sassy, mischievous child who enjoys her cuddles and ice-cream.

And she stole a significant piece of my heart in the short time I was with her.

“LET THE CHILDREN RISE WITH VISION IN THEIR EYES AND A PASSION IN THEIR BONES.”

“YOU ARE WORTH BLOOD” // KINZI DEMPSEY & ASHLEY DAVIS On the comparison between the prison cells in the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum in Cambodia and the rooms of a brothel:

There is no difference.

LAMENTATIONS

// MEGAN OWCZARSKI

Isn’t it funny how God always gives you exactly what you need. Most of the time it isn’t always instantaneous but today it was for me.

After a night spent watching my friend Taylor film a spoken word piece in the middle of the Red Light District in the center of Saigon I was a little bummed and annoyed by some of the opposition he faced while filming it. Two older white men in particular were provoked by lyrics in Taylor’s piece. They ultimately were trying to get a rise out of our group and get us angry and when that didn’t happen they just started spewing nonsense. I went back to our hostel and began talking to God and asking him what he is going to do with this city once we leave? Is what we are doing here really making any difference at all? As a team we feel so burned out and depleted from every pain we have seen. We have poured out all of ourselves and feel like we really don’t have anything left to give. We are drained physically, emotionally and spiritually.

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

But, man can our God restore. After these thoughts and questions ran through my mind I decided to do my daily devotional. It lead me to the book of Lamentations.

A book or devotion I would usually tend to skip over. But, today it pulled me in. It was talking about how God always gives us fresh starts. Yes! Fresh starts are always good!

After reading it I then decided to re-read the whole book of Lamentations (which isn’t that hard it is only 5 shortish poems). As I read chapters one and two I began feeling depressed and unsure why I was reading it. It speaks of sin and filth. Here I am thinking… come on God this is not what I need to be reading right now I have dealt with enough filth lately. But, upon digging deeper I realized everything that had happened in this fallen city of Jerusalem has been my teams reality for the past two months. It’s funny because back in Germany I read the book of Lamentations and it meant absolutely nothing to me. I highlighted the “nice verses” like 5:19 “You, Lord, reign forever: your throne endured from generation to generation.”

But, when I read it today this story of the fallen city of Jerusalem had faces. It had names. It had stories.

In Chapter 2:21 it talks of “old and young laying together in the dirty streets.” This immediately brought me back to every single Bar on Street 51 in Phnom Penh that was filled with men older than my grandpa whose hands were draped over girls as young as my 14 year old sister. Men grabbing girls and pulling them into taxi’s whose destination is some nondescript, dirty, pay by the hour hotel.

In Chapter 3:51 it says “What I see brings grief to my soul because of all the women of my city.”Our souls have been so damaged by the women of both Phnom Penh and Saigon. Night after night we have looked into their pained filled eyes and told them they were beautiful, told them they were valuable and told them that there is a God who loves them more than they could ever imagine. We have seen the skepticism in their eyes and the disbelief. How do you convey worth to a girl who only sees herself as a set price?

In Chapter 4:1 it talks about “sacred gems scattered on every street corner.” To our team these “gems” are the street children who daily break our hearts. The children who still run up behind you and give you huge hugs even after leaving the country for a month. The kids who somehow make us laugh and cry at the same time. The children of the street who’s life will be a progression from selling gum, to roses and then eventually to selling their bodies.

And in Chapter 4:2 it says “How the precious children of Zion, once worth their weight in gold are now considered as a pot of clay, the works of a potter’s hands!”

These “Pots of clay” are the prostitutes and the trafficked women to me. Women who are used pieces of clay that night after night get molded into a man’s idea of perfection. Then wadded up and left laying there for the next man to mold. Women who used to have so much self worth now left degraded by men seeking power and control. Women who are worth more than rubies to God are worth just $50 dollars and pleasure to the men in these cities.

Verse after verse it speaks of weariness, pain, tears, mockery and despair.

"Yet, this I call to mind and therefore I have hope Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, 'The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.'

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him.�

(LAMENTATIONS 3:21-25)

Thousands of years ago the city of Jerusalem was experiencing the same pain my group of 26 is feeling today. But, what we have to hold on to today is much different. Today we have hope that Jesus will be able to bring hope and healing to the brokenness we have seen and felt. He tells us that it is important to “remember our afflictions, bitterness and unhappiness.” But, he says in Chapter 3:21-25:

PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

“Yet, this I call to mind and therefore I have hope Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him.”

And this is what it is ALL about. We must keep our hope in God no matter what unimaginable pain we go through. No matter how much ugliness we see in the world.

That’s the great thing about God. He doesn’t tell us to get rid of the terrible things we felt or to forget our trials. He tells us to REMEMBER but also have HOPE. He takes care of our messes, our lose cannon emotions, our frequent fragility. And better yet, he still gives us new mercies every morning. If my team is able to walk away from the ugliness of these two cities and still have hope and believe in God, well then I think we have accomplished what we came here to do. If we are able to stand strong in the midst of this surrounding darkness and be a beacon of light to the others struggling to find hope then I think we have done everything we possibly can. If at the end of this trip each and every one of us can truthfully say God is good all the time even in the storms, well then praise God! Upon discussing the book of Lamentations with my entire team I think my friend Jan said it best “You know it’s real when Lamentations is the book that best describes what we’re dealing with.”

FEARFULLY & WONDERFULLY MADE // ABI STOREY

“You were fearfully and wonderfully made, you were created in God’s own image and He has a plan for your life.”

This was my frantic prayer over every child as I helped the nuns in a Communist Agent Orange Orphanage feed the children. The first room had 35 beds in which lay severely disabled children who were unable to move; we spoon-fed them green mush using foam wedges to prop them up. The smell of piss and animals lingered throughout the complex - home to approximately 400 children. I can easily say that this was the hardest thing I’ve ever seen, and the most hopeless that I have ever felt.

That was until my team watched Father Of Lights, in which one lady stated “We believe that God is the giver of life, and that if he chose for a life to be created, then there’s purpose in that life.” I may have been unable to see this myself, but I have to trust that God is who He says He is, and that He has a plan and a purpose for every single child. I don’t know this girl’s name; she couldn’t tell me, but I do know that she is a beautiful, beautiful daughter of God, who is madly and deeply loved.

// ABI STOREY

STRETCH

// SHANNON MCCONNELL

The first time I didn’t go, so I didn’t know what to expect. The man who ran the center asked our team to come back because so many people were healed the first time. There we’re a lot of elderly people, some adults, and a few children. It was such a peaceful environment. I felt God’s presence as soon as we entered the place.

PHOTOS // JULIA ESAU

First we prayed for some cute little old ladies and a young woman with HIV/AIDS. They all were so thankful to have us there. After we prayed for them we came across an adorable little old man with no teeth sitting on a bench. The translator told us that this man had a stroke recently and he couldn’t use his hand properly. We asked him if we could pray for him and he said yes. As soon as we ended he was so touched and starting crying. He told us that he felt so much love and peace from us.

We then started to exercise his hand.

We would let him grab onto our hands with the hand that he couldn’t use well. He could slightly hold our hand, but the hardest part was opening his hand back up. He tried so hard as we cheered him on. More and more he could open his hand up. I felt peace knowing that in time his hand would be just fine. I could feel the love and joy that God had for this man. I loved him so much. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever been a part of.

LANDSCAPES

// JOANNA BRANSON

In a dark and oppressive place, we tried very hard to be everything that the atmosphere was not. We tried to wear forgiveness and hope as our clothing and walk with steps that had life instead of death. When we didn’t look at Jesus, we fell straight on our faces. When we looked at Him, we walked on fire and ran across the depths.

One of the ways we tried to bring beauty in to Phnom Penh was through our art.

When we had no more words or physical fight left in us, we did have these tangible expressions of our deepest hopes to paste everywhere and anywhere we could.

I chose to paste landscapes. On grimy urine stained walls, we pasted pristine glacier lagoons and crystal mountain lakes. Just as we use words to make declarations of new things in a city, I wanted to use images to physically declare beauty and hope.

I have a romanticised dream in this project that one of the street kids who sleeps outside will see these images and know there are places that are different, that the world is huge and beautiful, and there is hope for new things.

ROMANS 10:15

“HOW BEAUTIFUL ARE THE FEET OF THOSE WHO BRING GOOD NEWS!” PHOTOGRAPHY SERIES // EVA GEIGER

// PORTRAIT, SILHOUETTE & FEET OF THE NUNS OF KON TUM, VIETNAM

// SILHOUETTES & FEET OF THE TEAM

“HOPE/HOME” // WEI-JAN BOEY

“HOPE” // KINZI DEMPSEY PHOTO // WEI-JAN BOEY

t i 's so

GOOD

to be

ALIVE.

hope

is here. // EVA GEIGER

STREET ART: VIETNAM // KELLEY ROBERTS

Father, send your angels to Vietnam. We played with the street kids until 1-3 AM. We love them and care for them. They are just kids. They steal and offer sex, but they wrestle and play with paper birds. They are just kids, that are forced to act like adults. As I met up with some of the kids I had seen the day before, and older White man came up to me and said, “You see when these three kids gather around you, watch out. Before you know, everything on you will be gone, just keep moving.” He spoke in a condescending tone, as though I was ignorant and naive. But no, I know this is wisdom… to see the kids through God’s eyes.

I see them as little boys who are hungry and just want to play. They have been exploited. They have been harassed.

Father, open these people’s eyes. The children are not just thieves. They are just kids. Don’t let them be ignored, please give them back a childhood.

After this encounter, I was inspired to make the street kids visible. When they even are noticed, the tourists think they are in the way, not worth time or conversation. I drew some of the street girls with flower crowns and posted them on Bui Vien, Ho Chi Minh City, the Red-Light tourist district. Some of them were torn down within hours, some days, and some one month, but I want these kids to be noticed. They aren’t invisible. They will be noticed.

// KELLEY ROBERTS

STREET ART: CAMBODIA // KELLEY ROBERTS

My dream, Street 51, Phnom Pehn, Cambodia.

As I walk down 51, I notice my dad sitting at the end of the street, surrounded by prostitutes and alcohol. I run towards him and when I reach him, out of breath and full of tears, I realize this man is not my father. I apologize, “I am so sorry. I thought you were my dad. I am so sorry!” The man looked at me and said, “Well, why are you crying? What were you going to say to him?” I responded, “I was just going to tell him that I love him, and I want him to come home.”

This dream inspired a six-piece series of 40-70 year old White men’s faces with the text “Dad, I love you. Come home.” I prayed that God would inspire the faces to draw, that they would resemble men that were traveling in the city. Instead of anger or disgust towards these men, I could now feel the way the Father feels towards them, love. I posted these pictures in the middle of the red-light district, hoping the men would see them and know that someone is calling them home. Gently and Lovingly, God is calling them to himself. The men in this area are stirring and searching, and we aim to point them towards love, away from lust. Love has suffered loneliness and heartbreak so that these men don’t have to anymore.

When I posted one of these posters near Chuck Norris Dimsum and Heart of Darkness, I got a lot of attention. As I walked up, with the rolled poster and tub of wheatpaste, a prostitute offered to help and hugged me when she saw the picture.

I put it up quickly, walked away, and then looked back to see a crowd of 15-20 bar girls, tourists, and locals staring at it. I crossed the street and a woman followed me saying, “why you don’t leave email or phone number?!?! How will your dad find you?!” She cared so deeply for me. We also heard a woman say, “Ah! I have seen that man here before!!”

We praise God and trust that He will lead these men back home and towards Him.

// KELLEY ROBERTS

“HE IS MORE” // ELISHA HOWARD

“SHE IS MORE” // ELISHA HOWARD “HEART” // BEN SHEPHERD

“HUMAN TRAFFICKING IS SLAVERY” // BEN SHEPHERD

“CONTROL YOURSELF” // SPENCER BERGHAUSER

“CONTROL YOURSELF” // SPENCER BERGHAUSER PHOTO // EVA GEIGER

“DO NOT FORGET” // ELISHA HOWARD PHOTO // ABI STOREY

“DEAR...” // RACHEL SHELDON

“RISE ABOVE” // SPENCER BERGHAUSER & PATRICK BRUMMER

“COME TO THE WATER” // WEI-JAN BOEY

“LANDSCAPES” // JOANNA BRANSON

“SHE IS MORE” // ELISHA HOWARD

“CROWNED GIRL” // KELLEY ROBERTS PHOTO // MEGAN OWCZARSKI

“THERE IS HOPE” // WEI-JAN BOEY & JULIA ESAU “SOLD” // JULIA ESAU

“COME HOME” // KELLEY ROBERTS

“NOT FOR SALE” & “PROTECT CHILDHOOD” // MEGAN OWCZARSKI

// ELISHA HOWARD

// KELLEY ROBERTS

“LANDSCAPES” // JOANNA BRANSON “NEON R2D2” // NATE LAMPA

// NATE LAMPA

“YOU ARE NOT LOST” // KINZI DEMPSEY & JOANNA BRANSON

“PIZZA CAT” // SPENCER BERGHAUSER

STREET ART IN THE MAKING // THE TEAM

“RESPECT” // WEI-JAN BOEY

“CROWNED GIRL” // KELLEY ROBERTS

“I found myself in a print shop that was just the right amount of dirty and hidden to print and cut stickers and street art made by me and my team. When we don’t have words or energy to talk to the precious street kids who sniff glue, the 65 year old men who buy teenagers for sex, or the backpackers in the middle of it having the time of their life, you can only hope that art will say some of the things you can’t.”

// JOANNA BRANSON

“SHE IS MORE” // ELISHA HOWARD

“LET THE DREAMERS RISE” // KINZI DEMPSEY & WEI-JAN BOEY

THIS IS OUR TEAM.

REMEMBER THE SAILORS // SAMUEL BEUTLER

It was not until we returned that I began to look back on things. For a while I felt very sad. The hope and joy I had so gladly carried suddenly felt like a little candle in the wind.

I suppose that at least for a while, I worried the wind of the world might blow it out.

But we saw something very beautiful in Vietnam and Cambodia. I didn’t fully realize it until I returned and sat down and thought about it. At first I was sad, but then I began to understand.

ILLUSTRATION // KINZI DEMPSEY

Our Father led us. To the streets, to the bars, to the hospitals – and all the way into the very heart of darkness. And when at last we got there, I was very surprised at what I saw.

We found Jesus there. He was waiting for us, sleeping on the streets. He was selling packs of gum so that he would not be beaten. He was explaining words with his hands because he didn’t speak the same language. His whole body ached with sores. He breathed fire, and had to sell himself because he was forced to. He was crippled by toxic chemicals from a war that happened generations ago. He lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling and never once said anything. He huffed glue and listened to dance music until his head throbbed. He sat surrounded by a sea of people and had never once felt more alone in his life. He was lonely and drinking and heartbroken. He was a stranger in a strange land, so far away from home.

I found that the gentle candle I carried suddenly became a beacon of hope.

Just imagine the joy felt by sailors lost at sea, to see even the smallest of lights flickering on a distant shore.

I believe that everyone will laugh when at last they begin to see God face to face. For how can we not help but laugh despite our hungry bellies and tired bodies, when we see the crown of flowers placed on our heads and realize for the first time who we were made to be. You are no longer an orphan; we are the sons and daughters of the king.

Remember the sailors. Even the smallest flame on shore brings such great hope.

And our hope never flickers, never wavers, never fails. For our hope is not our own; it comes from Jesus Christ. I picture Jesus sitting at the right hand of the father.

Yes, Jesus wept –but when I imagine him, I always picture him laughing.

NOT QUITE THE END. Someone told me once that lamentation is the highest form of worship. Like a child sobbing into the chest of his father, crying out in honest anguish shows ultimate vulnerability and trust to show Him our weakest selves.

These cries are our praise. When we have had nothing left to be but ourselves, and honesty in front of a merciful Father has never left us lacking.

We walk away knowing there’s no such thing as a place too dark, for darkness is as light to Him. These words and images are our memories of crying out for mercy and goodness in desperation. He has always answered the same way, “I’m here.” // JOANNA BRANSON

BEHIND NOPE, IT’S REAL TEAM VIETNAM-CAMBODIA, MARRIAGE OF THE ARTS DTS 2013/14 Alex Nicastro Joanna Branson Nate Lampa Spencer Berghauser Megan Owczarski Claire Henning Alicia Montanez Rachel Sheldon Julia Esau Amy Post Ben Shepherd Patrick Brummer Dennis Chmelkow Ryan Seymour Shannon McConnell Taylor Konken-deHaan Vanessa Sanchez Kelley Roberts Samuel Beutler Eva Geiger Wei-Jan Boey Kinzi Dempsey Elisha Howard Abi Storey Sarah Lawrence Tamlyn White

CREATIVE DIRECTION Nate Lampa Joanna Branson Wei-Jan Boey

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