I’m 41, but I was trafficked at 15
I’m 41, But I Was Trafficked at 15
Some moments on the street stay with you.
There was no fight or dramatic scene, but sometimes, in the quiet conversations that happen through a rolled-down car window, you catch a glimpse of a life standing at a crossroads.
We had just finished talking with another woman when we noticed two women sitting in a parked car nearby. A few of our team members walked over and introduced themselves. At first, the window only cracked slightly. They thought we were customers. Then, when they realized we weren’t, the concern shifted – now they thought we might be police.
Suspicion is something we see often. Trust doesn’t come easily when your life has taught you that most people aren’t safe.
We told them we had brought gifts. They were surprised by that, but after a little reassurance, and after we held up the outreach bags that say “Jesus Loves You,” the tension softened. They realized we weren’t there to take anything from them. We were offering kindness.
The windows rolled down and we asked their names and how we could pray for them. They shared a little about their lives, and we stood there talking. The younger woman looked college age, though it was unlikely she was taking classes. She sat in the passenger seat. When we asked how we could pray, she simply said she wanted God’s guidance. Her smooth skin and bright eyes shone of youth though her circumstances weighed heavily on her.
The older woman was driving. Her request caught our attention.
She said she hoped that someday God would open a door for her to start a nonprofit — something where she could help other women. We talked a bit more, prayed together, and eventually moved on to connect with another woman further down the street. However, as we circled back through the area a short time later, the car window rolled down again.
They wanted to talk more. The woman driving leaned toward the window and said, almost as if she had been waiting to say it, “I want to share a little more with you.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I’m 41 years old… but I was trafficked when I was 15.” Twenty-six years. Twenty-six years since someone first exploited her when she was just a teenager.
She told us she works a regular job during the week. But she was out there that night, she said, partly to make some money and partly to keep an eye on her young relative in the passenger seat. She didn’t want her working the streets alone.
As she talked, it became clear that she carried two realities at the same time.
One foot still in the world of the streets.
And another foot stepping toward something different. She kept coming back to the same idea.
“I really feel like I could help the women out here,” she said. “I’ve been here. I know what it’s like.” She talked about her desire to start a nonprofit someday — something that could help women get out of dangerous situations and move toward something better with their lives.
We stood there talking with her for nearly fifteen minutes. Encouraging her. Listening. Reminding her that what she was feeling might not just be a passing thought.
At one point she told us something that stopped us in our tracks. She said we were the third confirmation she had received.
Someone else had recently told her they could see her helping people someday. Someone else had spoken similar words. And now here we were, standing on Colfax, having the same conversation. So we told her something simple, “I have no doubt that God is inviting you into something different. The question now is what you’re going to do with that invitation.”
Before we left, she said she was going to call the number printed on the outreach bag. She wanted to sit down with us sometime and talk about what it actually takes to start and run a nonprofit.
As we walked away that night, one thought kept lingering.
A woman trafficked at 15.
Now 41.
Still near the same streets where exploitation has shaped so much of her life.
And yet somewhere inside her, there is still a desire not just to escape the darkness — but to go back and help others find their way out. She’s standing between two worlds. One that has held her for years and another that God is inviting her toward.
Sometimes the turning point begins with something very small. A short conversation. A prayer through a car window. A gift someone didn’t expect.
We don’t know what she will ultimately choose to do with the invitation in front of her.
But we do know this:
Even after twenty-six years, God is still writing redemption stories and sometimes the people who have walked through the deepest darkness are the very ones who feel called to carry light back into it.
In the meantime, we’ll be here: waiting for the phone to ring and praying.
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