This June, Scarlet Hope sent a team to Los Angeles during the World Cup.
While the world’s eyes were on the games, we knew something else was happening in the shadows of that city. Major sporting events are among the highest moments of trafficking activity in the world. We went to show up for the women no one else was looking for.
I had heard about Figueroa Street in movies, in the work we do, in conversations that left a weight in the room. But I had never visited. I had never met anyone there. Until this trip.
During the day, our team hit the streets. I did not expect what I found. Women were working in broad daylight. Forty-two of them stopped long enough for us to pray over them, hand them a red rose, and tell them the truth: Jesus loves you, and there is help and hope.
But it was the night that changed me.
Figueroa is a thirty-mile stretch through Los Angeles. The longest street in the city. It is known for prostitution, gangs, and traffickers. I saw all three firsthand. Every corner had anywhere from two to six women working it. Women in lingerie. Empty eyes. Safety concerns I could not have prepared myself for, no matter how long I have been in this ministry.
From the outside, it can look like these women could simply walk away and start over. After meeting more than 150 of them that night, I can tell you that is far from the truth.
I got out of the car near a motel on one corner. The doors were hidden behind a wall. Windows were few. I handed a rose to one woman and asked if we could pray. She said yes. And then, one after another, a stream of young women began coming out of that motel.
A young, beautiful woman walked up to me. I handed her a rose. She told me her name was Jordan.
I asked her if there was anything she needed prayer for.
She said, “Will you please pray for my freedom from this bondage in Jesus’ name.”
Words have never felt so real to me as they did in that moment.
I began to pray. She was muttering words under her breath we could not make out. Her eyes were dark. A volunteer and I both sensed it. We prayed for Jesus to break the chains off this young woman, to rebuke the enemy, and to be Lord of her life.
She looked up and smiled.
She said it was not safe to keep talking. But that she was going to call us.
Freedom does not always look like a physical rescue in a single moment. More often, freedom begins when a tortured, sick, and dying soul cries out for Jesus to free her. I believe Jordan experienced the beginning of that freedom that night on Figueroa Street.
For it is for freedom that Christ has set us free.
We will keep showing up. For Jordan. For the women we have not yet met. For every corner and every city where hope has not yet arrived.
That is why we go.
Rachelle Starr
