I’m twelve hours returned from a quarterly trip to Indonesia, the locale of our Compassion First field operations and one of the very few solution bearing resources for child trafficking survivors in that country. I couldn’t be more proud of the work that they are doing and the progress they are making. In the last year our team has incorporated a partnered law enforcement training program while progressing our primary services of aftercare for child trafficking survivors. The last couple of days for me were spent among a staff that is carefully and confidently moving a young operation into its effective future along with a group of amazing and vibrant girls who are thriving as a result. Even as I departed, our staff was case managing a rescue taking place almost a thousand miles away and preparing for the subsequent intake sure to happen as a result.

The leadership of Becky Davis is core to our success. This comes as no surprise for those who have known, worked with, and been served by Becky over the years. She is a stabilizing presence, a voice of guidance, and a great friend to so many of us. For the last three years, she has served well outside of her comfort zone in a very challenging environment.

Recently, Becky took an extended break that was purposed only for much needed rest. She spent very little of her time at home doing any support raising. While any missionary deployment has its own unique challenges, Becky’s assignment is particularly challenging and provides little in terms of opportunity to raise support.

So I’m asking for your help on her behalf.

Everything we are able to do is due to the generosity of others through private donations and regular support. Our expats live modestly and they work very hard. If you know Becky Davis, I would like to ask you to partner with her in her work on a monthly basis. The link below will assist you in doing so. Please know that we are so grateful for all of you who pray for our work and support it so generously.

Click Here for Becky Davis’ Support Page

We were in Surabaya for a couple of days before we were able to get to our core purpose for being there. Make no mistake, we had quite a ride of experiences a long the way – stories for a lifetime; ones that I have to unravel just a little more before telling them.

We ended up funding and participating in five outreaches: A Christmas party for the transgendered population of Surabaya, which seems like a very large group when you gather them all in one place; a population of severely poor mothers and children coping with HIV; a massive group of disabled children; there was also an all faith’s welcome Christmas celebration and; a celebration of friendship and reconciliation between the Christian and Muslim communities in Surabaya. Unfortunately, I wasn’t a part of the last two events but understand that they were amazing. I was a part of a Christian/Muslim reconciliation ceremony a couple of years ago. It was truly one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I’ve documented it here: Beautiful Reconciliation.

On Tuesday afternoon, we made our way to the house that Pondok Kasih is calling a transitional home for the cemetery sex workers. Really, it is just the tiny place that our friend Lexi, who works with this precious population, lives with his wife and son. Transitional home or not, his house is a place of service to these women and their children. The kids were crammed into a less than 100 square foot area downstairs while their moms attended an entrepreneurship class upstairs.

As I climbed the steep and narrow staircase to tiny room on the second level, I peaked above the floor and saw Lala, the leader of this group of women that work the cemetery. She is both easy and hard to miss. Standing at well under five feet tall with a crippled leg, she has a personality that fills the room. She had her back to me as I surfaced just above the floor. Not knowing who we would see when we arrived, I was genuinely surprised and delighted that she was there. I called out her name, “Lala!” She sprung up and gave me a hug. I introduced her to our group. There were easily 30 women crammed into the room – all of their faces familiar. We had spent the morning assembling packages for each of them and their children. We were anticipating the celebration that evening.

The celebration didn’t disappoint. While our original vision had moved on from an actual gala in the cemetery, I had still envisioned a banquet style gathering with the women being served dinner around tables, the sheer number of invitees demanded something different. The invitation was expanded beyond the cemetery to include a low-rent brothel district near-by. There were almost 300 in attendance. All of them came with invitations in hand.

While the specific moments of this event and those before and after include stories for a lifetime, I’m surprised by what I was most moved by. I already love this population, so my expectation was that it would be overwhelmingly special to be with them in this context; certainly, it was. But more than anything, I was really moved and amazed by the group that went with us. They just dug in for all it was worth and squeezed the life out of every single moment. Sisters, Valerie Bellamy and Catherine Vanlandingham dove in with the children in every setting and never came up for air. Tim and Monica Stamets were the greeting crew for every outreach. Tom Opitz led, encouraged, prayed, and guided us all through extended evenings of ministry that were, guaranteed, like nothing any of the group had ever experienced. Jarae Opitz was with us too. I saw her face a sense of sincere privilege as we were asked to receive any in the crowd who wanted to be prayed for. It truly was a privilege – for all of us.

I was sad to depart from this group. I headed back to the States as they moved on to North Sulawesi to visit Ruth’s House and join our survivors for outreach activity to a couple of local orphanages. It is my understanding that the girls, the staff, and the team fell in love with each other at once – that it was a party waiting to happen. I so wish I could have been there.

Last night I received a gift. While it was a gift for all involved, it was one of those things that was so special that it felt like it was hand crafted for me. I’m very certain that everyone present felt the same way as we gathered the original staff of Yayasan Compassion First Indonesia for a dinner that included the original clients that came into our care. What an incredible evening.

It’s only been a couple of years, but most of the girls are adults now. They are young and they have lived a lot of life. The staff has lived a lot of life too.

As I looked around the table, so many stories and experiences surfaced in my mind. They would roll off as others emerged. We kept these girls out of prison. We kept them alive. We kept them safe through seasons of hiding from criminals who wanted them back, and, in some cases, law enforcement and government officials who the girls had shamed for their involvement soliciting and protecting child prostitution.  None of it without a significant cost.

Sitting next to me was our original social worker who suffered severe personal tragedy in her year on our staff. Across was Carlen, our original security guard, now working as a personal trainer at a local gym. It seemed that he worked ’round the clock for us at first until he recruited Michael, one of his body building buddies to help share the load. Michael was quite a sight – one of those guys who had muscles on his muscles. He also always had a smile on his face. Tragically, we lost Michael in a car accident in 2011.

Much of the original staff is still with us. Ami who came as part of a house mom tag team was there. We  were missing Eli, the notorious 50 pound House Mom and the other half of the duo. Last year Eli met and married the man of her dreams. Ami is how the Shelter Manager. She replaced Meidy who was also present. Meidy has moved over to work for the Luis Palau Association as they prepare for a city festival in Indonesia.

Chika pulled the whole event together; a feat by itself; and Chika herself a CF trophy. Her prominent scar from open-heart surgery persistently peaks above her open collar and reminds us that we saved her life – we all did, everyone who pulled together an unlikely and near impossible set of resources to get her to the U.S. for surgery and everyone who picked up the slack in her absence.

These girls have their lives back and, indeed, their lives are well underway. Our dinner included a husband and a husband to be. We are all impressed with and excited about both young men.

For much of the night I just sat and watched – kind of marveled. I love everyone of these people with all of my heart. I’m proud of them – staff and clients alike. I’m proud to know them and wonderfully grateful to be a part of their lives and have them be a part of mine. To watch them hug and kiss each other, and laugh out loud was the very best.

At the end of the night Winda, our YCFI Executive Director, gave a gift to each of the girls – bracelets made of pearls. She explained that they were made from pearls of hope.

Here’s to hope; to the people who embody it; and to the One who plants the seeds of it in our hearts. We feel quite encouraged to keep going!

It was about 4:30 yesterday when my friend Greg called and said, “Meet at Bugatti’s for happy hour; 5:15, ‘The Pope’ is buying!”

“The Pope” is my 68-year-old pastor friend, Jim Pope. The others around the table aren’t 68, but they’re all old…well, older than me. Greg is closest to me in age; we’re separated by a few years but he’s a grandpa and I’m still raising a young family. Duane is several years ahead of me; an empty nester but the most youthful and athletic of my older brothers. At that, he’s sporting a hip replacement. I always ask him about it since my hips are perpetually sore, albeit prematurely so and in no way aided by the craziness of a mixed martial arts fitness regimine. My buddy John is grumpy and old, or old and grumpy; I can’t really tell which informs the other. They were all hitting the pasta heavy/protein light happy hour at this place so they could get a jump on the sale that was starting that evening at the nearby Golf Galaxy. They were like giddy teenagers with pockets full of gift cards and cash.

At one point in our early evening after what must have seemed like my eleventh trip to the restroom – perhaps, an issue of age – I said, “You know guys, I can hardly be your token teenager anymore; I turn 41 on Saturday.”

It must be a magic year, because suddenly, it seems like a lot of my actual contemporaries are looking 40-something. This wasn’t the case a year ago. Last year, it still felt like we just walked out of high school – everyone still fresh-faced, ambitious, energetic, and viable. Something triple-witched this year and the game has changed. We’ve entered early middle-age with the speed and heat transfer of the shuttle re-entering the atmosphere. Wait, they’ve retired the shuttle, that new program that started with the Columbia’s first voyage just a few years back (It was 1981; I was in the 4th grade).

My crew of golfing buddies as led by a 68-year-old could start to look like my more appropriate grouping as time goes on. The Pope didn’t buy, by the way, but I shouldn’t bad mouth him because he so often does. On exit, the guys made their way to stock up on cool golf stuff. I was late for a parent/teacher conference.

Last year, I spent Father’s Day at the U.S. Open. With  a bunch of contributing accommodations including tickets, a place to stay, and a handful of air miles, Kymra let me go to Washington D.C. to watch our national championship at Congressional. While the biggest accommodation was Kymra encouraging me to do it, the convergence of factors that allowed me to go were made possible for less than $100 ($25 air mile ticket; $40 rental car; $25 for hot dogs at the overpriced concession stands).

It was really a great experience – definitely a check off on my bucket list as I was able to spend some great time with our dear friends, Doug and Monica Gill,  watch Rory McIlroy make history, and otherwise, traipse around a U.S. Open golf course for as many hours as a day would allow.

This year I am taking in the U.S. Open in an equally spectacular and high quality fashion. Sincerely. Even as I write this, I’m laying on my favorite couch (which Kymra built) and will be watching the Open coverage from beginning to end with all of my favorite people in reach.

I love Father’s Day and I love that the U.S. Open lands on this day. Every year we have a discussion around what it is that I would like to do for the day. I always say the same thing: I want to lay on the couch, watch the Open, and have Kymra and my kiddos nearby. That’s a perfect day…especially the Kymra part!

Happy Father’s Day everybody. Today we celebrate the universal truth that dads are almost as cool as moms.