Twenty-two months ago I was walking through one of the Red Light Districts of Thailand when I walked by a little girl. We were under strict orders to stay pretty low key, a group of girls acting like tourists while we silently prayed. As we passed the child, maybe age eight, her cries were unmistakeable, muffled only by the nearby bar music, passing tuk-tuk's, and her laughing Madam. We pretended to window shop on a nearby corner as we listened to the defining conversation between the Madam and the old man we now noticed on the motorcycle. He stroked the little girl's hair, tenderly tucking it behind her ears. "You did great. The first time's always the hardest. It'll stop hurting soon." The evil of his words was coated in sugary sweetness, like old urine covered by perfume - we wanted to vomit. Our blood began to boil. But what could we do? A few American girls, walking next to brothels, with nowhere to take the girl but back to our secret location with other children that were rescued, compromising their safety as well as our own. So we left. With only this picture to share the story of so many. We left broken. Unable to rescue. But we serve a God who is in the business of rescuing, and rescue he will. And while it wasn't possible for a few girls to do anything that night, there are incredible organizations fighting for justice and freedom daily for the 27 million trapped in slavery today. But they're lacking funds and, frankly, awareness. No one can help them if they don't know they exist. So we raise our voice on behalf of the voiceless. We shine a light on slavery. We offer our hearts and our hands. Join us by putting a red ❌ on your hand. When people ask you about it, tell them about the #enditmovement and how they can get involved. Because while awareness isn't everything, without it, slavery will never end.