Well, my last posts got off-topic from what I intended this blog to be. But, I guess it’s mostly about what I’m passionate about, and I don’t what to drive my HH (handsome hubby) crazy with all my extra words left over at the end of the day. So, in that vein, I think I may be right on track. After all, you can just stop reading; I usually expect him to nod and say “uh-uh.”

Two weeks ago, I went to a meeting for the Magdalene House Society. I’m a member. Before you think I’m tooting my own horn, I’ll inform you that to become a member costs $10 and an email address. So, yes, I’m a member. It was the annual general meeting, and I was excited for days.

You see, the MHS is trying to open a home in a city close by, for victims of human trafficking. Now, I could go on and on with statistics about those affected, stories I’ve read, testimonies I’ve heard, about children kidnapped or sold and forced to live a life at the mercy of others. It can be as “minimal” as brought to another country to work one job, but having to work another because of intimidation, or as huge as becoming a sex slave at a young age. Both sides of the spectrum, and everything is between, is a huge market that the world chooses to ignore. Once they are here, in Canada, they are stuck. They can’t exactly go home. Perhaps they were sold in the first place, or the work they have had may change who they are. Whatever the case, they need housing and support until they can get on their own two feet. Hence, the MHS. 

So I went to this meeting, so excited. This is an issue that hurts me in places I can’t express. I am on fire about this. I want the world to wake up. I want people to see that things they buy often brings effects in areas and countries they have no clue about. That there are people hurting all over the world, and the laws in place, well, aren’t in place yet. It is huge, something that technically, I have been passionate about since early high school. And here I am, on a cold Wednesday night, in a meeting, that is going to mark the beginning of the end of this huge injustice.

Well.

Obviously, there was lots of business to address. Finances,awareness, fundraising, all these things are necessary before the program can begin. Motions had to be moved, and seconded. A very pleasant meeting, a few chuckles, some great reports about last year. And then there came mention that they needed board members who were passionate about  the cause to help make decisions, help plan fundraisers, be the force behind the Home. 

I could barely sit still.

That’s ME! I care! I am so passionate about this, I read about it in my spare time, I pray about it, I cry about it. I have some leadership experience, I am good at organizing and planning, this is MEEEEE! Oh, pick me, PICK ME!

But ME isn’t just “me.” I forgot to mention that I arrived at the meeting with spaghetti sauce smeared on my shoulder from the goodbye kisses of our youngest little one. And that my feet were swollen because of the new baby on the way. And I had to keep sneaking texts to my HH, because I really missed him.

So, what’s a girl to do? I came in the door that night, newly energized that I was actually DOING SOMETHING for once, and then erupted in tears in my HH’s lap. And we came to a great decision that I would be a “board member in my heart.” I’m going to go to all the meetings that I can. I am going to volunteer where I can, plan what I can, spread awareness where I can.

But if my little ones, or my HH, need me, that’s where I belong. 

This was probably the first sacrifice that really hurt, since becoming a mom. I still don’t know why God made me, so wonderfully and fearfully- with SO much passion, drive, and energy to reach the children around the world for Him, to speak His name in love, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, mother the orphans- and then stuck me right dab in the middle of White Bread Rural Alberta. 

I didn’t even mention that this meeting was 45 minutes away, cost $30 to attend (I had to be in four wheel drive, the roads were awful) and went waaaay past my bedtime.

I know that this is right, for me, for our family. But man, if I don’t just wish that I could do it all. Why, oh why, is this wasted on me, when lots of other people don’t care, or choose to not to dwell on it, and live happy, satisfactory lives. You know, the ones who have time to manicure their lawn, paint their toe nails, and shower every day. 

But these little ones that Jesus gave to us, they are important too. And I really love them.

I really, really, really, pray that I am raising up a missionary. . . 

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