The red neon picture unsettles me greatly. It upsets me even seeing a picture like that being shared all around the world (though I understand the value of doing so!). It upsets me so much. (I apologize if it offends you) It outrages me especially when a friend of mine saw a vision of a dark unlit road of Cambodia only a few days ago, and I am now then presented this bright red neon contrasting to the unlit one. The picture was probably taken in the light lit brothel area. It is not dark in the literal sense, but dark in every aspect of a word I could find in a dictionary to portrait any human beings working in that environment. Dark in the sense of human depravity, dark in the sense of how one has to present one’s body next to a free breakfast deal. It insults me. It insults the deepest fiber of my being, as a woman and as a child of God. It insults her directly, and yet the insult is running towards me and lashing upon mine as every lash of sorrow being inflicted upon her body, inside and outside. I could also feel the pain in me as if I am holding up a sign like that in the middle of nowhere, half dolled up just like that.
I woke up this morning with her in that picture. Sorrow soaked. Silence croaked. I walked out of the front door, hopping onto the driver’s seat, taking the same route that I take to go to work. I drove past 10 traffic lights. I parked the car. I hopped out. Yet my mind was not concentrating on arriving myself to the destination. The first thing that grasped tight in my brain cell was “Where could I throw a big cloak to cover her, to protect her, to put dignity back to her?” “What could I do to not allow any set of eye balls running through her legs anymore?” What came next were my prayers for her, for I would not be able to find a big cloak, for I would not be able to locate where she is, and clothed her naked body away from camera and further scrutinisation.
Lord, I pray for her whose body towering tall on that high heel shoes, whose body being illuminated by such vile red light and being captured on camera, being shared widely over the internet. The insult and the hurt runs deep in me. Lord, will you send someone just to do that? Will you find someone to put together a pristine, white cloak and cover her and restore her under Your wings and Your hands? I want to scissor cut that “breakfast” sign and scramble those words into words that truly define who she is before You, Lord. A sign that broadcast her worth, as the King’s daughter, precious, pristine, radiant, glorious, unharmed, unhurt. May Your love cover her from behind and her sides. May no hands, no nothing run through her, and further damage her ruined inside. Lord, I despise that picture. Vile, violent, degrading, inappropriate, intrusive, insulting, damaging, used, horrifying as if this is a Broadway show to make it palatable for sale. Brian said the Nixon’s administration bombing was called “Operation Breakfast”. If a word “breakfast” means a thing like this, a thing that deduces to secret bombing on a beautiful neutral country, this sign also deduces another secret bombing scheme on one’s value and dignity into deprivation and degradation. Her inside, outside, her every strand of hair are covered in red vile light. I despise the sign covering her face. She is not a signpost, not a billboard commercial, not a used good, not a toy to be chosen from the shelf.
Lord, you heard me crying out to you for this and I choose not to further fueling my anger towards this but to offer my anger to you as my prayers for her and for the many who works in that bar, holding a similar sign of vile and filth. I do not want to re-victimize her to stir up raw emotion among the many whose hearts are also broken for her, and yet I would rather to present this case before You, the Just Judge, who is willing to walk with me on this journey wrestling with You, who are able to answer my wrestling with Your peace and unfailing love for this girl.
Lord, this morning you invited me to intercede for her. Lord, this afternoon I now ask you to be her fortress, be her shield, be her help, be her blanket as I pray! In Jesus’ name, I pray in anguish and in praise, Amen!
May you do not take away that wool and linen that are intended to cover her body. May you betroth her to You forever that she knows You are her God, as you reminded me in passage in Hosea 2.
“I will betroth you to me forever;
I will betroth you in righteousness and justice,
in love and compassion.
20 I will betroth you in faithfulness,
and you will acknowledge the Lord.
21 “In that day I will respond,”
declares the Lord—
“I will respond to the skies,
and they will respond to the earth;
22 and the earth will respond to the grain,
the new wine and the olive oil,
and they will respond to Jezreel.
23 I will plant her for myself in the land;
I will show my love to the one I called ‘Not my loved one.’
I will say to those called ‘Not my people,’ ‘You are my people’;
and they will say, ‘You are my God.’”