by B. D. Riehl
“I encourage you, Sweetie, to take all things to the Lord, then, if He says so, take them to your husband. Your father and I missed out on a lot of years from relying on our own understanding. But we are healing and things will be okay. Our biggest mistake, though, was that we have been hands off with Lydia. We thought if we took Lydia to church and placed her in private school we had it made. Even if I had returned to work for good reasons, I shouldn’t have expected others to influence Lydia for the Lord. That was our job, and we didn’t do it.”
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m so confused, Mom. I thought God let me care for, and then relinquish Noah to teach me to let go, to not hold my girls so tightly, that they are His.”
“Well, Honey, that could have been some of it. But we can never fully comprehend the mind of God. We will probably never understand the full capacity of that moment in your life. Yes, I agree you’ve been holding your children too tightly, and I only say that because it was done in such a way that you weren’t trusting in the Lord. You were aiming for perfection without His influence leading the way.”
Charlotte nodded, “I can see that.”
“And your father and I, well, like I said, we’ve been too hands off. Too concerned with other things, too concerned with reaching every goal on our list.” She waved her hand around the dream house they had built, for emphasis. “Lydia came into the picture so late that we just fit her into our lives instead of stepping back and asking God if those should have still been the goals. Now that she’s across the world, we have been in constant prayer about the next step. What now, Lord? How do we help her find Christ in a world of hypocrites?”
Charlotte crinkled her brow in confusion at Stacey, who shook her head.
“Never mind. My point is we should be living our lives fully surrendered to God, casting convenience aside and embracing Christ as the center of everything, no matter what.”
Charlotte gazed at her mother in adoration. It took a trip to a foreign land to change Charlotte. She’d needed that contrast to see the world the way God did. To look past her insecurities, fears, shortcomings, and wants, to a world much bigger than new furniture, laundry, satisfaction, and clean bathrooms.
It was amazing to see that even here, in her parents’ comfortable home, in familiar surroundings, God moved the hearts of His people to serve Him. She leaned her head forward, as did Stacey, and they touched foreheads. Mother and daughter. Bonded by blood and history and so much more.
“So,” Charlotte saw an opportunity to lighten the tone, “you and Dad are going to throw off modern convenience? Does that mean you’re giving us this house and moving to the hood?”
Her mother threw back her head and laughed. Her eyes twinkled at Charlotte.
The phone rang.
Stacey’s chair groaned when she scooted back. She continued to chuckle at her oldest while she shuffled across the kitchen to answer the phone.
It rang again.
“Cute, daughter. Very cute.”
She grabbed the phone from the wall in the middle of its third ring. “Hello?”
Charlotte would always love the cheery way her mom answered the phone, as well as the fact that her parents still had a traditional phone with a long twisty cord. How many hours had she spent on that very phone, cord stretched from the living room to her bedroom, confiding her secrets to her best friend?
“Yes, this is she.…”
Stacey listened intently on the other end. Charlotte expected her to be on for a while and rose to join the girls and the men of her life downstairs.
Two steps into the basement, she heard the thunk-thud-thud of the phone dropping on the kitchen floor, and her mom screaming out in a voice Charlotte had never heard before.
“Bryyyaaaan!”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kiet was contacted by Chanarong. A man had come to have coffee at D Café and left an envelope addressed to Kiet with the workers there. When it was delivered into Kiet’s hands, he just held it—a plain white envelope that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Kiet wondered about the messenger, hated that he’d been in that coffee shop near those precious girls; girls he had worked hard to rescue and protect. That Chanarong’s lackey had been anywhere near them curdled his blood.
He slid a finger under the flap, tearing it just a bit, revealing a folded piece of paper inside. He tore the envelope the rest of the way open, slicing his finger in his haste.
He ignored the sting and unfolded the letter. A small scrap of paper flittered to the floor. He ignored it, nostrils flaring as he read the bold words written in Thai on a crisp white sheet of paper:
Chiang Mai.
Loy Krathong.
Fight.
Kiet bent to retrieve the small paper that had fallen to the floor. The small square of paper advertised the match. Kiet had seen similar public notice squares throughout his time in Thailand. He knew they would already be spread throughout the vicinity and sat down hard on his bed.
He heard a knock before Paul entered the room that Kiet shared with three other male staff members.
“I just called Lydia’s family. They are trying to find the first available flight but are having difficulties.” Paul stopped talking when Kiet held up the contents of the envelope.
“They have some time,” Kiet said.
Paul took the letter and read it to himself, his mouth set in a grim line. To be sure of what it said; he read both the letter and advertisement aloud:
At last!
Chanarong vs. Kiet!
Watch the great power!
Be there for the match of the century!
Festival of Lights, Chiang Mai
The festival of lights was only a couple weeks away. Even if Lydia’s family ignored the suggestion for the right vaccinations for travel to Thailand, he doubted they could pull a trip together that quickly, no matter the circumstances.
Paul sat beside Kiet. He had known this man fresh from the boxing world, been amazed at his heart. Kiet hadn’t known God then, but it had been obvious that the Lord’s hand was heavy upon him—that the Lord was in pursuit of him. Paul had known that Kiet would be quick to trust in the Lord, quick to serve Him with ferocity and passion.
And Kiet had.
Together they had been in the presence of the most squalid of human activities: the trafficking and entrapment of children, and even men and women, for the promise of riches, for the perverse lust of shameless people. Hundreds of those once helplessly entangled in the bonds of slavery had accepted the offer of hope and freedom and were rescued.
How many more had Paul and Kiet looked back on, still trapped in slavery, as they fled with the few they could? For every girl rescued, there were at least one hundred more still in slavery.
The work was long and arduous, but with the Lord’s leading, they were gaining momentum. Hundreds of girls had been rescued that year and they were poised to rescue even more before the month was over.
Kiet and Paul had shared sorrow together when girls were too afraid to accept their offer of help. They had confessed their anger and depression at having to face bleak reality head on day after day, while so many were safe at home, oblivious either by choice or ignorance of the deepest hunger of selfish humanity.
Paul had confided to Kiet about the times he was unable to make love to his wife, the perversity of their world penetrating and scarring even the sacred walls of his bedroom. Paul’s wife understood, but he’d seen the pain in her eyes when he couldn’t embrace her.
Kiet had been afraid to date women for fear that no one would understand this life he led. Somehow Lydia had captured him and, again, Paul felt it was God’s hand at work.
Paul was tempted to fret about what this situation would do to the future of Deliverance. Would their supporters in the West back out and leave the rescued girls destitute? Would the volunteer bases become barren, with no one willing to risk a trip to such a seemingly lawless place? He was tempted to fret, but knew it was futile. T
he Lord, who cared about Deliverance more than Paul ever could, was at work. He just knew. Just as surely, he knew that God’s hand didn’t always direct trouble away from His people. Jesus had trusted in His Father in the Garden of Gethsemane before the crucifixion. He had asked for the cup to pass, but surrendered to the Lord’s will. And still He’d been crucified.
Out loud to Kiet, Paul said, “He was raised the third day. Even in such terrible darkness, God shines a light.”
Paul had been Kiet’s mentor and friend for years. Kiet knew his mind as well as anyone and nodded. “Right.” Kiet stared ahead, stomach buzzing with anxiety. He knew God would show him just what to do, but he felt pressed from all sides.
Concern for Lydia hummed in Kiet’s heart; anger at those that used human beings as commodities, as bait for their own gain, pounded in his head. His fists tightened and released in balls of frustration.
His flesh wanted the fight.
A vision of his early days of fighting and conquering flashed before him; the memory of that last night vivid in his mind. Shame washed over him and he hung his head, covering the back of his neck with his hands.
“I’m just a man, Lord. I feel the weight of all of this on my shoulders.”
Paul nudged him with his shoulder. “That, my friend, is where you’re wrong. That is what will make you fail. This is not about you, or Lydia, or Deliverance, or boxing. This is a fight much bigger than us. Our struggle is not against each other or them or any other human being. This fight is happening all around us. A fight for the beloved of God. The enemy is at work here.” Paul clapped a hand on Kiet’s shoulder. “But be certain of this: The Lord is even more so. You told me Lydia accepted Jesus as her Savior this trip?”
Kiet nodded, “The reflection of faith in her eyes was remarkable.”
“Praise God. Then let Him be her Lord as well. He has her in the palm of His hand, Kiet. He cares more than we do. He will hold her tight even while He leads you in the way to go. I say, walk through every open door before you. Starting with getting our group safely to Chiang Mai.” He shook the flyer in front of Kiet. “It can’t be a coincidence that the fight is there, where we were already headed.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stacey was beside herself with worry. And regret. Fear that what she and Bryan had promised to each other would vanish like a vapor before they had a chance to live the way they’d promised.
She was sick with memories of how she’d been with Lydia in recent months. She sat on her daughter’s bed and took in her daughter’s thoughts. Her journal, just days ago a startling revelation of Lydia’s deepest secrets, was now a balm.
Her daughter had such beautiful thoughts. Such hidden dreams.
She looked at Lydia’s walls, decorated in pictures and magazine cutouts and her own exquisite sketches. One of a woman’s hand, wrinkled and curved in on itself, holding a pen and sketching a scene of a garden.
Why had she never looked beyond Lydia’s clothes to her heart? Behind that mask a young woman of impeccable taste and beauty hunkered down, just waiting to blossom and find her own way.
Bryan knocked lightly on the open door, his face gray with helplessness. She patted the bed lightly and he sat beside her, pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head.
“What are they doing to her?” she whimpered. She felt his chin move across her hair, his head shaking.
“I don’t know. I can’t think about it.”
Stacey closed her eyes.
Bryan briefly reflected on his time as a police officer taking child abuse calls for the school district. He knew better than just about anyone what could be happening to their daughter.
Stacey leaned into him, a sorrowful groan escaping her.
He pulled her closer and whispered, incoherently above her, his prayers fast and hot against her hair. Together they slid off the bed, arms clumsily clutching, words and tears tumbling over one another, hour after hour, until the sun dawned and light crept onto the walls of Lydia’s room. Tired and spent, emotionally worn and desperate to get to their daughter, they were jolted to their feet when the phone rang downstairs.
“Mom! Dad!” Charlotte, staying in the basement with Sam and the girls, called as they charged together down the stairs.
Charlotte looked as though she hadn’t slept either. She still wore her clothes from the night before, deep circles weighted her eyes, smudges of mascara streaked her cheeks, evidence of her desperate tears.
“That was the church. They’ve asked if we can get there as soon as possible.”
***
The family climbed into Charlotte and Sam’s van and stopped for breakfast for the girls, coffee for the worn adults, and drove toward the church.
Stacey gasped when they pulled into the full parking lot. It was early morning on a weekday. What were so many cars doing here?
They pulled in front and made their way inside. The sanctuary was full, Pastor Greg and Jeanelle waited in the lobby to greet them.
“What’s going on?” Bryan asked, hesitation evident in his normally even tone.
Stacey was terrified. Had they heard something and called the church together for support?
Greg clapped a hand on Bryan’s shoulder while Jeanelle looped an arm through Stacey’s. ‘“Weep with those who weep’ the Bible says. We want to hope and pray with you. When we sent out the news about Lydia through the prayer chain, everyone wanted to help, to pray. When I arrived early this morning to pray in my office, the lot was half full, and they’ve been pouring in ever since. We all feel a great sense of urgency to be on our knees before God for Lydia; to be together as a body, asking Him for her safe return.”
Jeanelle looked directly at Stacey. “Charlotte told us about the problems you’re having getting clearance to go to Lydia. The volunteers, Mike and Patsy, Luke and Michelle, they’ve all asked to stay until you can get there. It’s been cleared through every avenue it needs to. She won’t be alone.”
Stacey nodded. It seemed every flight was jammed and no one would budge for them. They’d been in contact through Bryan’s work with the authorities in Thailand. Everywhere they turned, the path to Lydia was blocked; it was frustrating and gut-wrenching. Tears in her eyes, Stacey nodded at Jeanelle. She had watched this woman serve beside her husband for years, but never been especially close with her. Now Stacey’s heart responded to the compassion in Jeanelle’s eyes. It was comforting that until they could physically be in Thailand, Mike and the others would be near their daughter, wherever she was.
Greg and Jeanelle ushered the Bransons and Grays into the sanctuary. Stacey’s heart stuck in her throat as she looked on the hundreds of faces sitting in the pews. Church had never looked holier to her. The crowds blurred through her tears as she and Bryan strode to the front and fell on their knees; their church family in full support behind them. As a body, they pleaded with God Almighty to intervene for their daughter.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Paul and Kiet loaded the volunteer group on a plane for Chiang Mai, and sat by themselves in the back.
“Paul, I don’t have time to contact trainers or anything. Last I heard, Wally had gone home to the States and swallowed a bullet.” Kiet remembered the day Wally’s obituary had arrived by mail from a former boxing friend.
“Way to go” had been scrawled across the top in pen, pointing the finger at him. In his team’s eyes, Kiet had walked away and left them all to fly home in shame.
The implication had stung, but Kiet knew that Wally had made his own choice—that Wally couldn’t face another day in the pit he’d dug, saddened Kiet, but didn’t surprise him.
“As for trainers in Thailand,” he continued, “no one will touch me. I walked away; I forfeited. I surrendered my Mongkol. All are detestable to true Muay Thai fighters. I had to hide out for weeks. No one will train me now.”
Paul listened intently, understanding Kiet’s concern. Kiet was under a lot of pressure; he cared deeply for Lydia and was sick with worry.
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“Kiet, does it really matter?” Paul asked, his voice low, eyes darting to the other passengers to be sure they didn’t hear. “Say you do fight. Say you win. Will they really hand Lydia over and let bygones be bygones?”
Kiet fell silent. “I don’t know,” he finally answered in a low voice.
When they landed and the group was safely within the walls of the Chiang Mai Deliverance campus, Paul and Kiet briefed the Deliverance staff on the events that had transpired. Most of them had seen the flyers announcing the match and were puzzled by them. Only a few had heard about Lydia’s plight.
Paul pulled Pim, the den mother of their rescued girls, aside, “You know it will be impossible to keep news of the match from everyone, including the girls. You know best how they will handle this, but I personally think it’s best if we leave the details private.”
Pim agreed. “However, I know what little prayer warriors and encouragers they are. Maybe your group could spend time with them today? We are decorating; the girls are busy preparing paper lanterns and krathongs for the festival in a couple weeks.”
Chiang Mai was home to a light festival during the last full moon of November, Loy Krathong. The banks of the Ping River would overflow with locals and tourists waving paper lanterns on sticks. Krathongs were tiny boats made with banana leaves or bread. Light and incense placed inside, they would be released to drift away on the river. As light danced on the water, the sky would alight with paper lanterns released through the night above larger, more intricately designed floating rafts that had been put together by large wealthy companies.
Legends surrounded the beginning of the festival, but now it was a celebration of the birth of Buddha. The release of the lights in the sky and upon the water was symbolic of letting go of bad luck and old grievances. It was the festival of new life, starting over, fresh and unrestrained.