Prostitution is legal in Vienna.  There are “red light” districts that are known and avoided by people like me.  The occasional “hooker” can be seen on the streets but generally I look away.  I’m not afraid of them.  I just don’t like the lifestyle and the “customers” these women attract.

Yesterday, was a day of supporting our oldest daughter and 9 of her peers at a volleyball tournament in Salzburg and transporting five other giggling girls in our van to help cheer on the team.  On our way into town, we had to stop at a gas station.  We randomly chose a station next to the highway, had a hotel near the premises and had easy access to on and off ramps.  As we drove into the parking lot, we came face to face with a gang of prostitutes.

The giggling girls in our van became silent as they noticed the working girls.  Chris and I were stunned.  Girls were everywhere.  All dressed similar (short shorts, high heels, low cut tops) they all inspected our van to see if we were potential customers.  Some waved like we were welcomed guests, some just stared at us.  Some stood at attention, some sat on the ground, some even had portable stools complete with cushions (I guess this was equipment that made a long night of waiting between jobs more comfortable.)

We were on empty.  We had to fill up.  As Chris got out of the van, I stayed inside with my quiet little companions.  There was an eerie stillness that pricked my soul.  The “workers” were not allowed on the gas station property but were posted in the adjoining parking lot that served as a truck stop.  As Chris filled up the van, I began to let myself really look at these women.

That’s when I noticed it.  These were not well worn women who have made a career of the oldest standing profession in history.  These were girls … not any older (by about a year) than the girls I had just supported at the volleyball tournament.  Not only were these girls … they were some bodies daughters.  My heart sank when I got a glimpse of two eastern European men standing next to a BMW inspecting these females.  There were not clients.  They were their bosses.  Then I noticed the license plates:  Romania.

I’ve heard the stories of poor eastern European girls coming to a big city like Vienna to “work”.  Some come with an offer to work legitimate jobs in a hope to help support family members back home.  With little resources, knowledge and power, they find out the legitimate job is less than they expected.  Was this the story of some of these girls?

As our van was being filled up with gas, a police car drove through the parking lot.  Girls dug into their purses to show proper ID’s (you must be 18 to be a legal prostitute).  The police just did a drive by … I guess this is routine for them.

I found myself in the front seat feeling so helpless … feeling so sorry … feeling so ashamed of myself for putting girls like these in a box and judging them.  I could do nothing but pray. 

I woke up this morning with these girls on my mind.  They haunt me.  I can’t shake the feeling that these girls are the same age as my Addie.  Where are they today?  What are their dreams?  Do they call their Mommas?  Do they feel truly loved?

This morning I had all kinds of ideas of what I could have done yesterday.  I could have offered one of them a cup of coffee.  I could have brought one of them a blanket to warm herself in between jobs.  I could have just come up to one of them and told them that I was a mother of a girl not much older than them … and asked her if she needed anything.  I could have held one of their hands and offered to pray for her.  I could have done … something.

As I type this, I cry.  Yesterday was just an “in-your-face” visual of all the hurt I see every day in my very polished city.  In between the wealth, the iphones, the beggars on the street, the crazy people in the underground transportation … in every well-dressed business man’s face and in every tight-lipped woman you see it.  Need.   There is an overwhelming need to be loved.  Someday it’s just more tangible than others.  I can walk down my street and pass two sex shops, 3 café’s, a grocery store and a hotel.  I can pass families with children, students, and the occasional orthodox Jew.  There are empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and polished brass memorials to the over 1,700 Jews that were deported during WWII on the street.  This is just one street … my street.

There is a heavy burden one faces when you recognize a need.  It’s much easier and lot’s safer if you turn away and let the need go unnoticed.  I can’t.  Because of my relationship with Jesus Christ, I, too, carry a burden for those He loves.  I am responsible for allowing myself to be used to bring an answer to the need that exposes itself to me …

Because prostitution is legal in Vienna, I will probably continue to avoid the “red light” districts.  When I see the occasional “hooker”, I’m not gonna look away.  I’m not afraid of them.  Now, they have a face and it’s more personal.  Now, I see the face of a girl – someone’s daughter – looking back at me.  Now, I’m prepared to offer a cup of coffee, a warm hand, a deep look in the eye to tell her that someone cares for her … and sees her … and her need.