On Saturday I dressed up like a prostitute for a monologue that I performed for a visiting group of missionaries-to-be. They wanted an overview of missions... but my friends who put the program on wanted to put "faces to missions." So there I was, being the face of human trafficking.

It was a little strange to dress the part. Mind you, I didn't really dress the part. I just wore way more makeup than I ever would and higher heels than I could possibly walk in. It was weird feeling people stare at me before the program started. For all they knew, I was dressed like that because that's how I liked to dress. I kept fighting the urge to shout, "This isn't me! I don't dress like this!"

The reality of my feelings began to hit later that night when my guy friends were joking around and "selling" me to each other. Ha ha. They were totally kidding, but I suddenly realized this was reality for the victims of human trafficking. It wasn't a joke for 4 million women and children. And suddenly I glimpsed a fraction of the terror and panic that they feel. What if this was my life and I could do nothing, nothing to stop it?