2/22/11 She came down the sidewalk like she'd been there many times before. That slow walk that advertises, "Open for business." She was young. Looked to be just out of high school. Too young. To young to be doing that.

I'd just left RCM. I was waiting for the car ahead of me to pull out on Broadway. I remembered a prayer text I'd received earlier today on my phone about a third grade girl who had been sexually abused.

A young lady, seductively walking along the road. A third grader, abused. Too often, they are the same person.

That third grader will now have to pick up the pieces of a damaged life. Damaged for life. Too often it's the third grader that later walks the street. On Broadway. Too often it will be her who walks into my office, wondering why You let this happen to her, Lord.

I try to help the street ladies pick up the pieces by Your power only to find that the damage is too great too often. Pain pills, crack, alcohol can't suppress that sort of pain. Only You can. Sometimes, for them, You are hard to find.

And then, after prayer, I'll see my friend "on the corner." Selling herself to buy the sort of love that a sinful man taught her years before. Abusive love. Love that can neither bless nor bring contentment. Only a life of heartache and hardship.

The car ahead of me pulled out. As she crossed in front of me, a guy wearing a ball cap driving a very nice Porche, slowed down lowering the passenger window . She nodded "yes," and she got in his car. I tried to imagine the third grade girl's face. Will she walk into my office one day?

Lord, protect our daughters, our sisters, our wives, our sweethearts, mothers, aunties and grandmas, and our female friends. Lord, protect the little girls.

He will defend the afflicted ... save the children of the needy; he will crush the oppressor. Psa. 72:4, NIV