Sound of Freedom

(While I will not remove what I say in this post about the movie “Barbie,” I will, however, concede that for some reason I can’t fathom, it’s trending, and people want to see it. Hey, I still have my Barbies from childhood in my attic- I love Barbie. But the movie looks…heinous. And I stand by that).

I’m trying to feel better.

I skipped church this morning in favor of a quiet walk in nature. Connected with all three of my sons. Cooked a little, listened to beautiful classical music, with a little Gershwin thrown in for good measure. Read some, planned a few trips, went on a boat ride.

But I don’t feel better. My appetite is gone, my heart flip-flopping around in my chest. I don’t feel better. But I will. Eventually.

I don’t know who is out there reading this, maybe no one. That’s not really why I write this blog anyway, not why I do anything, for that matter. But if you’re out there, I have a piece of advice for you:

Go see “Sound of Freedom.”

Please understand, I know those children. I worked in a youth shelter in an inner city where I witnessed human trafficking up close, and I counseled those children. So allow me to paraphrase what actor Jim Caviezel said in what I believe to be one of the most heart-rending scenes of the movie, as the camera simply pans in on a close-up of his face:

Watching this, doing this job, eats away at you, until you can’t function. You dream of these children. Their eyes haunt you, you worry yourself sick until you can’t eat or think of anything but them. It breaks you to pieces, and once you’re broken over these children, you never really get those pieces back.

That’s what it did to me. I can still see their eyes. Every day.

The pandemic took me away from the center, and I have not as of yet returned. Every day I wake up and consider emailing my supervisor to put me on the schedule. And every day, I ask myself:

Am I strong enough to go back? I honestly don’t know.

(Movie spoiler alert):

Imagine the following scenario:

A talent agent who attended your daughter’s school play the day before shows up at your door. “She has talent, real talent,” this beautiful, perfectly coiffed woman says to you in your living room, and of course, you agree. After all, she’s your talented beautiful daughter.

The woman hands you her business card. Glossy, beautifully embossed, just like her. We want to treat her to a professional photo shoot, she says. Then we’ll show the pictures to the right people. Your daughter is jumping up and down with excitement, what little girl wouldn’t? You decide it can’t hurt to let her get this free photo shoot.

You bring her to the location, and it looks great. Lots of happy kids, photographers, equipment and lights, food and drink, toys and music, just a great vibe all-around. You begin to walk onto the set, but the beautiful woman stops you.

No parents on set, she smiles. We want the children to act natural. Sorry. Pick-up is 7:00, sharp.

You and the other parents smile sheepishly at each other, feeling lucky that your brilliant children were chosen. You decide to run errands for a couple of hours since you can’t watch. You hug your daughter, and tell her to have fun.

You return to an empty building. No children, no photographers, just a dark, empty building. She’s gone. Just gone. Like she never existed. Because she and all of the other children were sold, in a matter of two hours, to the child sex traffic trade.

That’s the opening scene in the movie, “Sound of Freedom.”

You scoff. But that could never happen here, you say. Not in the United States.

Why not?

This post is not about child sex trafficking, a multi-billion-dollar industry. We know there are more slaves now than when slavery actually existed, and millions of those slaves are children. Our children. I don’t care where they live. They are all our children.

This post is about choice. Your choice to ignore that embarrassing pink horror of a movie “Barbie,” and give your money to “Sound of Freedom.” Maybe even scan the code at the end of the movie and donate a ticket to someone who can’t afford one.

In the movie the sound of freedom was music. Laughter. Singing. Dancing.

In real life, it’s something different for everyone. The sound of your boat lapping over the waves. Your flight to Paris taxiing down the runway. The clink of wine glasses in a five-star restaurant. The excited screams of your children at the waterpark.

Enjoy those freedoms. I’m going to enjoy the weekend sounds of my sons banging in and out of the house. Quiet music, cooking from scratch, hanging towels on the line.

But I have some soul searching to do. Because the backdrop of my life is always, and has always been, about children. And I think I need to go back and start helping again. And stop being a coward.

If haven’t already, see the movie. Cry, and let it break your heart. Then help. In that order. That’s the least any of us can do.