Angela Madaha

How To Be A Mom Of Justice: Fighting Human Trafficking While Juggling Tiny Humans

Posted on June 30, 2015 by Angela Madaha

Growing up in a family with 5 other siblings, justice was all about me getting the same amount of cookies as my brothers.

Some of my favorite tiny humans

Lord help us all if one child got more pieces of candy than the others. For my parents, I’m sure managing “justice” was a full-time job. We were extremely vocal is there was even a hint of unfairness in the distribution of sweet goods.

So for parents to think about stepping in the world of social justice can seem daunting. Managing the demands and schedules of tiny humans who at times believe the world revolves completely around them and their Fisher Price toys is a very demanding task.

However.

It is possible.

It is possible to do justice,

to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God.

It is possible to raise a generation that is aware of children, women and men that are enslaved in sexual exploitation.

It is possible to create a force of world changers who don’t just care, but also act.

Example of an awesome mom juggling tiny humans! Shout-out to my sister-in-law Kristin

And this doesn’t happen on accident.

This is a word for moms. The mom that can’t imagine adding one more thing to her plate. The mom who can hardly get her child to share her Barbies with the neighbors. The mom who is overwhelmed with getting from one meal and one nap to the next.

Your life and your role is unspeakably important.

And I’d like to introduce a grain of thought that you can live for justice actively with your kids.

But it may look different from the way I live. In fact, it will look different from mine. I’m in a totally different season of life. Your ways will look different, but your impact will also be different, and perhaps greater. In having children, your impact opportunity is exponential. Think of that! It’s not all about how much you accomplish; it’s about multiplying your compassion many times over in your children’s lives.

That’s the kind of math we need in this world.

Moms (and Dads, of course), here’s some things to think about as you approach living an active life seeking justice in your community.

You are not separate from your family.

Whatever you choose to do, do it with your family, with your children. Teach your children about these realities. Don’t hide the realities of human trafficking from them.

Research child trafficking. Read. Watch. Become aware.

Become aware of the realities of child trafficking and prostitution in America and in your very city.

Missing child or runaway report? That child will most likely end up in child prostitution or some form of sexual exploitation.

Foster care and social services? Most of them have gone through some sort of trauma, many of them from sexual and/or physical abuse and are at risk to traffickers and pimps.

As a mother, as a parent, you will have an understanding and anger inside of you that is more direct and empathizing than those without children.

But don’t pursue this out of guilt or revenge; pursue it because you know love and justice are two sides of the same coin.

Allow your heart to melt. Your actions will naturally follow as an overflow of your heart.

And then share with your children. Appropriately, of course, but you can be a good judge of how much they can process at what age.

But whatever you do, don’t hide them from it. Because otherwise we will one day have a generation of sincerely ignorant and insensitive adults who turn their gaze away from really uncomfortable realities that they could actually have an impact in.

Ask your kids what they think you as a family should do to help.

You may be surprised at the amount of creativity and generosity that your kids have. Why not ask and see what they come up with?

This is also about empowerment. If someone feels like they are contributing to a solution, then they will begin to own it for themselves.

Release control of your “perfect house.” Bring broken people in to mess up your perfection.

I’ve noticed an interesting culture of the “perfect-organic-range-free-germ-free home.” The kids can only eat perfectly wholesome food, this is where everything “goes,” schedules cannot be tampered with, and life in general revolves around the total interests of the kids.

And believe me, I know kids thrive and grow under healthy, consistent structure. And, please, someone give them regular naps!

But still, I think there needs to be a safe place where imperfect people can walk in as imperfect and feel accepted.

What if someone “dirty” comes into your home? Will your kids (or you) reject them because they don’t fit into the system?

What if you had a schedule that showed your kids that helping others is more important than playing video games?

What if it was all about “This is simply how we live as a family” instead of “Geez, this is another thing we have to add on top of our already crazy schedule?”

For instance…

Our whole family participates in yearly 5k’s to raise awareness about human trafficking.

We go to a local orphanage every Tuesday at 4:00pm and give them cookies we made.

We bring a few kids over from local social services once a week for family game night in our living room.

Every time we give our children allowance, we require that they give 10% of it to raise money to the local safe house for formerly-trafficked girls.

A few more ideas come to mind…

Choose a country that is under the blight of poverty, violence and trafficking. Pray once a week as a family for that country and do research so you can talk about it with knowledge and understanding.

Find an organization that is doing sustainable work in that country, build a relationship, get real names to pray for, and send handmade notes and cards to the ones in the recovery shelters.

Save up and take a vacation as a family to that place as a missions trip.

Overall, it’s about being intentional, being purposeful with your life.

Don’t let life control your life. Teach by example that we can make decisions about what our life practically looks like. We’re not victims of our circumstances or appointments.

If it’s simply a part of your life and values, then you don’t have to worry about “not doing enough” or having to carve out extra time.

But remember, at the end of the day, you are raising a generation of world changers…

So don’t discount the impact you are making to the world by simply being a faithful mom.

We become what we look at. So if your children are spending 18 years of their lives watching your virtues of faithfulness, love, justice, kindness, and generosity, will they not become that themselves?

Start with who you are. Take care of you. Take inventory of your soul.

And then live out loud.

I can’t think of a better way to be a mom of justice than that.

*****

Want to learn about human trafficking and exploitation in America and the world? These are my personal resources.

Here are some the most helpful organizations that I follow on Facebook and use for learning:

Not For Sale

Exodus Cry

International Justice Mission

A21 Campaign

The Abolitionist Movement

Here are organizations that sell really beautiful products that are either made by survivors of trafficking or support them:

WAR Chest Boutique– International free-trade products made by women survivors of trafficking

Bought Beautifully– International free-trade products that support survivors of exploitation

Starfish Project– fair-trade jewelry that employs previously trafficked women in Asia

Colette Sol USA– handmade women’s shoes to fight human trafficking

Cozzee– fair-trade coffee supporting survivors of trafficking

Conferences you seriously need to check out or see if you can stream:

The Justice Conference– Chicago, IL

Abolition Summit– Kansas City, MO

Global Prayer Gathering– Washington, D.C.

Books that have impacted my life and moved me to action:

God in a Brothel– by Daniel Walker. Stories of an undercover investigator’s experiences in saving women and children from sex trafficking around the world.

Possible by Stephan Bauman. A call to reconsider what it means to sustainably impact our neighborhoods, villages, and cities.

Amazing Grace by Eric Metaxas. The story of the remarkable life of the British abolitionist William Wilberforce.

Films that nailed it in showing the realities of trafficking:

Nefarious: Merchant of Souls– award winning documentary on the global sex trade

Demand– documentary that is produced by Shared Hope International and focuses on demand factors for sex trafficking

Dispatches from the Front: Islands on the Edge– documentary highlighting the realities of human trafficking in Southeast Asia

An Open Letter Of Apology To Black America

Posted on June 23, 2015 by Angela Madaha

Dear Black America,

One week ago I had already decided to go to South Side Chicago on Friday night and attend the Peace Rally and March at St. Sabina Church, as well as attending Progressive Baptist Church, a historical black church in south Chicago, the following Sunday morning. Little did I know that the massacre in Charleston South Carolina would set the stage for me as I would awaken into a new reality and inner brokenness.

For myself, I was born in Joliet, a suburb of Chicago, yet moved to several different states with my family. Many of these places had opportunities of diversity: Virginia, St. Louis, and Orlando, to name a few. I also lived almost 9 years in South Carolina before moving to Chicago exactly a year ago.

I know Charleston very well. It was one of my favorite cities. I knew it so well that I would often act as tour guide when I took my friends there.

Yet at the same time, I didn’t know– didn’t know the hate.

But even so, as I’ve come to realize…

I could have known.

I just didn’t think it was as important as my comfort.

At the Peace Rally Friday night I entered into a world that was far from my own, but ironically only next door. A door I and many others in white America have never walked through, but had access to.

I saw a loving, heart-full people that are literally dying for peace.

They read the names of 100 Chicago youth who have been killed during the last school year. They had 23-year old guys talk about their lives being changed from guns and violence to faith and freedom, but also the realities that many of their friends were now dead or in prison. They talked of doing everything they could to make their neighborhood a safe place for their children to play.

When asked for a show of hands of how many people have had a loved one killed as a result of violence, I looked around and saw most people in the large crowd raising their hands.

But not me.

I didn’t live in that life. Sure, I was born just a city away, in a town that had the 2nd highest crime rate in America while I was growing up. But I didn’t know anyone injured or killed through violence.

“How did that happen?” I wondered.

One older black man put his hand on my shoulder during the march and said, “I’m glad you came.” We talked. We held hands and prayed. And afterwards we all hugged everyone else around us and verbally affirmed, “I love you.”

In the face of terrible violence and poverty in their neighborhood, this was their expression.

Love was their rally cry.

My white friends, or privileged class, never rallied like this together to overcome impossible odds.

We never had to be uncomfortable like this.

We never had to be strong like this.

Another man struck up a conversation with me and joked about how hot it was in the unusually chilly 50 degree summer evening. I laughed back, “This is hot?? I know heat. I just moved here recently from South Carolina…”

And I nearly choked. I almost apologized, “And– and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And that almost-apology hasn’t left me.

Look at us. We are all applauding the open, public demonstration of forgiveness from the families of the Charleston massacre towards Dylann.

“How strong. How forgiving. How beautiful,” we admire.

We’re so happy to see a spirit of forgiveness in a racist situation.

God help us.

We are so blind.

We should not be expecting your forgiveness to offenders.

We should be asking for yours.

Where were we when your families were bought and sold like cattle? Where were we when your basic human rights were intentionally denied? Where were we in 1822 when multiple church leaders of Emanuel Methodist Episcopal Church were executed by the governing authorities? Where were we when our politicians and businesses and families decided that you were less than worthy of the kind of life we lived? Where were we during Selma and L.A. and Baltimore and Ferguson?

Where were we?

Sitting on our privileges, that we knew wouldn’t change whether we acted or not.

You have never had that luxury.

As a young white educated privileged American, on the behalf of those like me who have lived a brutally insensitive life,

I am so sorry.

Like Nehemiah when he learned of the corrupt deeds of his people and nation and came to God and said, “We have sinned against you,” even so I now realize that the sin of Dylann is the reflection of a culture that turns a blind eye to racial hate and next-door poverty. The weight of the harm is heavy. My heart is broken. I am hurting to reconcile.

His sin is our sin.

Is my sin.

And so, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry for not listening.

I’m sorry for claiming the colorblind Gospel of Jesus but not seeking community in faith with you.

I’m sorry thinking that I wasn’t prejudice because I had several token black friends.

I’m sorry for not laying down my rights so that I could advance yours.

I’m sorry for not being a voice for your injustices to the ones in power that I had access to.

I’m sorry for being afraid of what other people would think of me.

I’m sorry that we avoid poverty and violence like the plague, that we warn each other about going to the South Side, or the West Side, or whatever side of the city is the impoverished side, thinking that somehow it would make us dirty.

I’m sorry for discriminating, for judging you by what you say or what you wear or how you look or what music you listen to or how you live because it looks different from me.

I’m sorry for using my privileges to make myself more privileged.

I’m sorry that we viewed Ferguson and Baltimore as a boy crying wolf, and that it took 9 innocent black lives being murdered to realize that there is a race problem, and that it is black and white.

I’m sorry that it’s taken an event like this to make us care about you, that makes us come together and unify.

I’m sorry for arrogantly saying things like, “The Civil War is over. Slavery is in the past. Get over it.”

I’m sorry for dismissing our nation’s historical past acceptance of slavery as “It was just the culture then,” instead of saying, “It was an evil culture.”

I’m sorry that when you reached out to us in your most desperate hour that we said, “Keep calm and carry on” when there was in fact everything to be enraged about.

I’m sorry for my brutal insensitivity.

I’m sorry for avoiding you.

I’m sorry for Facebook posts and tweets and conversations that made assumptions without having actual real relationships and experiences with you.

I’m sorry that our public, private and Christian educators don’t talk about civil rights or the civil rights movement as something that is important to our culture and identity as a nation.

I’m sorry for South Carolina specifically, that we could produce a generation of activists against blacks, that it did not happen on accident and was bred with a twisted value system that of course nobody claims but doesn’t really question.

I’m sorry that our churches use the words, “Us” and “Them” and not “We.”

I’m sorry that our churches don’t actively seek reconciliation with you.

I’m sorry that I have waited for you to come to me first.

I’m sorry that I would weep about the vast need of the unreached nations and how I wished I could go, but then the next moment watch the news get annoyed about another black protest to violence.

I’m sorry for our white flight and shamelessly running in retreat from the inner cities.

I’m sorry that our churches would bring in organizations to fight poverty in West Africa but never went to the “bad” impoverished parts of town to feed the hungry children.

I’m sorry for the death of your children, your fathers, your mothers, and your friends through violence that could have been prevented.

I’m sorry for those nights you sobbed yourself to sleep, wishing someone would believe you, praying that someone in a place of power would fight for your cause, but we saw it and ignored.

I’m sorry for being part of the reason for many days and nights of rejection and hopeless feelings.

I’m sorry for the name calling we have done, denigrating your value.

I’m sorry that this has gone on for generations.

I’m sorry for assuming everything was a political move.

I’m sorry for my injustice against you.

I’m sorry for my faith without works.

I’m sorry for thinking of myself more highly than I ought to think.

Before everyone I want to make a stand and declare that you are valuable, you are beautiful, your spirit is strong, your voice is heard, your cause is real, your mission is just, your people are our people, your dreams are our dreams, your struggle is our struggle, and your victories are our victories.

Since I was silent, ignorant and insensitive for so long, I want to honor you and humble myself by making this public.

Will you forgive me?

**************************************

This is very personal to me. It’s an overflow of my heart that somehow made it’s way to an open letter and blog post. You may understand me, but you also may not. That’s ok, because it’s been a long process for me. However, if this is your confession and you want to express your sorrow over any of our ignorance and insensitivity, please leave a comment and then share. Let’s do this together and take a real step towards reconciliation with our brothers and sisters.

#letsreconcile

**Read more about our country’s historical injustice in an article by Lecrae

Broken, But Not Destroyed

Posted on June 9, 2015 by Angela Madaha

I’ve been here one year, one whole year since moving to Chicago and totally starting over.

I came with a lot of hope, but inwardly carrying so much pain. So much pain from a betraying relationship in my personal life, and a verbally abusive power in my work life.

But even in my walk of hope into the future, in hopes away from the past, I had no idea the amount of resistance I was about to face.

You see, previously at one point in all my hope as I left to start a new season in my life, I thought I could do anything, accomplish whatever I set my heart on.

But instead of encouragement, I faced the betraying, abusive voices: “Who do you think you are?? What do you think you’re trying to do? You are nothing. You are completely unvaluable.”

The people of power and influence in my life had bullied my spirit almost into the ground.

I feel like I’ve lived with the humiliation of my hopes being dashed, and ashamed I was ashamed.

And yet– how can I say this– I knew.

I knew that I was supposed to step into a role of helping businesses be successful. I knew it was also time to partner with non-profits to build sustainable business models for them to help provide work opportunities for trafficked and abused women, to teach these beautiful women that they are more than their bodies, that they are full of potential and skills and opportunities within business.

This kind of work, this kind of “helping businesses” is otherwise known as consulting. And I thought this was it, this was my calling.

But the oppressive cloud hung over my head all year, and I couldn’t get the ridiculing, scoffing voices out.

“Who do you think you are? A consultant??”

At times this past year I have felt that all was lost.

I have had total meltdowns more than I care to recall.

I have felt like I’ve been on the verge of complete disaster continually.

I have faced very real injustice, betrayal, and brutal insensitivity.

I wanted to walk away. But I didn’t quit. I couldn’t quit— how can I explain it? I knew that I knew I was supposed to pursue this calling.

For so long I knew that God’s love was for me, and I was down with that. But I really didn’t think his justice applied to me.

Oh, but little did I realize that justice is love in action.

It’s really powerful love giving really powerful purpose. It’s hope wrapped in a gift.

It’s real. It’s received.

So.

Here it is. A kind way God has worked justice for me.

Today I started a job as a small business consultant for a reputable consulting firm in Chicago.

Who… me??

How was I to know that they would need a consultant that specializes in marketing and non-profits, which are both my favorites and my passions.

And folks, that’s when I knew that the only voice that matters is the one that created me.

Others can point and scoff and even in pious judgment say to God, “Who does she think she is??”

And he simply smiles and answers, “The best. The most awesome. The biggest world changer. You see, she’s with me.”

It brings to me to tears, that it all had a purpose, that following a very small seed of struggling faith was much bigger than any other opposition.

Sometimes it takes being broken to realize that you can’t be destroyed.

Thank God I’m Not Like Josh Duggar

Posted on May 27, 2015 by Angela Madaha

Dear God, thank you that I am not like Josh Duggar.

You and I both know that their strict, conservatism was a huge front to the realities of his and his family’s life.

He is now exposed for what he really is: a sinner.

A sinner living like he’s something righteous.

Well, God thank you that I am not like this hypocritical, self-righteous sinner. Not only would I never commit an act like that, but I would never be so religious and fake. I am the most un-fake person I know and can make pure judgments of others’ sincerity.

I hope that by me standing up for what’s right and shaming him and this fake Christian culture that you would be proud of me, that I am encouraging all people everywhere to be real and transparent. Since the Gospel cuts through truth and lies, I am so thankful that I can minister the Gospel by heaping shame on him and his family, because shame is what leads anyone to change.

It’s what he deserves. I hate people like that, judgmental people that act like they’re better than everyone else. At least I don’t act like I’m perfect. And because I don’t pretend like I’m perfect, then I have a right to announce all the hypocrisy of those who do pretend, even if I don’t know them. I can tell; I know these situations. I’m a really good judge of intent and character.

So God, I thank you I am not like this sinner, Josh Duggar. Thank you for all of your grace to me. It makes my life so much better. I’m glad I can receive it, unlike other sinners. In your name, Amen.

*******

It’s such an easy trap to fall into, the trap of merciless shame-dumping: The Judgement Zone.

I know this Judgment Zone because it’s my gut reaction to situations like this one, when really bad things happen to the vulnerable ones by people who claim to be “good.” I hear these very words in my head and start boiling with anger.

But here’s what I’ve realized about this Judgment Zone: when we live in the Judgment Zone and rally around sin to expose it, no matter how big or how little, here’s what we’re really preaching:

“No one is ever allowed to mess up. If you want to be included or wanted, you have to be perfect. Or at least my definition of perfect.”

And we put more and more distance between ourselves and our relationships and our community.

We hold up the banner of Josh Duggar’s mess and shout, “He must be punished! And he must be extra shamed because he was faking! And it’s our duty to exploit it, to make sure that everything is clear and ends up being perfectly fair.”

Because he is the only one that’s ever messed up or pretended that he was something he wasn’t.

Because he is too far gone to be shown mercy and grace.

Because he’s tearing down the name of goodness and God in our culture.

Actually what’s tearing down the fame of God in our culture is a total lack of love. We should be known for what we are for, not for what we are against. We should be known for our encouraging lives, not for our exploiting voices.

I am just as appalled at evil and injustice as you are. I’ve seen it up front and personal. When my friend was beaten and abused by her boyfriend for months and she escaped to my house. When my friend was raped and the courts wouldn’t believe her and the perpetrator goes free. When I lost all my work when my previous company took unjust legal action against me.

It’s not cool. It shouldn’t go undone.

I absolutely want justice.

But justice without love, without hope, and without purpose is no justice at all.

We all applaud turn-around stories of people who were living destructive lives and then have a major “come-to-Jesus” encounter where they do a 180 and totally change for good.

We feel good when we hear stories like that.

But who will stand in the gap for them?

Who will be the first to say, “I forgive you. I want the best for your life. I offer you a safe place to be imperfect and go through your change”?

Jesus is such a good example of this. He’s the one who sought out the dirtiest, most rotten ones of society and said, “Follow me. Let me serve you. I make all things new.”

So now we can also can look at the ones with the most exposed, dirtiest deeds and say, “Come be with me. Let me serve you. We’re going to go with Christ and he makes all things new.”

This is for the broken ones. Rich or poor. Popular or outcast. Perpetrator or exploited.

When we live less than this, when we become judgmental of the judgmental, we raise walls of separation.

And those observing from the sidelines who need help are cowered into silence because if anyone knew what was really going on in their lives, they know they would be shamed and bullied into the dust just like this guy was.

So they live in quiet conflict, their secret lives sealed shut beneath the surface.

But we can only go so long before the reality of our issues come out. And I believe that a culture of authenticity and grace-covering imperfection can help all of us heal of stewing internal struggles.

I want 14 year old boys who struggle with pornography, sex addiction and an unhealthy view of women to know that there is a place and a people where they can go and open up about their imperfections and find loving help.

I want 40 year old crack-addicted prostitutes to know that there are people who love them and see them as the valuable, cherished women that they are and are willing to walk with them into healing.

I want the cheating husband with 3 kids to know that he doesn’t have to live a fake life anymore, that there is a place where he can come in his brokenness to find forgiveness and restoration.

This is called radical grace.

Because sometimes some things seem completely unforgivable. It would just be too radical.

But to the broken ones, to the ones that see their helpless state, this radical grace is freely offered.

And we are the agents and communicators of that grace in our relationships and communities.

And if that abuser, that pimp, that cheater isn’t broken yet? Well, it’s not our place to shame and break them.

We make boundaries in our lives, we pursue proper justice through our legal system, but we don’t light shame fires.

Shame never induces change.

But mercy does.

How do I know this?

Because I am the one who has received this kind of radical grace and unbelievable mercy.

And if I can’t give back what I have received, did I ever truly receive it in the first place?

What I Learned From An Ex-Pimp’s Story And How It Relates To The Riots

Posted on May 21, 2015 by Angela Madaha

There’s a soul behind the face.

There’s a heart behind the actions.

There’s a story behind the violence.

I had a major realization a few weeks ago while watching a documentary about sex trafficking in Chicago. The statistics were mind-blowing. I have learned a lot about trafficking, prostitution, and the sex trade in the past few years, but I had no idea how pervasive it was amongst the youth, specifically in Chicago.

That the average entry age for prostitution (i.e., trafficking) is 12.

That the average age for boys to start buying sex is 14.

That mothers sell their daughters to drug dealers to pay off debts.

It starts making you really angry at the money-handlers, the dealers.

The pimps.

Behind the face of every child and women trafficked is a pimp that is controlling and dictating every move and action.

The pimps are typically men that are extremely manipulative, controlling, narcissistic, abusive, and greedy. His women are his property, his means of support.

What’s equally mind-blowing is when a pimp leaves that life and is truly a changed person. It’s radical and can be sometimes hard to process. Such an evil person now changed? It’s only possible through life-changing redemption.

Very few pimps leave that life, but I came to hear the story of one.

In a documentary called “Dreamcatchers,” I heard the story of Brenda. She is from South side Chicago and lived in prostitution and trafficking for 25 years. After escaping from that world, she dedicated her life to helping youth and women ensnared in the same world she had been.

In the middle of the film entered a new character, Homer.

Homer, now an ex-pimp, had been the best friend of Brenda’s former pimp. Homer controlled, abused, and sold women just like the rest.

Years later, he changed. Radically. He left behind everything and became an advocate against the street life he used to live, now championing women and the cause of anti-trafficking.

But it wasn’t the incredible life change that grabbed my attention the most.

It was his story, his past.

Homer grew up with a terrible family life. He watched his mother be physically abused by his dad. He knew growing up that this probably wasn’t right, but because his mother never left, he began to believe that this was the way to love. So it was at home that his world-view of people and women evolved.

His dad was always a very angry, resentful man. His dad, now elderly, was actually in the documentary. He was talking with Homer in their home, and his dull, seething anger was incredibly obvious. You could see the dysfunctional home life in real time, though years later.

As Homer talked in an interview later, he described how his father’s anger and home life directly influenced his own life. Homer succumbed to anger and hatred as he himself was physically and sexually abused as a child by people in his life.

With this skewed world-view and mental disorientation, he ran headlong into drugs, alcohol, and sex. It moved naturally into violence, theft, and using prostitutes. As he observed the “benefits” of pimp life, he went full throttle. Women ceased to be people. They were now objects, his property.

Did he ever think that he would be a pimp? “No,” he said. But it was a path, a road that the culture around him gave as an opportunity to find his identity.

But the most telling point of all of this was when the interviewer asked him why he thought his father was so angry and abusive. “Well,” Homer replied, “My father’s father treated him the exact same way.

“I knew my grandfather briefly. He grew up in Alabama and later moved to Chicago. And he was seriously full of anger and wrath. He took it out on his family and was abusive.

“In fact, I believe that if my grandfather had the same opportunity as I did with violence, drugs and pimping, he would have done the same things. He would have been a pimp. He would have been violent in community. I know he would have.”

When I heard this, my mind just froze.

Something clicked. Something I didn’t even wanted to think about or consider.

Perhaps you can’t separate history from hurt.

Perhaps the sins of your fathers could be your sins.

Perhaps…

Perhaps there’s a historical root cause behind all the displays of anger, hatred, abuse, and violence.

Maybe the best way to help Chicago’s violence and trafficking issue dissolve is to help individual people be set free from their anger, which stemmed from pain, which stemmed from a deep wound…

…which may have been injustice.

I believe this ties in directly to all the talk and conversations around race and riots and protests that is getting media attention right now.

And I feel like something needs to be said.

White friends, here’s a word for us: we vastly misunderstand the struggle.

We think, though may not say, that the most violent parts of our cities are where the population is heavily black or minority, so they are the cause of it. It’s just their nature.

And if it’s just their nature, then the solution doesn’t involve our empathy. So we don’t have to feel sorrowful– simply offer pat solutions that gives us the sense we’re involved without actually struggling through the emotional issues with them.

And we act on it.

Sure, maybe not outrightly. That would be hypocritical to our loving, accepting, and religious culture.

But our lives speak louder than words.

Our friends aren’t black (Don’t agree? Scroll through your Facebook friend list right now)

Our churches aren’t diverse (Should not my church reflect the racial percentage of my city or community? Or at least talk about pursuing that?)

Our businesses don’t want to sell to blacks (What I learned from conversations at one of my jobs)

We (might) invite black friends to come into our world instead of us going into theirs.

We make light jokes about, “The war is over. Slavery has been illegal for a long time. That was resolved years ago. You should be over it by now.”

And by say that we’re basically saying, “I don’t care what you feel. You should not feel that. Since I think you should be over it by now, then I don’t have to care about your struggle with it.”

“Wait a second, Angela,” you may interject. “You’re saying that the black culture is still hurting from the slavery that was ended after the Civil War way back in 1865?? C’mon…”

I’m saying that I realized that Homer’s great-great-grandfather could have been alive around the time of the Civil War. And the way he could have been unjustly mistreated may have been the seed of anger that grew into abuse. And abuse is proven to pass from generation to generation. Just like it has in Homer’s family.

Yes, I am drawing conclusions and making some assumptions and trying my hardest to understand people’s actions based off their past. And it seems logical, that part of the issue of trafficking I see in Chicago is stemmed from a dysfunctional family life.

Does that give excuses to those that come from dysfunctional families? NEVER! I would never look at the women that Homer prostituted and say, “Well, he was simply a result of his family’s anger which was incited by injustice several generations ago. He shouldn’t be held liable.”

Obviously not. I think you and I both get that.

But I think we need to think a little more before we post and blog and discuss. I think we need to work hard to be intentional about how we diversify our minds, and then our speech, and then our actions.

Guys, it’s really uncomfortable. But get over it. Living this way is meaningful and may not just change you; it could change your community and our entire national culture.

I don’t have any to-do lists for you or how I plan to solve these problems, both of the white misunderstandings or the black realities. I’ve probably offended someone on both sides by making some generalizations.

Yet I believe that dysfunctional can become functional and it can happen in a kind process. Wouldn’t it be great to have someone walk with you through your struggle and say, “I hear for you, I want the best for you, and I empathize with your pain, even if I don’t totally understand it.”

And don’t think I’m really good at this. Do I struggle with discrimination? Have I discriminated before? You bet.

But I’m becoming more aware. More aware of myself, more aware of the struggle, more aware of the past. And being aware makes me fight against my tendencies to only be around people who are just like me and make me feel really comfortable and good about myself.

I think we all need to hear this and ask ourselves the question,

“Am I the one that needs to change?”

Since When Was It All About The Results? Do Good And Love Well Anyway.

Posted on April 14, 2015 by Angela Madaha

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

These words are credited to Mother Teresa and this is the version found written on the wall in Mother Teresa’s home for children in Calcutta.

This is so simple. So clear.

No matter what. Let’s do good and love well.

Anyway.

And there’s no way that this is easy.

Personally, during the past year or two I feel like I have run into walls depicting each of these phrases.

People, life is hard. At each and every point of goodness that you sincerely work towards, there is an equal or greater amount of resistance.

And sometimes you are knocked down and beaten.

It’s so unfair.

But — it doesn’t matter.

Do it anyway. Learn, adapt, and lean into the hard things with purpose and hope that sees beyond the small world that others project over you.

Can I give you hope is a weirdly honest way? These things are going to happen, no matter what. No matter how pure your intentions are, no matter how good of a person you are, no matter how wonderful of a cause you are pursuing.

But here’s the cool thing. Only movement instigates opposition.

Opposition is actually proving that you are doing worthwhile things.

Are there boundaries around movement? Of course. Evil actions will also face opposition eventually. But we must constantly test ourselves and our hearts against the law of love: is this pure, healthy, right, true, good, excellent and honorable?

If yes, then think on those things, and what you think on you become. And what you become you do. And what you do proves who you are.

So let’s keep moving forward and tell opposition that it can pick a fight with us as much as it wants. We’re already promised the victory.

Honest Confessions About Being Poor

Posted on March 26, 2015 by Angela Madaha

Let’s have a chat, middle-class America.

Being poor is rough. Wondering how you’re going to pay the bills is the least-fun experience ever. Going through a season of uncertainty is tiring with all the anxiety and stress that wages war on your mind.

But you know what we hate more than being broke?

Being needy.

It’s okay to sometimes admit being “middle-class” and not being able to afford “luxuries.”

But being needy? Asking for help? Receiving help?

That’s out of the question.

Because then I’d have to admit I’m not self-sufficient. Run the risk of being thought of as a failure, that maybe I’m a fully-functioning adult who can’t even afford to pay the bills, much less go out and spend time with friends and community.

So what do we do? We don’t ask for help. Yet at the same time we don’t ever say “no.”

How does this pan out in our lives? Here’s where I think this death-trap leads:

We find another un-related party to pay for us.

Why are credit cards and loans and payment plans so attractive? We are able to receive help from someone who doesn’t know us and is completely removed from our lives. We’re able to keep up the appearance and expectation of the life we want to live in front of the people we want to be respected by.

Virtual financial help gives us a false sense of security. I’ve never heard a person stand up in a community gathering or Wednesday night prayer service and vulnerably say, “I don’t know if I can afford gas to make it until my next paycheck.” But that same person might go to a gas company and apply for a rewards credit card.

Better than admit I can’t make it on my own.

When we find our own “resources” instead of helping each other, then we become too good to receive help and further ingrain this shame culture, that somehow I’m not valuable if I can’t live the life I think I’m supposed to live.

And feeling shamed leads to the next point:

We isolate ourselves from others.

If I can’t keep up, if I can’t afford to eat at the places everyone else eats at, if I can’t have a home that I expect to have in order to invite people over, then I might as well not spend time with people at all.

I know. I’m with you. I get it, people.

This has been hands-down the most difficult year in my life. Financially, it’s seemed near crushing at times. And I’m like, “Geez, when will this ever end?!”

And in those dark hours I had to face my fears.

“Face your fears” is such a cliche phrase and I’ve wondered if it actually meant anything.

Now I know it means that these fears lurk in the deep recesses of your heart, and you kinda know they’re there, but you work hard to keep ahead so that you never have to face them and admit you have weaknesses.

Until everything is taken away.

And then you realize that stripped down you are a whole lot more unstable than you ever thought.

When everything was gone, when last summer I lost all my work and a job offer in a single moment, I was frightened beyond anything I could imagine.

In that moment and the days to follow, I made the difficult decision to work through it instead of finding a quick healing balm to surpress the pain. Credit cards and bank loans are easy compared to reading your own Fear statement.

Now before you think about how epically brave this was, keep reading.

Though I found I was fine with not having much, I quickly discovered another issue.

The Real Fear.

Here it is.

I didn’t want to be needy.

I was fine with living simply. I just didn’t want to lose control.

And now the control was gone. I couldn’t hide any longer. And even if I tried, it wouldn’t have worked very long because the situation didn’t really change and hasn’t really yet.

So here I am, thinking now that maybe I’m supposed to learn something from this instead of just fixing the problem. Maybe I’m supposed to change. Maybe these things make you stronger because you have to accept your weaknesses in order to be stronger. Weird how that work, huh?

So thus the epiphany moment. And as I’ve been thinking big picture about this now, here’s some positive things I’ve learned this year about being broke.

Your pride barrier is lowered, thus you become more humble.

There’s nothing more humbling than being broke, because then you realize that maybe my world doesn’t revolve around me and my bank account. Maybe I’m not defined by my income.

When you become more humble, you are more relatable and empathetic.

Humility pushes you to see the world through other people’s eyes. If you can do that, if you become a truly empathetic individual, then you have huge capacity to relate in relationships, which makes you a better person and contributor to your community.

When you don’t have much, you are free, thus you have power.

When we give our lives over to “getting,” getting a car, getting more furniture, getting a bigger house, getting a bigger paycheck, then you also get slavery. It’s sad to see so many people that are owned by possessions.

When you don’t have much? Then you’re free. Free to give the power to things that last for a lifetime and eternity.

If you owe, you don’t have power. Someone else does.

The moment you let someone else pay for you, you have removed power from yourself and given it to another. Isn’t crazy how we choose to give power to credit companies who could care less about us? If you must borrow, then at least borrow from someone who cares about you.

Having little is the garden that creativity and innovation grows in.

Have you seen someone with loads of money and options? They typically aren’t very creative. Other people think for them because they don’t have to think. They have money now.

Sometimes we exchange power in thought for power in money. That’s a dire mistake.

Being poor is a mindset.

You can choose to focus all your attention inwardly and be consumed with your lack of resources and how that affects your life.

OR you can choose to accept where your current situation, and then focus your attention outward to the opportunity you have through your current situation.

I may have next to nothing, but I am wealthy in every way. Because I’ve learned to measure wealth in character, in love, in relationships.

Never let anyone tell you you’re less than your wealth in character, love and relationships, that somehow you are defined by your money, possessions, lifestyle, restaurant choice, education, or job.

Because they are the poor ones. And they will never know the riches that are experienced in the things in life that don’t have price tags on it.

I Wanna Dance With Somebody…But Only When I’m Perfect And Flawless

Posted on March 14, 2015 by Angela Madaha

There’s something about dancing. I simply love it. Dancing has always been absolutely appealing and adventurous to me.

At the same time though, dancing has always been so ridiculously terrifying to me.

Admit it. You agree. Dancing is terrifying, especially if people are aware that you are actually trying to dance and not just being a wedding dance floor freak show for comic relief.

See, when you dance, when you really dance with pure enjoyment, you are totally vulnerable. When you are outwardly expressing with your body something that’s inside your spirit, it makes everyone really uncomfortable.

When I started learning how to dance, I unknowingly took a terrible approach. I like how talented people look and being talented myself, so I put on this cover of performance, that in order for me to matter, in order for me to be accepted, I had to dance well. I had to meet their expectations: my dance partner, the crowd, and the invisible camera recording this for YouTube.

And when I messed up? I’d feel shame. My cover was blown. I wasn’t perfect. And I couldn’t let that happen. I needed to keep up the performance.

Otherwise I’d be an embarrassment. I wouldn’t be loved.

Then dancing suddenly stopped being about enjoyment and it became about performance. It became all about me and not about the song.

Messing up was forcing me to be vulnerable.

But I didn’t want to be vulnerable. I wanted to be perfect.

Then a change started evolving. Slowly, gradually. This change started when I began dancing at church.

I just made a lot of you really uncomfortable.

But seriously. This began when I was at a church whose worship was not at all about the people around us and what the expectation or tradition was, but about the One we were worshipping. It was an inside belief and joy that came out in an outward expression. It looked different for each person, but normally there was some sort of physical expression during the songs.

I learned to sing and dance freely because of my vulnerability before God, not because of perfection. Because we always come before Him with our nothing. Perfection is always just a guise. And God always sees through the act. Why hide? He accepts me as I really am, my ugly mess-ups and all.

I don’t perform before God. I worship.

So, this isn’t really a post about dancing. It’s about vulnerability verses performance.

Recently I’ve been having a breakthrough about how many layers of performance I put over myself when expressing who I am to others. Humor, intellect, experience, talent, transparency. I realize now that it is often just an act to cover up the shame of my full vulnerabilities.

Because if people really knew who I was then they probably wouldn’t love me.

And what’s worse is if they do see me for who I am and then say, “I like you this way.” That’s offensive. I can’t accept admiration unless I’ve earned it.

That fear is the root of all the hypocrisy of performance, that I have to come up with an act that the people I love and respect will love.

But I’m learning… I just need to dance. Trip, step on toes, miss a cue, spin the wrong way, fall. Mess up in every way that I mess up. That’s me. The real me.

And you know what? The best dances are when I’m dancing with someone and we each mess up again and again and it just makes us laugh harder. It means the fear is gone. I laugh and not cry because I’m free. I’m accepted and enjoyed, imperfections and all. And I’m free to accept that acceptance.

You may not dance and are appalled at the thought of moving your feet, hands, hips or other extremities to the beat of the music. Fair enough.

But when will you let yourself be vulnerable? When will you let someone see the real you and be okay with their stark observation, “I like you this way”?

Don’t Hit Your New Year’s Goals And You Might Accomplish Something Great

Posted on January 13, 2015 by Angela Madaha

I’m not the best at setting goals and actually accomplishing them.

Like the one time I got a couch from Craigslist and put the old one, affectionately known as “The Rock,” on the back porch with the goal of hauling it to the dumpster?

The Rock before the degradation by earth’s forces

Yep, it sat outside 2 years.

It became the hideous, unmentionable skeleton in the closet.

You thought I was accomplishing something with my life?

Until you looked out the back door.

Ah yes, the dilapidated, infested, weather-torn, demon-possessed Bel-rock couch from a budget horror film sat there in complete defiance to my highly ambitious life.

Goals mean NOTHING when you have no real intentions to making yourself uncomfortable to make them happen.

Would it have been uncomfortable to walk out to the back porch and carry the potentially (and highly-imagined) spider-infested, disease-carrying, snake-pit couch to the dumpster?

Absolutely.

But I chose the easy route. Leave it there. Pretend like it’s invisible. Let “time” take care of it.

It’s easy to not do anything. Or to make someone else make you do it.

Last year I sat down and wrote a lot of New Year’s goals for myself. Yes, many of them, like the trashing of The Rock, never came to fruition.

New Year’s Goals I didn’t accomplish in 2014:

Pay off all my credit debt

Pay triple my minimum monthly payments on college debt

Run a 10K

Write one morning a week consistently for my blog

Go to 5 states I’ve never been to before

Participate in a flash mob

Go to a third world country

Go to a variety of cultural places of worship

Date regularly

Yeah, these things didn’t happen.

But let me tell you some things that did happen in 2014.

New Year’s Goals I accomplished in 2014:

Move to a different state

Live in a big city

Not use any credit card or incur further debt

Salsa dance regularly

Hang out with people of different skin color

Hang out with the poor and homeless

Get involved with anti-trafficking in a big city

Be in a church that is highly diverse

Be in a very intentional community of discipleship

Have mentors

Workout at least 3 times a week

Looking at what I’ve been able to accomplish is neat, but sometimes if I write out all the things I accomplish it ends up not even being what I actually want, what I want my life to look like.

I don’t think it’s bad to look at the things I didn’t accomplish or the goals I didn’t hit. In fact, I need to look at those. If I ignore it, then I forgot my purpose and my dreams. Seeing what I haven’t been able to do allows me remember where I want to go and how I can make some decisions today that will allow me to keep going in the direction.

You see, you have to remember– this is about the journey. As you set a goal or start down a path, it’s really just amazing that you actually started! What happens next is bonus material.

Reaching the goals, missing the goals… it’s all a discovery process. Through it all I have learned who I am unlike any other time in my life. Because I had great expectations for myself and decided that uncomfortable was a greater risk than chilling out, making everybody else happy with my life.

It’s funny, though, because as I look back at this year sometimes I feel guilty that at this moment I’m genuinely happy and hopeful, because there were so many moments of hurt and despair.

But I also choose to think on the moments of “Ah, this is it!” Those aren’t moments you can dream up or put on your goal list. You think it’s a certain paycheck, or marriage, or babies, or promotion, or destinations?

It’s not. The moments I have found where I think, “This is what I want my life to look like,” happened as I was walking along daily life and was surprised. It happened around a table, during conversation, in an unlikely friendship, in a situation that was counter-cultural, in a moment that involved giving of myself to people.

Those moments had everything to do with love and being uncomfortable, to walk into a situation that I had no idea how it would pan out, and be at risk.

I had to pick up my own Rock Couch and move it on.

I think that’s what I want to do every day.

Not try to hit these New Year’s Resolutions necessarily.

But to walk into the uncomfortable. Embrace the awkward.

Try it. I can’t explain it, but it’s very freeing. And it will open you up to experiences of “Ah-ha, this is it!”

I’ve already written my New Year’s resolutions with every intention of not hitting many of them, but hopefully I’ll stumble into greatness on the path there! So any New Year’s goals you want to journey on to in 2015?

Don’t Keep Your Christmas To Yourself

Posted on December 24, 2014 by Angela Madaha

Sometimes we make giving to those that are less fortunate so complicated and formal.

Let’s create a program, pass it by a committee, raise money from people we know or don’t know, then socialize, twitterize and publicize.

Then 6 months later we actually get something done, maybe someone somewhere is helped.

Guys, it’s not that complicated.

Just invite people into your life. Walk them into your family and life and traditions.

I challenge you this year… don’t keep Christmas to yourself.

This year a group of my friends who are young professionals through a group called Nav20s decided to do a project for our community. Since I was already involved with anti-trafficking and at-risk outreaches for women in Chicago, I went ahead and took the lead in organizing a Christmas party.

Why a party? Well, Christmas traditions aren’t something I have to come up with. I just used the Christmas traditions that my family does every year. This time though, we took it to the least of these, those who actually are the most courageous of them all.

So we went to the house of New Life for Women where women from broken situations go to for a year of restoration, followed by graduation and training for the workforce.

They were so kind and so receptive and everything was simply wonderful! It was one of the most magical parties I’ve ever been to!

First, we played a simple game that was a mash-up of Christmas songs. It’s incredible how something so simple can be so much fun with simply the right attitudes. One lady said to me as we were walking back to the kitchen, “Well that was so much fun! You know, Colleen said that when she decided to give up drinking that she had no idea what she could do anymore for fun. Well let me tell you, THAT was fun! I was laughing so much!” And I knew that laughing was not something she had had much in her recent history. It’s amazing watching those who have been in bondage now acting out their freedom. It’s beautiful.

Next was the tradition of Christmas cookie decorating. Again, I took my Mom’s homemade Christmas cut-out cookie recipe, made our famous frosting, and the decorating began. Simple, fun, and hilarious to see the personalities of everyone come out as we created.

Again, we didn’t know each other before that afternoon, but a little genuine love can open up anyone’s heart to yours. People who our culture says shouldn’t be friends were communing and enjoying each other’s company as new friends.

Breaking down barriers, one cookie at a time.

And of course a tradition our family always does is coming into the living room Christmas morning to Bing Crosby and Andy Williams singing and stockings propped up on the sofas. And so we shared this as well.

The joy, surprise and happiness of each women was more than enough to fill my soul for years. “I have never gotten a stocking with my name on it in my life. Wow! Thank you!”

“I haven’t celebrated Christmas in 40 years. This is the first time I have had fun on Christmas in a very long time.”

“This was the best gift. Thank you, God bless you, God bless you, God bless you!”

Then we sat around the room and sang favorite Christmas songs. Each on-tune and off-key note was beautiful. It was a very, very special moment.

And the highlight of it all was when we circled around the women and prayed over them, speaking hope, blessing and victory into their lives. Their sobs and echoes of “Amen! Yes, thank you Jesus,” left us all overwhelmed with emotion and overflowing with thankfulness.

We went in thinking we would bless them, but instead walked out more blessed and encouraged than they. How easy is it for us to deal with long lines of traffic, hours of baking, and schedules packed with parties and celebrations compared to those who have deal with homelessness, injustice, manipulation, poverty, and separation, yet still make the decision to move forward with their lives into freedom from broken situations. They may have nothing, but they have realized they do have one thing: a choice. And they choose to be courageous. So let’s celebrate that and also speak that into lives that haven’t taken that step yet.

We’re given things like Christmas and Thanksgiving and traditions and gifts and cookies and songs so that we can share it with those who don’t have it.

Don’t be selfish. Share your Christmas.

And please don’t make it complicated. Anyone can do something like this.

It just takes a little love with some action.

Do you make stockings for your kids? Cool. Make 5 extra and take them to the abused children shelter on Christmas. Do you sing in a community choir? Go to the hospital and sing for those spending the day there. Do you have a smile and candy canes? Go downtown where the homeless live and smile and share a conversation around candy canes.

It makes a difference. Every act does.

And it starts the ball rolling. Let’s make goodness fashionable.

Vita By Design

one life. on purpose.

Author: Angela Madaha