Note: This was written by a mom who I have known and loved for years. Her and her husband’s love for their kids shines bright. I was delighted to publish her story as an example of Christ’s love for us, a mother’s love for her son, and an illustration of the dangers of this world.

The Beginning

“You need to write your story,” are words I’ve heard multiple times of late. Writing a simple line on social media has proven to be daunting enough. Not to mention how many times I’ve chosen to delete those lines. As my husband and I stood in the kitchen one evening, I shared all the excuses for my hesitation. “Just start writing,” was his response with an encouraging smile. So, the writing began on the seven year anniversary of our son’s disappearance.”

There is so much more to this story than what is recorded here. Given the rising temperature of our culture, I must take special care over who holds the details. My husband and our six dearly loved children are part of this story too, so I feel it necessary to hold back what is not mine to share. Writing has been more beneficial than I imagined. Thanks to all who have encouraged me to do so. I have always enjoyed writing letters and it is through these letters that I have gathered enough to piece together this story.

I have chosen to change our son’s name in this story to protect our family’s privacy. Given the relevance of name changing in this story, this caused some hesitation on my part. Because of the many challenges our son faced: autism, chronic illness, gender dysphoria, the influences of gaming and social media, grooming, and likely human trafficking, I have found that his story has very much influenced mine and the lives of the people I come alongside. I believe I can say it has grown me in many ways but most of all, closer to God.

Early Years

Mark is our third son and I can honestly say I was thrilled to continue to be a mom of boys. I grew up with only brothers and found myself babysitting families with just boys. It felt so natural to me.

It didn’t take long before we found Mark to be our little “absent-minded professor”. At the age of two he would often sit with an encyclopedia on his lap, turning one page at a time. We are convinced that this is one of the ways he learned how to read well before he entered kindergarten. His earliest words were “read me” as he stood with a book in his hands while waiting to crawl into a lap. He would sit and watch carefully as I ran my index finger below each word.

When he was four, my sister-in-law had shared what she recently learned about autism. Autism was beginning to be better understood at this time. I was struck by how many of these traits seemed to fit our son. As I began to bring up these concerns with others, we were advised that it was best not to “label” him. I began reading what I could on the subject but every story I read seemed to have a sad ending. I was determined that this would not be our story. We had such a beautiful child.

School Years

We were happy to enroll Mark in a rural public school where he gladly shared his vast dinosaur knowledge with his class. He hunted down every dinosaur book he could find at our local library. From that subject he moved onto marine life and told everyone that he wanted to be a marine biologist. He enjoyed attending school and loved his kindergarten teacher. It didn’t take long before we discovered that sudden changes in structure caused melt downs. We decided to homeschool him for the remainder of the school year and enroll him again in first grade. The school kindly allowed him to continue attending reading hour as this was his favorite time of the day.

If I remember correctly we started taking him to piano lessons at the age of six. He took to it quickly and soon filled our house with music. I don’t ever remember having to tell him to practice. He would play with such ease that we would often see him looking around at everything but the piano. My brother once pointed out that a particular evening at our house reminded him of a television bar scene where a fight broke out, a body was thrown across the top of the piano, and the pianist continued playing as if his surroundings were undisturbed. One recurring complaint was that of his stomach hurting. After bringing this up with his care provider I was told seventy-five percent of kids experience this. This issue never seemed to subside until we discovered that our fifth son had a strong intolerance to wheat. Mark was eight at this time and after giving the gluten free diet a try, it brought about drastic changes for him as well. Not only did he feel better, he told us, “I even feel happier now.” We also noticed that this had a positive effect on his motor skills. We were glad to see that he no longer ran into doorways and flag poles.

First grade to fourth grade went reasonably well but we learned that he wasn’t being challenged and was often given a space to sit apart from the class to read books. After considering what would be the best choice for all of our children, we pulled all four boys and began the homeschool journey. This seemed to be an enjoyable time for Mark as he worked through his assignments with ease. We would often find him curled up with one or more of our farm cats and a book. He loved being with his siblings and was loved by them.

Never expecting to homeschool the entire way, we again enrolled him in public school in the 8th grade. It was during this time of change that we were made more aware of his challenges and decided to get him evaluated for autism. The results of these tests put him on the high functioning end of the autism spectrum. Consulting an IEP team we found that there was no need for assistance. We found that he was well supported by staff at the small rural school he attended.

Considering his quiet ways, we were pleased that he had made friends, enjoyed cross country, and poured himself into art, choir, and theatre. He impressed us all on stage. The father and daughter director team was so remarkable and took extra steps to bring out the best in him. They would put up little signs that reminded him to speak louder. The most remarkable performance was where he played a Jewish boy in the Holocaust. I was so impressed by how in character he was and wondered if he wasn’t identifying with this boy in some way. Beginning in Mark’s preteens, we noticed that something was causing great turmoil. As he eventually shared in a letter to us, “I haven’t been able to tell you what was wrong. I physically wasn’t able to. Even in the times where all I wanted was to scream at the top of my lungs about what was wrong, I couldn’t muster a sound. I couldn’t even write it down.” I would spend nights on the sofa sitting next to him waiting for him to find the means to get out what it was that he so badly wanted to share. We would sit for hours. Sometimes he would share a few thoughts but most of the time we concluded that we would just try again another time.

He was able to share so little of what was locked inside but this poem written by him in 8th grade gave us a little glimpse:

When you think your life is hard, troubles showing on all sides,
And pain and suffering seem to be all you know,
And every one of your life’s deadly tides,
Seems to pull you with their overpowering flow.
Just remember those in need, those in pain
And the God who will help all of you get through life.
The Savior who came and died for your gain
And all your life has been there, helping you through strife.
So when troubles come and leave your life in ruin
And terror and evil approach you all around,
God will help you through your life, whatever you are doing,
He will save you then when evil does surround.

College Life

Graduating at the age of 16, we questioned whether it would be too soon for college. Since two of his brothers were attending the same college near us, we decided commuting with them would allow for gradual change. Settling on a major was challenging but he continued to plug along. He joined the Concert Choir and seemed to enjoy participating. We didn’t hear much about his college life but it appeared things were going well. At one point in his third year he was pleased to announce that he had met someone who had invited him to room with him in an apartment off campus. I was impressed that he had taken the initiative to invite me to meet this potential roommate. We met at Culver’s where I learned more about this young man and found him to be a fitting roommate. We agreed to this arrangement and helped him gather a few things to set up his new room. He and I also worked to set up a simple meal plan allowing him to prepare his own food. I think we were both feeling a great sense of accomplishment.

Life seemed to be at its best at this point. The whole family was attending our new church and I was becoming acquainted with many of the college students attending there. We often invited students out to the country after church for a meal and an opportunity to relax, ride bikes, shoot clay pigeons, or sing around the piano. I didn’t take these years for granted and often looked around the table telling myself that I don’t ever want to forget these years because I knew as 1 Peter 4:12 pointed out, “trials will come.’‘

Coming Out

I had no idea what was coming but had a sense that something big was looming. Time in God’s Word was fuller than I had ever experienced. On one occasion I stopped in the middle of my reading and looked up and asked, “What are you preparing me for, God?”

Mark was in his third year of college with a gap year within this time. I had been gathering that he had found a great advocate in his current advisor and wanted the chance to meet her. He had shared that his previous advisor was difficult to approach. He mentioned walking to his door several times but was unable to enter. This new advisor seemed to understand him well. She saw his talent for writing and worked him into a program the previous summer where he would help compose letters for the orientation staff at the University. I continually asked if he would mind if I spoke with her. He would say yes but never followed through. Eventually he told me he sent her an email and that she would see me.

The day was October 17th, 2014. I joyfully made my way across campus on that beautiful fall day. I was reminded of the many times I visited this campus for piano and choir competitions and eventually Mark’s college choir concerts. It was so good to finally be meeting this advisor and share my appreciation for the assistance she had given Mark in helping him use his talents. I had no idea then how perfect it was that the Lord had placed her there. I was soon to find out that this wasn’t the meeting I had planned.

As soon as I stepped into the office, his advisor placed a five page letter in front of me that she and Mark had arranged to present to me. She asked me if I would like for her to step out or remain. It seemed like such a strange request and I really didn’t know how to answer. She stepped out. This letter began with “Hi, Mom,” a greeting I had taken for granted and one that I would later greatly long to hear. His letter was written with the tenderness that was a consistent part of who he was:

“…I have to let you know that I’m every bit as afraid of this hurting you and the
rest of the family as I am of it hurting me, if not more so…
“Because what it comes down to is that I’m not your son, or anybody else’s son, for that matter.”
“What I am is your daughter.”
“I’m a woman.”

I took a deep breath, sighed, and prayed. Even though I was overwhelmed beyond description with this news, I was led to focus on the relief of finally getting to hear what I had been trying to unearth for so long.

Giving me just enough time to read, his advisor knocked on the door and returned to her seat across from me. She looked into my face with a compassionate, gentle smile. I guessed that she likely knew some of our background and expressed that even though I hold a biblical worldview, “I am actually feeling relief at this moment.” “I want you to know that I have been praying for you,” she said. I soon learned she was a sister in Christ and we shared a bit of sweet fellowship before Mark’s return.

Along with Mark, entered an LGBTQ family coordinator, a licensed professional counselor, and a chaplain. For a moment I felt as if I was on trial as each one of them looked into my face to assess my response to the letter. I gently smiled and moved in the direction of the only one I wanted to see at that moment. I embraced him in a long hug. They seemed satisfied with my response and remained for a short time. His adviser then offered Mark and I her office to speak alone. We talked and, with Mark’s permission, prayed. My thoughts were that this moment went well but I later learned that I had used his name during that prayer and it hurt him deeply. I had much to learn.

I can still see the path that I traveled as I walked away from that building, having a strong sense that everything before me was a new path. As I looked up beyond the towering trees, I silently voiced, “Okay God, what do you have for us in this?” A familiar comfort came once again, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” Proverbs 3:5.6

I made a quick call to my husband and then reached out to our pastor. We decided to meet with our immediate family in the church office. Tears came then and I remember thinking and saying that I felt like “failure” was written across my forehead. I don’t remember the pastor’s prayer but I remember the words “as we groan”. They were the most fitting words as they reminded me of Romans 8:26 “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.” As we all sat to process, it was undeniable that we were being embraced by an all sufficient God whom I knew was preparing us for the unfamiliar path ahead.

Continuing On

In many ways Mark seemed the same. I had asked him if he was interested in continuing to attend our church not far from where he lived. He had never expressed any disinterest in attending. His response was, “Yes, I value the sermons”. I was so glad for this as I knew he was well loved and I was not concerned that he would be treated any differently. Considering the fact that he would often be surrounded by little ones in the sanctuary, I wanted to at least share this news with the families he interacted with so that they would be given the opportunity to respond in a way they found fitting. Each family’s response was with love and compassion. Not a single one expressed concern for their children’s safety as they knew Mark to be one who showed respect and tender care toward the children.

Having all of our adult children in the area at this time, we had made it a tradition to grab ice cream together on Wednesday nights. This continued to be an enjoyable time. On occasion, Mark would show interest in being picked up on a weekend for a visit with us in the country. Mark had decided against getting his driver’s license so I also made a trip weekly to help him with his grocery shopping. He was getting along well with his new roommate and making good progress in living independently. Shopping continued to be a bit of a challenge as there were still times that he would freeze up when there was a need for a decision. For the most part I would just lag a bit behind and allow him to lead. On one occasion he approached the deli but didn’t see the cold cuts he normally chose. This alone seemed to cause some anxiety and indecision. We were still working on these life skills but I was confident that he would get there and continued to encourage him towards his independence.

In December life for us picked up pace as my husband started a new job three hours away. At this point we were homeschooling the youngest, had one in public school, three in college, a new daughter-in-law in the area, and another daughter-in-law soon to be added to our family. I remained behind to finish up the school year and sell our home. All of this left me with little spare time to share with Mark. In one note I wrote, “Getting a view of Mark’s world has been slow but when I do get a glimpse, it can be painful. I can only ask very little at a time or he will shut down. He joins us on Sundays and that time seems to feel much the same as it always has.” In another note I wrote, “I picked Mark up to take him out for hot cocoa. I kept the conversation light so he never did get very uncomfortable. We talked about schooling, piano, reading, art…. I pulled an acorn out of my coat pocket that our pastor’s little daughter, preparing to move, gave me. It put a big smile on his face and he said, ‘She gave me two rocks so I wouldn’t forget her.’ He then made a motion with his hand to brush away invisible tears. It is so hard to think of such a tender, loving person having to deal with such a difficult struggle.” During one of these visits I had asked who was helping him navigate this change. He said he had made connections on Tumblr. I learned later that this was a common platform for grooming.

New Road

Trying to find resources regarding transgenderism with a biblical worldview was near to impossible. I scoured the internet and could only find a few things published in the UK. I did find one book from the states but was troubled by its theology and felt it lacked the compassion I was looking for. I reached out to a local Christian counselor over the phone and the first bit of advice I got was, “Tell him he can’t bring his boyfriend home.” According to Mark, he was attracted to girls. She clearly had less understanding than I did. The best I could do was reach out to the university that Mark was attending. Around this time I also made my first connection with a parent, in another state, who was going through the same thing with her daughter. Even though we never met in person, we became friends. Below is the letter I sent her regarding my university visit with a support person:

“Last month I had a visit with the LGBTQ Gender and Sexuality Outreach Services Coordinator. She identifies as lesbian and offered to meet me for coffee.

I communicated that I desired to understand what Mark is going through and that I have so much to learn. She filled me in with all the ways the university has assisted Mark. A licensed counselor in the community is offering him free counseling once a week. This gal and others from the group have taken Mark shopping. The university is offering Mark free hormone therapy which was a shock and concern to us. For one thing, this could have serious consequences for him with our family history of a clotting disorder.”

I shared that I realize Mark desires to transition all the way and if he does I would love him no less, but, I don’t believe this is part of God’s plan. I felt at liberty to share more and I was surprised to see her come to tears and be touched by my response. She shared that my reaction is not typical, “Most parents reject their children”. She also shared a bit of a friend’s story who transitioned but still struggles with gender dysphoria.

It has been a time of prayerful searching and I have been told that others before us have cut ties with their children. I certainly don’t look down on them because this is all very difficult to navigate. With Mark, I see more than anything the suffering that he is going through and he needs our love more than anything. I can sense Mark’s frustration with me as he feels I do not understand but I keep James 3:17 before me, “But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere.”

Last Contact

Time together continued to be limited since I was frequently spending weekends with my husband in our new location but we made sure to keep our Wednesday night meet ups. Once again, the best way to share this part of our story is through notes written. This was from a note to my mom on February 4, 2015:

“I picked up the college kids so we could all meet at McDonald’s. We had such a great time together. Mark was even participating in the conversation – quite a bit for Mark. He can be so funny. It really seemed like he was happy to be with his family. We did his shopping after and when I dropped him off he started heading to his apartment and then stopped to turn around to offer a hug.”

There was more contact and more texts after that visit but I have nothing else recorded aside from this last text below. I’m glad I copied it before it was lost:

“Just kinda feeling out of it today and feeling a bit behind on stuff I needed to get done. Nothing insurmountable. I just need to buckle down and focus a bit harder. Is the regular Wed night meeting not happening this week? I might run out of ketchup before Wed but I’m not going to be using it more than once anyway. I’ve only got one of the pizza crusts left though, so maybe Walmart should be where we stop next time? I might try and shift things around if anybody is feeling up to going to see Avengers this weekend but I haven’t heard anything from [His oldest brother].”

It likely seems strange to share such a mundane text but it’s for that very reason that I share it. It does not seem to fit what was soon to follow.

Gone Missing

We felt things were going well considering I had just received the above text from Mark. I was feeling thankful that he could communicate so well in writing and we had this new technology through text to do so. As our day to meet up neared, I sent out another text but received no response. The following day, Wednesday, May 6th, 2015, I received a call from his roommate who said Mark hadn’t come back to the apartment for the last few days. His roommate who was also on the autism spectrum feared suicide as he said Mark seemed off recently. We were soon relieved to find out that he was shown to be active within a video game he played with his brothers but no other contact was made. On the following Sunday a high school friend of his was able to connect with him via a video game and relayed, “Mark is doing fine and will contact you soon. No need to worry.” After several days passed, we reached out to this friend once again with our concerns. He didn’t know much but relayed that, “Mark won’t be returning to the apartment.” We learned later, through one of his brother’s video game connections, that he was in Seattle, WA.

It was so hard to make sense of anything so I just did the next thing. It’s also hard to recall what was going through my mind at this time. I think the best way to describe it is going back to a note I wrote to friends and family after visiting his apartment:

“I think today I did the hardest thing since the day I had to say goodbye to my dad. Mom, Beth, and I headed to town to do some shopping and then I dropped them off at Starbucks so I could go sort through Mark’s things. I knew I needed to do this alone. As I climbed each step of his second floor apartment, I felt more and more like vomiting. This was too much of a reality check. Up until this point, I haven’t known what to think.”

Everything appeared to be the same as usual with nothing but his computer missing. It’s as if life just stopped suddenly for him. His quilt from mom was still on the bed. The quilt that he made sure he always had, along with the thin feather pillow he couldn’t give up, his Wii, notebooks from school, his favorite novels, loose change, deodorant…. It just didn’t make sense.

Then there were reminders of the battle he was fighting: over a dozen appointment reminder cards for a local counselor, an empty package that once contained women’s underwear, a bag of makeup and jewelry (obviously a gift because it had gone untouched), unpaid bills from an endocrinologist and a small pile of business cards from various doctors.

I stuffed a flood of thoughts that began to rush through my head in the same way that I stuffed the belongings into bags. I then hauled the bags down to the car with the help of his roommate. We still had to get back to put dinner together and then head out to meet my husband for our children’s piano recital.

I had no time to tell him it had been a hard day so he slid up beside me with a big smile on his face and a pack of bubble gum that he and our fourth son would share during the recital. I held it together until one of the children played Fur Elise, the last song Mark played. The tears started coming. Our youngest son’s performance followed shortly after and then I could no longer stay. I darted out to my car and headed home.

I finally had a moment to be alone, wail, sob, cry out to God, and confess that I’m not as strong as I think I am. And then was reminded of God’s steadfast love and mercies which assured me that it will be okay. So here I sit waiting for my husband, the three youngest and my mom to return. Eyes are pretty much dry and I should be ready to celebrate the children’s recital that was well done.

I reached out to Mark’s high school friend over the years and was able to get very little information. Our youngest son continued gaming with him and shared the little he learned along the way. One concerning piece obtained early on was that he had taken on a new suggestive name. Our family did a quick search and found that all but one of us had been blocked. We believe he may have overlooked his new sister-in-law who found his new Facebook page. We learned later that traffickers will rename their victims.

New Surroundings

After six months of going back and forth from one home to the next, we said goodbye to our home and community. We were warned that Mark would be encouraged to erase his history and embrace this new identity. It made it even harder that we too were leaving a part of our life behind us. As the movers loaded the last items, I passed through each room pausing to see what precious memories would surface from the years I so much treasured there as a stay-at-home mom.

The Stranger

On one of the early trips to our new city, I scanned the area and thought, “Surely there are other families who face a similar life experience.” Hebrews 10:19-25 prompted me to find these families to gather to pray and support one another I purchased a little purple journal and wrote these words from John MacArthur inside the front cover:

“God has placed us exactly where He wants us to be in order to work out a bigger plan in our lives and in the lives of others. Esther and Mordecai could not see what God intended to do through them, and neither can we. Our job is to work diligently and faithfully wherever the Lord has placed us, and He will take care of the future.”

My first step in establishing a group was to contact the local churches to see if this need was being met anywhere within our city. In these conversations I was told this need wasn’t being met and was encouraged to continue pursuing it. Given that these matters are held closely and privately, it was not easy to make connections. Feeling far more led than confident about this endeavor, kept me from being discouraged.

Strangely, on several occasions during 2016 to 2018, I continued to find myself in the same location with an individual. Sitting in an ice cream shop with my daughter, I leaned in and said, “I keep running into her.” This stranger and I seldom seemed to make eye contact but I had a burning sense that I needed to be praying for her. There was a gentleness about her and yet it was clear that she was making a strong effort to appear as the opposite gender. A visit to a friend’s home gave me the opportunity to finally learn who she was. Because of our friend’s bend toward hospitality, I was not always the only visitor. As her guest shared a bit about her daughter, I couldn’t help wondering if this might be my stranger. “Do you have a picture?” I asked. Upon seeing that picture confirmed my suspicion. After two years of prayer I was finally
connected to another parent. It was the beginning of something larger and more amazing than I could ever imagine.

Loving Support

In the Spring of 2018 a dear elderly gentleman, who left the homosexual lifestyle, sat at our table with my new friend and I. He, my husband, and our pastors gave us the encouragement we needed to set things into motion. She and I began meeting every last Wednesday of the month to pray that God would bring those in need our way. In August of that year we added our first member and officially began our group.

As I write this today our group has greatly multiplied and I’m connecting with people from the West coast to the East coast. “Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing praise.” James 5:13. To see God’s hand over and over again as he brings His people together to pray and sing praises has been one of the greatest joys of my life. Each time as we prepare to depart, we look at one another in amazement at how God continues to not only meet us again and again, but to change lives.

During one of these meetings a group member suggested that we ask our youngest son if he would be willing to make a trip to Seattle to do a wellness check on Mark. After my husband and I prayed and took everything into consideration, we asked him if he would be willing to go and offered to fly him and a friend there. He said, “Yes”!

Sibling Meetup

On March 20th, 2022, we dropped our youngest son off at the Denver National Airport to meet up with his friend who would accompany him for the five day visit in the Seattle area. This would be the first in-person connection since Mark disappeared seven years ago. We had offered to fund this trip in the hope that the two of them would be able to get us answers. We also asked that they would not only communicate our love to Mark, but that we would provide for any expenses during this time together.

My husband and I decided to settle into a little community near Denver to wait in our own ways. He found a spot to fish and pray and I sought out various quiet spots to read, walk, and pray. As Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday came and went without contact, I was beginning to become very alarmed. As we were trying to enjoy an evening walk, I couldn’t shake the uneasiness. When we returned to our motel I called our son to caution him to be very much on high alert. He tried to assure me that a connection was to be made the following morning at 10 a.m. and that they would be fine.

On March 23rd at 7:21 pm, I received a text from our youngest son, “Are you able to call?” We had just received our food at a small Mexican restaurant. My husband kept our table as our food was soon to arrive. I darted out to find a private spot to talk behind the restaurant. Our son was pretty shaken and found it hard to talk, “It was weird and not good…She (our son) had the strangest mask on.” It was all he could get himself to say. He asked if his friend could call to share more later.

How does one describe what it feels like to have the fears you’ve been suppressing for seven years confirmed? For a moment I felt I was going to collapse on the ground but scanning the area at my feet had me deciding otherwise. I kept the city at my back and just lifted my eyes to the heavens and sobbed, “Oh, God.” No prayer and no thought beyond that, just another “groan” and longing to be embraced by my loving Father. As I composed myself, I turned to face the city where I noticed a homeless man with his arms lifted to the heavens, apparently crying out as well. For a moment, in a strange sort of way, I felt very connected to this homeless man. I returned to the restaurant to find a plate of food at my spot but knew I could not eat it. I gave our waitress a weak smile and told her that the food looked great but I just received difficult news and needed to leave. My husband joined me in the car and at that point a picture of Mark came through my phone. Seeing that first painful image felt as though something had drained every bit of energy from my body. I could hardly grip my phone. As I look back, I am thankful I had the seat beneath me. That evening our son’s friend called to share what she gathered. She also shared a few more details on the following Sunday. This is what she offered:

Mark’s messages seemed set on them coming to the apartment but they wisely chose not to. He was with an older man, trans female, around 40, and Mark appeared very anxious. She said, “It felt like we were walking into a trap. Jezebel (name changed) was a lot bigger than Mark and had missing teeth. Jezebel was loud, intimidating, and clearly had power over Mark.” Most concerning was that “Jezebel didn’t let Mark talk much and held Mark’s hand the whole time.” Jezebel gave them three options of things to do. They chose a game store as this seemed the safest. The visit only lasted an hour.

She apologized several times for not having good news. As much as I tried, I am sure there is no way I could have conveyed how much it meant to us that the two of them made this connection.

What’s Next?

This has been the most commonly asked question after sharing our recent update. In the first two weeks I was not ready to write so we shared again and again. I am so very grateful for all the love, care, and patience received from those who listened and processed this with me. I have reviewed my notes, letters, texts, journaling, and reached out to the human trafficking hotline. Given the amount of red flags shared with them, they were quite confident that our child was trafficked. We were met with kindness, compassion, and given a case number. Our family is talking about another visit and have been told to bring an investigator along for our safety. She warned us that, “You have no way of knowing how the trafficker may react and retaliate against the survivor and you.” We have had some able bodied men offer to go in for the rescue and I want so much to join them in rescuing him from this evil. I have read, “It’s not a rescue if you rescue the body but not the mind.” Would he then be a prisoner of our home? I will continue to pray and hope that Mark will be rescued. How wonderful it would be if he could use his God given talents to write a glorifying redemptive story.

“Hope is being convinced that you are surrounded and pursued by the goodness of God. That He works all things for good in the end, so if it’s not good, it’s not the end. And that there is no story of tragedy or grief where He won’t have the last word.” Unknown Author

“Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked.” Psalm 82:4