“What does sex-selective abortion say about humanity?”   It was the first question Toronto-based host Lorna Dueck asked me in an interview on her current events program, Context with Lorna Dueck.  A tragic issue that has significantly impacted several countries in East Asia and is growing in North America, sex-selective abortion is chosen by parents with a preference for a son, who choose to abort their baby when a sonogram reveals the mother to be carrying a daughter.  India alone is said to have 20-30 million “missing women,” and predictions estimate that by the year 2020, China will have 40 million unmarried men, a number equal to the entire population of young men in America.  As direct result, crime rates, bride trafficking, sexual violence, and even female suicide rates are all rising. What does this say about humanity?  What does it say of how far we have come, or rather how far we still have to go in the area of human rights, and specifically, respect and protection of women?

The horror of this issue stayed at the forefront of my mind in the days following the interview.  The next week, I somewhat nervously walked into a lecture hall at Princeton University to speak at a conference for women sponsored by the Christian Union. I was distinctly aware of the honor it was to be on this historical campus and in the presence of intelligent, capable, sincere women filled with ambition, potential, questions, and a desire to identify their specific purpose in this world.

I have come across much of the data that speaks of the strength of women in society – data that conclude that in societies where men and women are treated equally, there is a lower rate of poverty and higher economic quality of life.  Statistics speak to the contribution, skill, unique ability of women, and while I know it to be true I cannot help but wonder about the inherent danger therein, too.  For should someone- male or female – have to justify worth, enough reason to be granted the opportunity to exist, and to have a life free of exploitation and abuse?

The opportunities for Wellspring have continued to grow, both in the arena of dialogue with individuals and audiences on subjects of human trafficking, human rights, prostitution, HIV/AIDS, and global issues impacting the world today.  And our primary mission to reach out to the hurting continues to call us to various geographic regions and to specific projects as we serve as a bridge between the giver and efforts that are providing aid to women and children at risk.  Though conferences on social justice and human trafficking continue to highlight a sobering global plight, the opportunities to go beyond the conference table abound.

We recently received an emotional letter from director of Bombay Teen Challenge, KK Devaraj.  From Mumbai, India, he wrote to tell us they had to say goodbye to Nimmi, a young woman they had helped to escape life in a brothel.  She had been sold into prostitution at the age of 13 and had eventually contracted HIV/AIDS.  She had lost hope and felt she had nothing to offer.  But four years ago, she left the dark world and stepped into safety at Bombay Teen Challenge where she found a home and was introduced to the grace of God and the freedom and redemption He offers.  After four years, losing Nimmi was painful, but as Devaraj wrote, we are confident we will see her again. His letter ended with a sincere plea, “not far from my house, the dreams of a little girl like Nimmi are being shattered…we must stop sexual slavery and stop it now.  Let us free them from the chains…”

Not far from Mumbai, Zamar Academy waits for their new land and school in Chennai.  Because of the generosity, care, and response from many of you, we were able to raise enough funds to purchase the property required to remain open and provide quality education free of cost to children from a local slum area.  Through a diligent search and many negotiations, our team in India has patiently viewed properties and is committed to identifying land that meets the need and respects all legal requirements for the process.  This has been a challenge, and we are prayerful that God will soon provide the land that will enable us to uphold this standard. The children of Zamar Academy have been overlooked, often missed by society.  They do not have wealth or opportunity.  They have not yet made their contribution to the community.  When you see them stand with perfect posture and recite a Psalm or a poem recently assigned in Tamil class, or watch their absolute glee at learning to throw a baseball, you see the richness they hold and represent.

At Agni Raksha in Bangalore, we recently sent a grant for medical supplies for surgeries and for skills training for women who are victims of bride burning.  I remain deeply affected by my previous visits to this project.  In recent speaking opportunities, I have been asked to address the issue of beauty.  The first pictures that form in my mind as I consider this topic, are the faces of these women.  Their scars are deep and highly visible. This does not meet our cultural standard for beauty, for what is oft misunderstood to be perfection.  Each one of their faces challenges our norm, and redefines our perception of beauty not in spite of the scars, but directly through them.

As I consider each one of these stories, I am reminded of an email sent from a friend several months ago.  His sister was valiantly battling cancer that had left her face partially paralyzed.  In a photo attached, the paralysis tugged slightly at one eye and at a corner of her lovely smile.  My friend’s note simply read, “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”  His words need no explanation, for every one of us understands; in those moments, every one of us instantly recognizes the certainty and center of value and recognizes unmatched beauty as it stands before us.

A woman, a person, need not strive to prove her value to family, community, or society.  The battle here is not one of proving value enough, but the ultimate significance of the intrinsic value of every life created in the image of God, our God who knows her story, her face, her scars, her skills.

Her need to fight to be and to survive does raise a legitimate and frightening question about humanity.  And how we respond as an individual and as a community, will continue to script the answer.

It hosts the Reserve Bank of India, National Stock Exchange of India, and Hindi “Bollywood” movie district. In 2008, Forbes Magazine listed Mumbai seventh among the top 10 cities for billionaires to live. It ranked first in average wealth among those billionaires.

But where highest highs thrive with lavish lifestyles, it also hosts some deep lows of crime, human trafficking and underground prostitution.

Dr. Jon George, director of clinical research and attending cardiac interventionalist at the Deborah Heart and Lung Center in Pemberton Township, visited Mumbai last month during his vacation.

Rest and relaxation were far from George’s mind as he went to an impoverished section of the city where not many billionaires would dare set foot. Along with his wife, Shelley, who is an anesthesiologist at Hahnemann University Hospital in Philadelphia, George took part in a volunteer program called Bombay Teen Challenge, which helps teenagers caught up in drugs, gangs and prostitution.

George said the city’s red light district is one of the worst in the world, involving forced prostitution of teenagers. Many are even born in brothels and into slavery.

“Teenagers are brought from rural cities and are promised jobs and opportunity,” he said. “Instead, they are sold to other people as sex slaves. They are abused and raped for money. It’s a really sad situation, and it’s done without a lot of people knowing about it. But it goes on.”

Jon and Shelley George were joined by 14 other Philadelphia area physicians on the trip to India. Almost immediately upon arrival, the crew of doctors started examining patients.

“The first day was extremely tough,” George said. “We took a bus to the camp and got started. It was mind-blowing. These young women had anything from a cold or a cough to HIV and malnutrition. They see no medical care whatsoever. There were inflammatory diseases and untreated infections. It was overwhelming to see all that.”

When he wasn’t treating rescued teenage girls who had been forced into prostitution, George and his group were treating children born to those same women. Many children carried the same diseases as their mothers.

“It was the saddest thing seeing all these innocent kids receiving triple therapy for HIV,” he said. “You wouldn’t know they were sad, though. They were being treated very well, and they just wanted to play with anyone who came in. They would ask us why we were crying.”

Read Mark Zimmaro’s complete phillyburbs.com article on Bombay Teen Challenge here. 

I had a moment not too long ago where I stopped in my tracks, quite literally.

I was out to dinner with friends and the television set hanging in the corner of the restaurant caught my eye. A news ticker scrolled at the bottom of the screen and listed statistics released by the U.S. Department of State. The data compiled estimated the number of victims around the world who are forced into sex trafficking, bonded labor and domestic servitude.

There are more people enslaved today than at any other time in history, an estimated 27 million men, women and children around the world. Newborn babies, teenage girls, senior citizens – trafficking in persons affect every region, every country and every socioeconomic standing.

In a recent article, Andrew Lam of New American Media shines a spotlight on the horrors of modern-day slavery.

While I sit in the comfort of my own home and flip through the television stations, a 3 year old girl is being sold to an average of 30 men a night in Cambodia. I am frustrated to discover a long line at Starbuck’s while an elderly man, displaced by his family, begs for spare change in Zimbabwe. While I casually check facebook on my cell phone, a woman in India is burned by her mother-in-law for an unfulfilled dowry.

Let’s push aside the distractions of normal life and fight. Be a part of the movement. Speak for those with no voice.

May this be the decade of delivery, the season of freedom.

From left, Kevin Slowey, Rockies pitcher; Dave Racaniello, the Mets’ bullpen catcher; and R. A. Dickey, Mets pitcher, at Uhuru Peak, the highest point on Mount Kilimanjaro.

It was 10 p.m. when Timo, one of the porters on our climb of Mount Kilimanjaro, tapped on my zipped tent flap to make sure I was awake. Little did he know that I had been awake for at least an hour because of the gale-force glacial winds that were pounding the exterior of the tent, a noise that assured me that something unpleasant awaited. The wind, coupled with my fears and excitement about what lay ahead, allowed for about three hours of partly uninterrupted sleep.

We had been briefed at our 5 o’clock dinner that night that we were leaving for our summit attempt at 10:30 p.m. sharp. This was for two reasons. First, as we ascend the mountain, the rocky skree that litters the steep trail to the peak will be frozen and less likely to give way under our boots. Second, leaving at that time would allow us to reach the summit as the sun was peeking up over the eastern glacial ridge. However, I believe that there was a third reason, one the guide intentionally never discussed. Psychologically, if we were able to see the sheer steepness and distance of the trek, it would have been defeating.

Our departure time came, and we were dressed in our best cold weather gear. At the time we took our first steps from base camp, the temperature was in the single digits and the wind was sharp. We had our headlamps on and could see far above us the dim light of a group of other climbers, evidence that we were not the first ones in what could be a long queue up the mountainside.

I put my earphones in and turned on my fully charged iPod to distract me from the elements. I had made a summit mix before the trip and cranked it up as loud as it would go. Four songs in, the iPod froze even though I had it in one of the pockets on an inner layer. Now, it was just me and the mountain.

Five hours into the climb, aside from having extremely cold hands, we were all feeling pretty good. My only concern was placing my feet in the same place as the guide in front of me. Slow and methodically we gained ground up the slope. Another hour passed and it seemed as if the climbing got significantly more arduous. We had passed a half-dozen people who had to stop and turn back because of fatigue or altitude sickness. The extreme gradient of the slope partnered with the duration of the ascension to form a tag team that was kicking my butt.

I thought of my family back home playing games, and what the kids were doing in school. I began to think of the money we were raising to help the Bombay Teen Challenge. I visualized pitching to the all the teams in the N.L. East, batter by batter. I thought of anything I could to distract me from the misery I was in. Finally, about seven hours into the climb at around 18,500 feet, I had to ask our guide to stop. I sat on a rock to the side of the trail feeling nauseated and lightheaded.

Joshua, our guide, rushed over to me and filled a small cup with hot tea from a thermos he pulled out of his pack and placed in front of my face. The lightheadedness graduated to dizziness as I reached for the cup, missing it by six inches. Again I reached for it, only to miss it again. I felt my innards convulse. Joshua took my hand and placed it on the cup.

Read the rest of RA Dickey’s article for Bats and The New York Times here. 

The last two days of hiking have carried us over steep barren ridges and into deep gorges filled with streams of glacial runoff. However, in terms of difficulty, the two days couldn’t have been more different.

The hike from Barranco camp to Karanga camp required us to go up the face of a mountain ridge called the Barranco Wall.

This particular ascent represented the most dangerous challenge of our trip due to the width of the ledge and the sheer steepness of the climb.

There is a pass along the wall called the kissing rock. It got its name because the narrow ledge forces you to hug a rock that is jutting out, requiring you to keep your face next to it the whole way as if kissing it, in order to safely pass. Below is nothing but jagged rock at the base of the ridge.

Although none of us were without fear and apprehension, we were all able to traverse it.

After the kissing rock, we were encouraged to hear from our guide that nothing from that point on would rival the Barranco Wall. Needless to say, that came as a great relief. However, when we pressed our guide, he did share a story about a porter who had fallen backwards and was seriously injured.

The next morning, we got an early start on our way to Barafu camp, the base camp for our summit attempt. Although this hike would take us from 13,000 feet to 15,000 feet, it was our easiest yet in terms of terrain. It took us up a gradual slope for about two hours until we leveled off and ascended again. We walked through fields of jagged shale and parched mountain desert. It was like what I imagine a post-apocalyptic picture would resemble, like a scene out of “Mad Max.”

When we got to Barafu camp, we were treated to vistas that defied our small scope of the world and its wonders. Before us, thousands of feet below, stretched cumulus cloud banks that looked like a never-ending field of the softest cotton one can imagine.

To our right sat Mount Meru, suspended above the clouds like a giant rocky temple. To our left were the sharp peaks of Mount Mawenzi, another of the Kilimanjaro volcanoes.

Being exposed to such majesty is humbling and begs me to contemplate how finite I really am.

I think, at the very least, each member of our party is motivated to gratitude.

Speaking of humility, when we first arrived at Barafu, we were witness to two individuals being rescued from their summit attempt due to severe symptoms of altitude sickness. This is a good reminder that although we are so close and can literally see the peak, we are still 4,000 feet away from our goal. We are confident but know that our own summit attempt will be no lay-up.

Tonight at 10:30, we will be awakened to begin our final trek to Uhuru peak, the very top of Kilimanjaro. We are all nervously excited and hopeful that our preparations have been sufficient.

My next entry will hopefully tell the story of a fantastic summit experience and the adversities we overcame to achieve it.

Read RA Dickey’s complete article for Bats and The New York Times here. 

An American baseball player scaling an African mountain for an Indian charity might seem an odd way to draw attention to human trafficking.

But that’s just what R.A. Dickey is doing. The Mets pitcher is climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, which peaks at more than 19,000 feet above sea level (and documenting it on Bats, The New York Times’ Baseball blog) in part to bring awareness and money to stop sexual slavery thousands of miles away in the gritty lanes of Kamathipura – Mumbai’s largest red light district.

About 100,000 to 200,000 women and girls are working in brothels in Mumbai, according to the latest government estimates, which are a decade old. Activists say the number has since reduced to 75,000 to 100,000 in the city.

“As I am the father of two daughters, ages 9 and 8, the thought of my own being subjected to the atrocities that happen every day in the brothels and on the streets of Kamathipura is heartbreaking,” Mr. Dickey wrote for the New York Times baseball blog.

The money will be used to build a fully equipped clinic in Kamathipura that would offer health screenings, antiretroviral drugs, and counseling to sex workers.

Since Mr. Dickey stepped into the picture in May of 2010, Bombay Teen Challenge has met half its fund-raising goal, said the organization’s founder, K. K. Devaraj.

Read Sruthi Gottipati’s complete New York Times article on Dickey and BTC here. 

It was Alexander Graham Bell who once said, “Before anything else, preparation is the key to success.” Presently, I am in the final hours of my own preparation to ascend the largest free-standing mountain that this Earth has to offer, Mount Kilimanjaro.

The time for second-guessing is over. The research has been done, the miles have been hiked, the lungs have been taxed and the equipment has been gathered. In five days, I will travel via Detroit to Amsterdam, finally arriving at Kilimanjaro’s airport after a journey of 18 hours 25 minutes, and 8,674 miles. Needless to say, if you have a hard time with planes, you might want to scoot this one down your list of things to do a bit.

As for success, that will, I hope, come in the form of a sunrise summit at 19,300 feet on Jan. 14, 2012. I try sometimes to wrap my mind around what it will be like to see the sun come up from the highest point in Africa, how small I will feel looking out over such an incredibly glorious expanse with the sky about to catch fire.

Although the excitement is growing as the departure date draws near, the anxiety is there as well. It’s as if I’m 6 years old all over again and in line for my first “big boy” roller coaster, the one that has the steep drop and a couple of gigantic loops. I know it’s going to be a fun experience, but as the waves of people board and the screams erupt, it brings me one step closer to the unknown, a setting where fear meets anticipation. It is an exhilarating place to be, and I am grateful for the opportunity to do something I have longed to do for some time.

More important, we have raised $50,000 and are halfway to our fund-raising goal for Bombay Teen Challenge, an outreach organization dedicated to putting an end to human trafficking in Mumbai, India. With $100,000, Bombay Teen Challenge will be able to purchase a health clinic right in the heart of the red-light district. This will allow hundreds of young women who have been trafficked into the brothels to become introduced to Bombay Teen Challenge and, ultimately, have a chance at freedom.

You can read the rest of R.A. Dickey’s article for the New York Times here.

The Mets sent him a letter, warning him that if he were injured on his climb — which is also scheduled to include Colorado Rockies pitcher Kevin Slowey — it could void his $4.25 million contract for 2012.

“If we thought it was a good idea, we wouldn’t have sent the letter,” Mets general manager Sandy Alderson told the Wall Street Journal, which reported the letter on Tuesday. “Beyond that, have we tried to dissuade him from going? It seems to me that the letter is enough of an effort to dissuade him, and he intends to go on nonetheless.”

Dickey, 37, and Slowey, 27, have had plans in the work for some time. Slowey was traded from the Twins to the Rockies on Dec. 6. The two were teammates on the Twins in 2009.

“R.A. and I have gotten to be good friends,” Slowey told the Minneapolis Star-Tribune back in April. “This is something that if you get the chance to go do, you’d be remiss not to consider it. And it’s definitely for a great cause.”

The players, along with Mets bullpen catcher Dave Racaniello, will attempt to climb the world’s largest free-standing mountain as part of the Bombay Teen Challenge, a charity which supports victims of sex trafficking in Mumbai, India.

Read more from the USA Today article with R.A. Dickey, Kevin Slowey, a pitcher for the Colorado Rockies and Dave Racaniello, the bullpen catcher for the Mets.

It seems like another lifetime – a universe away – to remember my day of departure from Hong Kong, almost exactly a year ago, as I set out on my bicycle to cross the Eurasian landmass. The day when I bid farewell to my brother and his family who live on Victoria Peak in Hong Kong to make the journey to my parents’ home in Norfolk, UK. Some 17,000 km to the West, beyond the sunset.

As I write I’ve covered 16,000 of these – all on my humble bicycle.

What lay in between has been one of the defining experiences of my life. It has to be. After all, how often does one have the opportunity to embark on one’s own epic adventure?

Long-fallen Chinese empires, wandering Buddhist monks, the grisly demise of swash-buckling British adventurers, the cold sneer of mighty conquerors of Central Asia, refined poets of the Caucasus, Russian monuments to the brutal attrition of global war, the delicate wines of Crimean bon-vivants, and testaments to the quiet diligence of long-dead Georgian saints. On to the levity of Mozart and twirling Viennese waltzes, old pagan sagas, chocolate and cow-bells, bankers in perfectly fitted suits, Bavarian beer-glasses rising above a sea of red faces, dark Alpine peaks wreathed in the first swirling mists of winter. All these images I have witnessed. And a multitude more besides.

Now as I pass the familiar green hills and cornfields of lowland Switzerland, at last back in Europe, I have to keep reminding myself of the route by which I arrived here. Right now it all seems too familiar and the end too close.

Yet I can remember setting out over the rolling rice fields of southern China, toiling up and down over the spines of several mountain ranges in Central China to reach my winter goal of Xi’an, the ancient capital of imperial China. The dusty terraces and sweltering road of the great Silk Route from Xi’an that leads west to the outer extremities of civilized China and the empty wilderness of the Gobi and Taklamakan deserts beyond. Briefly emerging from the desert, I passed by the busy metropolis of modern Urumqi on to the bustling and colourful Central Asian trading emporium of Kashgar, nestling at the feet of the meeting point of the mighty mountain ranges of the Tian Shan, the Karakoram and the Hindu Kush.

Then leaving China and stepping into the very different world of the ex-Soviet Central Asian states – the expansive green uplands and pastures of Kyrgyzstan, the golden wheat fields of southern Kazakhstan and the crazy schizophrenia of the Uzbek capital of Tashkent – its Russian and ancient Central Asian architectural influences still vying for supremacy.

In Tashkent, I joined two younger Americans on the road and together we suffered under the blazing summer heat, leap-frogging from city to city, saturated in the drama and history of the Orient – Samarqand, the city of Tamerlane, the lofty kupals of Bukhara and Khiva the ancient slave trading emporium, and then onto the demoralising emptiness of western Uzbekistan and western Kazakhstan. Battered by the constant shuddering of 400km of broken roads, heavily addicted to cold soft drinks and with bottoms so saddle-sore we couldn’t sit down for a couple days, we emerged at the Caspian Sea coast and collapsed onto a cargo ferry that took us to the Caucasus and the bizarre city of Baku – a place dripping in wealth from the “black gold” that once seeped up through the ground along the shoreline there.

Across the Caucasus into the wonderful country of Georgia, a breath of fresh-air with abundant hospitality, endless assaults of delicious food and a church on every hilltop. Standing at the very outpost of old Christendom, Georgia has been squashed from every direction, yet enduring all this pressure like a shining diamond, you never saw a people live life so lightly, nor follow their faith so solemnly.

And so to the bronzing holiday-makers of Russia along the Black Sea coast, the glorious beauty of the Crimea, and the effortlessly cool city of Odessa, where the women are nowhere more beautiful, nor the men more assured that there is no better place to be. Across the forgotten republic of Moldova, struggling to make its wine exports lift the whole country to a new level of prosperity, to the carefree fun of western Ukraine – a melting pot of Russians, Poles, Romanians, Slovaks, Hungarians and Ukrainians with a fiercely independent spirit.

And then to the very frontier of the European Union. Slovakia passing by in a slightly subdued flash before the clean-cut and precise confidence of Austria. Vienna – a magical, beautiful, friendly, light-hearted, miraculous, musical and highly expensive city, where you cannot help walking around humming Mozart as you literally breathe in culture.

In Vienna I was joined by my two brothers and a sister-in-law and two old friends for probably the best week of the whole journey. As I struggled against raging headwinds in the deserts of western China, I had encouraged myself by saying it was all ok because one day I would reach the beautiful land of Austria – its sparkling lakes, green hills, and steel-blue peaks. And it didn’t let me down. It is breath-taking.

Someone was smiling on us that week. The sun shone in gin clear skies every day, as I shared a lifetime of wonderful moments with my friends and family in a few short days.

And so here I am. In Switzerland, with roughly 1,000km to run to my home in England.

When I get home I am going to have to wean myself off eating enough food to fuel a small army which my 130km a day consumption rate seems to require. This may be easier said than done. And I will greatly enjoy sleeping in the same bed for more than two nights, and having some other clothes to wear (provided my younger brother hasn’t already stolen them all).

But apart from all this… Literally – I thank God for bringing me this far – thanks for the myriad of people I met, the incredible natural beauty I’ve seen, the challenges I’ve overcome and the lessons I’ve learnt. What a gift!

And so, after all that…….now what??!

I guess I still have 1,000km to figure that out. J

You can check out more stories and photos from my journey on my website and on a previous blog on the Wellspring site.

Also please consider making a donation to Wellspring International in support of my efforts. I have chosen to support the Bombay Teen Challenge project with any funds raised. You can make your donation here. Please be sure to select “Theo Brun Scholarship – BTC” in the drop down menu. THANKS!

Photo Courtesy of R.A. Dickey

R.A. Dickey has had to wear an elevation training mask during his preparation for climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

“Kilimanjaro is a snow-covered mountain 19,710 feet high, and is said to be the highest mountain in Africa. Its western summit is called the Masai ‘Ngaje Ngai,’ the House of God. Close to the western summit there is a dried and frozen carcass of a leopard. No one has explained what the leopard was seeking at that altitude.” ― Ernest Hemingway

It was seventh grade when I first read those words from Hemingway’s “The Snows of Kilimanjaro.” I’m not sure why they stuck with me so vividly through the next 24 years. Perhaps it was the spiritual component that struck me, or the frozen leopard as a possible symbol of dauntless perseverance. Either way, I indelibly connected with it.

So here I am, a 37-year old New York Met and Hemingway aficionado, a month away from attempting to ascend Uhuru Peak, the highest summit on Kibo’s crater rim on Mount Kilimanjaro. What started as a personal pilgrimage has transformed into a joint effort with an outreach called Bombay Teen Challenge. Since 1990, Bombay Teen Challenge has worked to rescue and rehabilitate destitute and desperate people living on the streets and in the red light district of Mumbai.

These people include women trapped in prostitution through sex trafficking, their at-risk daughters and other girls vulnerable to the sex industry; street children who are in danger of being abused and exploited; and H.I.V.-positive orphans who have been abandoned or orphaned. As I am the father of two daughters, ages 9 and 8, the thought of my own being subjected to the atrocities that happen every day in the brothels and on the streets of Kamathipura is heartbreaking. My hope is that the climb up Kilimanjaro will help bring awareness to a cause that is in need of attention and support.

Read more from the New York Times article with R.A. Dickey, Kevin Slowey, a pitcher for the Colorado Rockies and Dave Racaniello, the bullpen catcher for the Mets.