Some years ago I taught a class designed to give high school students practical experience by applying biblical principles to real life situations. We actively sought opportunities to serve others from every walk of life. I remember the day of an unusual and risky opportunity—an exotic dancer at a local bar. She initiated the call for help, and it was our privilege to respond.

It was a cold night when four students and I made our way through the snow to the trailer park where she lived. When Katie* opened the door, she was a little confused by the small group on her stoop but welcomed us into her home. It had a warm glow of gold, amber and brown. The door opened to her living room on the right with a kitchen and breakfast bar at the far end. To the left was a hallway that led back to her bedroom and bath. A bit embarrassed, she began to pick up a little of the clutter while trying to control her canine companion who was very excited to see us.

We went around the circle introducing ourselves, then Katie began to tell us her story. She revealed her roots in a very conservative, family-oriented religious tradition. She described some of her faith history as though offering her credentials to qualify her for our visit. Katie was now more than a thousand miles from her childhood home, and over the years had drifted far from her faith.

In the presence of a pastor and friendly teenagers, she began to disrobe her defenses to reveal her true self—like peeling layers from an onion. My eyes began to blur as though someone was literally peeling onions in the room.

From the students interaction with Katie, I could tell they were touched by her pain. Rather than the carefree, confident, reckless and self-liberated stereotype portrayed in the media, they saw before them a frightened, broken, helpless and imprisoned woman—enslaved by her own need to be loved and, literally, by several men who exploited her "talents."

As I listened to her story it soon became obvious that some of her pain started when she was very young through an abusive and incestuous relationship. It also became clear she was in advanced stages of self-medicating her pain. Her story jumped and skipped between the chains of her past, the reality of her loneliness and depression and the intense paranoia of her future.

As she petted her dog she exclaimed with wide-eyed horror, "Someone is trying to poison my dog. They sneak around my trailer at night. I can hear them!"

Her eyes darted from window to window in breathless silence, as if she had just heard someone, or something, lurking outside. Her dog was her only source of unconditional love and affection—a true and faithful friend who never took advantage. The thought of losing him was more than she could bear.

"I don't like to go back to my bedroom," she motioned down the hall behind us. "There are spirits in there." The students suddenly became wide-eyed as they glanced at each other in amazement and unease.

She went on to describe the voices and how she could feel their physical presence. "I don't like to go back there," she repeated with obvious tremor. We wondered what horrible experiences she had had in the place that was intended to provide warmth, comfort, security and rest. "Could you help me?" she pleaded.

"Would it be okay to go back there if we went with you?" I asked. Katie hesitated and then nodded. Reluctantly, she stood and gestured in the direction of her bedroom indicating she wanted us to lead the way.

We approached the darkened room at the end of the narrow hallway. I reached out to feel for the light switch and turned it on. Crowded into the narrow space between the wall and her bed, the students were not at all opposed to staying very close together. We made way for her to join us as she peered around the doorway. Not hearing or feeling anything threatening, she took a deep breath and ventured into the room.

On the other side of the bed, extending the full length of the wall, was an open closet full of what looked like a back-stage wardrobe in some freak show.

"I design and make my own costumes," Katie said proudly.

It didn't appear to be a difficult task—only a few stitches, straps and seams decorated with glitter, rhinestones and feathers, accompanied by an assortment of colorful boas.

She felt comfortable enough now to squeeze past us and around the bed to display a few of her favorites. Now we were the ones feeling a little uncomfortable.

Realizing what she had done, she quickly put them back. Her unease returned and she stared blindly down at the bed.

"Would you like for us to pray for you," I asked.

She lifted her head with a smile and said, "Would you please? Can you make them go away (referring to the voices)?"

We gestured for Katie to come close to our little group, and we prayed simple prayers of faith asking God to come into her life and into her home, and to bring the peace of His abiding presence. We prayed for healing from the pain of her past and hope for a brighter tomorrow. We prayed for protection and security, and thanked God for His incredible power and desire to do what we'd asked.

Wiping back the tears, Katie's face burst into a beautiful smile. "Thank you!" she exclaimed. "No one has ever prayed for me like that before."

As we made our way to the door, she expressed her gratitude and gave each of the students a hug. We exchanged names and numbers, and gave an open invitation for her to stay in touch—which she did. Several times Katie called and asked to talk to a couple of the girls by name. It was nearing the time for a special Christmas musical program, so the girls invited her to come. They were excited when Katie arrived looking like someone on the cover of a magazine, draped in a beautiful fur and escorted by a very reluctant "gentleman."

Katie enjoyed visiting our church several times and expressed how much the students meant to her. They gathered to pray for her regularly. She could hardly believe that such teenagers truly exist. Then one day she disappeared.

Somewhere out there is a retired exotic dancer who knows what it's really like to be loved.

Gary Burns is the communication director of the Lake Union Conference.

*Katie is not her real name.