Behind the Lens, Beyond the Picture


How a Photographer Became an Advocate for Protecting Children

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I'm a photographer.

I never set out to write a book about the online sexual exploitation of children. I set out to take pictures. But my work brought me to the Philippines, where I photographed children who had been rescued from online sexual exploitation. I remember walking up a muddy trail in the dark, my camera hanging around my neck, not fully knowing what I would find. At the top of the mountain was a safe home for girls who had been rescued from the unimaginable. I expected to see brokenness, but what I found changed me forever.

On a small porch, I slipped off my shoes beside a tiny pair of Minnie Mouse flip flops—so small they were the same size as my granddaughter's back home. Inside, twenty-four girls sat in little pink chairs, watching quietly. They had been rescued… but they were still learning how to trust again. Then something shifted. A song. A puppet. A moment of connection. And suddenly, there was laughter. There was joy. That's when I saw her. The smallest girl in the room was barely two years old. Chubby feet. Tiny ankle rolls. Dimples that lit up her whole face. An older girl gently picked her up and began to dance. And in that moment, everything changed. These were not statistics. These were children—children who had formed a family, not by blood, but by courage, survival, and grace.

Highlights

As a Grammie of thirteen, this broke my heart. But what stayed with me even more was this: Rescue was only the beginning. That moment never left me.

It's happening here, too When I returned to the United States, I learned something even more unsettling. It is happening here. For more than thirty years, I've worked as a school and sports photographer in Northern California. My studio gets me into classrooms and onto campuses, and I've learned you don't have to look far to find abuse.

In every school, I've heard stories of trafficking, online sexual exploitation, and sextortion. It's happening in suburbs and small towns, in wealthy districts and poor ones. Our children are being groomed, lured, and sold—often on the very devices that were meant to keep them safe. When I was a little girl, my mom told me that if a stranger ever grabbed me, I should kick him and run. That was the danger back then: a stranger, a street, a van. Predators don't need the van anymore. They just need Wi-Fi. And they don't need candy, either. They need sweet words—attention, flattery, a little affection aimed right at wherever a child is hungriest for it. They reach our kids through gaming platforms, social media, and messaging apps, in private conversations no adult ever sees.

One night in Sacramento not long ago, I was invited to observe a coordinated rescue operation involving the Sacramento Sheriff's Department, the FBI, and the California Department of Justice. The Sacramento Bee later published my eyewitness account. I watched law enforcement move quickly when a girl was identified entering a vehicle with a buyer. I heard "Hold onto your water bottles" as the operation unfolded in real time.

I saw young women and a teen brought out of a situation no child should ever be in, with advocates immediately stepping in to provide safety and care. One officer quietly told them, "You don't have to go back. We've got you." I will never forget the fifteen-year-old who quoted her price so matter-of- factly it stopped me cold: "$100 for full service." Her voice was flat. Her eyes were tired. And she was somebody's daughter. There was the young lady with a small silver cross around her neck. Homeless. Addicted. Trafficked. But that night she asked for help—and for the first time in a long time, help was ready. And there was the young girl who told me her dream was to become a special education teacher, because her brother has special needs. She said quietly, "I just want a home… and a family." I told her it wasn't too late. That her life still mattered. That her future was still real.

Happenings

From pictures to a promise I'm not a trafficking survivor. But I've sat with many who are. I've stood in safe homes where girls under twelve are recovering from the unspeakable. Through my work with the CURE Foundation safe home for rescued girls, where I serve on the board, I've watched children heal—slowly, miraculously—when they're surrounded by safety, patient love, and the presence of God. And I made those children a promise: I would be their voice.

That promise became a book. Rescue the Children: How to End Online Sexual Exploitation and Child Trafficking releases November 2nd. It shares survivor stories, insight from law enforcement and trauma counselors, and a practical framework—Recognize, Rescue, Restore, Respond—so that parents, grandparents, churches, and schools know exactly what to do. Jim Daly, president of Focus on the Family, called it "a sobering snapshot of the horrors of human trafficking" and "a powerful story of redemption in the face of unspeakable evil."

What you can do, starting today?

Here's what I've learned after all these years: the most powerful protection a child has is not a filter or an app. It's a connected, watchful, praying adult. That means you.

Start with three simple things:

1. No devices in the bedroom overnight. Whatever charges at night, charges outside the bedroom door.

2. Keep the conversation open—always. Kids go to the adult they already talk to. If the first real conversation about online safety happens after something's gone wrong, it's too late.

3. Tell them why. "Don't talk to people you don't know" isn't enough on its own. Kids follow the rule better when they understand the reason behind it.

And trust your gut. Call it instinct, call it the Holy Spirit—when something doesn't feel right about a person in your child's or grandchild's life, online or off, pay attention.

I've put these three practices, with the words to say to your kids and grandkids, into a short free guide called Three Ways to Keep Your Kids Safe Online.

It takes five minutes to read, and it could make all the difference. Because silence is what predators count on. And our children are worth protecting.

Horizons

Rescue the Children, Book Launch Nov 2nd!!!

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