The Most Unforgettable Lunch of My Career | Human Trafficking Awareness

What began as a celebration became the beginning of my journey to awareness about human trafficking.

Some moments never leave you.

Most of us can point to a handful of moments that quietly divide our lives into before and after. Rarely do we recognize them while we're living them. They begin like any other day... a meeting on the calendar, a celebration with colleagues, lunch around a conference table. Only years later do we realize God was using an ordinary moment to begin teaching us something we couldn't possibly understand at the time.

This is one of those moments.

I was twenty-nine years old when I attended a private awards luncheon celebrating the company's highest honor. It was one of the proudest moments of my career. Five years earlier, a senior vice president had asked me to help build an employee volunteer organization called the Impact Team: Individuals Modeling Positive Action Together.

What started as a simple idea grew into a team of seventeen passionate volunteers committed to making it easy for thousands of coworkers to serve our communities.

I loved every part of it. Most people want to make a difference. They simply need someone to create the opportunity.

Together, we painted a women's shelter, collected stuffed animals for children in the hospital, organized donation drives, and partnered with local nonprofits throughout the year. Before long, our little volunteer initiative had coordinated nearly sixty community service projects. We weren't chasing awards. We simply believed serving people mattered.

Receiving the company's highest community service honor was humbling because it wasn't really about recognition. It was a celebration of what could happen when ordinary people shared a common purpose.

Walking into that conference room that afternoon, I wasn't thinking about the years of work behind us and I certainly wasn't thinking about human trafficking awareness. I was simply proud of our team and grateful for everything we had accomplished together.

The room buzzed with energy. Award recipients chatted with senior executives while members of the media stood quietly around the perimeter of the room waiting to capture the afternoon's highlights. Lunch had been served, conversations flowed easily, and laughter drifted from one end of the conference table to the other. Everything about the afternoon felt celebratory.

As the associate leader of the Impact Team, my seat had been assigned beside the chairman of the board.

The luncheon was intentionally informal. Rather than listening to speeches, we were invited to ask questions and simply get to know the chairman.

Then someone asked the very first question.

“I heard you spent two years in Africa. What was that like?”

Without hesitation, the chairman answered, “I bought a slave.”

Everything changed.

The laughter disappeared. Conversations stopped. Reporters lowered their heads and began writing furiously. Around the conference table, people looked at one another without saying a word, trying to process what we had just heard.

My arm rested only inches from his on the conference table. I remember studying his face, listening to every word, searching for something—anything—that would help me understand what I'd just heard.

Then he continued. Calmly and matter-of-factly, he explained that she lived with him, cooked the meals, cleaned the house, and cared for the home.

The more he spoke, the more conflicted I became. Part of me was horrified by the words, “I bought a slave.” Yet another part of me found myself searching for context. Was this supposed to make me feel better? Was he trying to explain why he believed what he had done was justified?

Then he added, “If I hadn't bought her, she would have been sold to a brothel.”

Honestly, it sounded like a good news story to me. Or was it?

Almost immediately after the luncheon, members of the bank's Public Affairs team began pulling people aside. They wanted to know how I was feeling, how our team had reacted, and what conversations were already beginning. It was obvious they had shifted into damage-control mode. We were asked not to discuss the luncheon publicly while they worked through the situation.

I walked into that room expecting to celebrate and I walked out carrying questions.

Life eventually settled back into its normal rhythm. The award found a place on a shelf, new volunteer projects filled our calendar, and my career continued to grow. Yet every so often, I'd find myself back in that conference room, wondering about the young woman whose life had become the subject of a conversation over lunch.

Years later, as my father approached the end of his life, he shared the truth about my own childhood exploitation. Suddenly, trafficking was no longer someone else's story. It had become part of mine.

That conversation sent me on a journey of learning. I read, listened, researched, and asked better questions. The more I learned, the more I realized how much I still didn't know.

Looking back, I see that afternoon very differently than I did at twenty-nine.

For years, I thought of it as the day our volunteer team received one of the highest honors in the company. I'm still incredibly proud of what we accomplished through the Impact Team. We created opportunities for people to serve, to give back, and to make a difference in their communities. Receiving that award was a celebration of seven years of investing in people and our communities.

Today, that's not what I remember first.

I remember the young woman; I remember the questions and I remember leaving that conference room realizing there was a world I didn't understand.

It would take nearly twenty years before many of those questions began to make sense. Some of them still haven't, and maybe they never will. I still don't know what became of that young woman. I still wonder if there was another way to help her. I still ask myself, Why was he at the auction in the first place? Those questions haven't weakened my convictions. If anything, they've strengthened them.

No human being should ever be bought or sold.

What has changed isn't my conviction.

What has changed is the quality of my questions.

I think that's one of the reasons I'm so passionate about education today. Not long ago, someone asked me, “What's labor trafficking?” Twenty years ago, I wouldn't have known the answer either. Today, I do—not because I have all the answers, far from it, but because someone took the time to teach me. They challenged me to keep learning, to ask better questions, and to look beneath the surface instead of settling for simple explanations.

Education is prevention.

Not because education solves every problem, but because education opens our eyes. It helps us recognize exploitation, understand the complexity behind it, and discover better ways to protect people who are vulnerable. Every conversation has the potential to help someone recognize the signs of exploitation, ask one more question, or connect someone with the help they need before it's too late.

As I reflect on that luncheon now, I don't believe God brought me there simply to celebrate an award.

I believe He was quietly planting a seed.

A seed that wouldn't begin to grow until years later through difficult conversations, painful discoveries, and a deeper understanding of exploitation, human dignity, and His heart for people.

Funny how God works sometimes.

You think you're celebrating what He's already done, while He's quietly preparing you for what He's about to do next.

The award recognized what our team had accomplished.

The conversation revealed what God would accomplish next.

That's why it will always be the most unforgettable lunch of my career.

With hope & love,

Melissa