As I looked down the row of shops, I replied, "Oh, that's the market area that they've restored. It dates back to the pre-Civil War days when they would bring all kinds of things to trade." It was at that moment that I felt like I was hit in the back of the head by someone's fist. I was suddenly made aware of something. I continued to share with my daughter, "You know, that's what this place is, but what it was ... it was a real sad place. Because down at the end of this street is where they would bring other things to trade - they brought slaves. The slave traders would bring people here each day to be bought and sold. It was a very sad time in our history when souls were traded like objects." My soul was grieved as I related the story to her. It became so real to me that I began to cry.

As we walked along together in silence, we must have walked another three blocks, my daughter spoke up and said, "You know, Dad, if I had lived back then and I had been rich, I would have come down here each day, bought all the slaves I could, and set them free."

And I thought ... we are those rich people. We walk in the marketplaces each day and we are around those who have been made slaves to their own sin. There is a trade going on every day; souls being sold into bondage, and we are those with the riches. The question that bugged me was - would I be like my daughter? Would I be willing to come down to the marketplace each day and buy back as many as I could?