A Way Out

Faith-based finalists | Rescuing women from prostitution, strip joints, and drugs

Issue: "The audacity of real change," Aug. 23, 2008

Warning: Contains sexual content

MEMPHIS, Tenn.-At 14 Megan Kane ran away from home; at 15 she was a mother. At 19 she came to Memphis, Tenn., and began stripping at Platinum Plus, a club known for its live lesbian sex shows and rampant drug culture. There she found the attention and the money intoxicating. She made $300 the first night and wondered, "Why have I been struggling?" Soon she was making $1,300 on a good night, and with the cash came a raging methamphetamine addiction.

At first Kane took meth to stay thin, but eventually she was downing a concoction of prescription stimulants and caffeine to get her out of bed every morning, followed by a bowl of crystal meth. Her appetite disappeared. "I was completely empty," she recalled. "Nothing left inside of me."

We see you’ve been enjoying the content on our exclusive member website. Ready to get unlimited access to all of WORLD’s member content?
Get your risk-free, 30-Day FREE Trial Membership right now.
(Don’t worry. It only takes a sec—and you don’t have to give us payment information right now.)

Get your risk-free, 30-Day FREE Trial Membership right now.

Two years ago she faced felony drug possession charges and serious jail time-and that meant she could lose her daughter, Taylor.

Then she saw a news story for a recovery program called A Way Out. A year and a half later, Kane, now 29, has graduated from the program's new 16-week outpatient program (IOP). She received three years of probation after the charges were reduced and she never lost custody of Taylor, now 15. The life has returned to Kane's blue eyes and she's studying nursing at the University of Memphis. The important thing, she said, is where she's going, not where she's been. She wants to become a medical missionary and help refugees: "Sign me up for a hut."

Since 1992 A Way Out has been rescuing women from Memphis' prostitution, stripping, and drug culture. The IOP, added this year, consists of 15 classes (which the women attend four days a week) dealing with problems such as sexual addiction, depression, and boundaries. "These women's spirits are broken and their souls are damaged, and they need time to heal," said director Carol Wiley, an elderly former counselor with a sweet Southern accent. (A Way Out has been a finalist in the Samaritan Awards program two years running-and is now going for the grand prize again with a focus on its outpatient program.)

When Wiley first came, A Way Out was a fledgling, sometimes disorganized service. Now the ministry requires a rigorous entrance interview before giving the women clothing, counseling, financial assistance, job training, and, among other things, a Bible. Clients sign a lifestyle contract and are on probation for the first 60 days. While the program works with the women for up to five years, most graduate after two. According to Wiley, out of 248 women helped, only seven have ever returned to the industry after completing the program.

A recent Tuesday Bible study started with a meal at 6 p.m.: a mound of pulled pork with two bottles of barbecue sauce on either side. The smell of Southern baked beans drifted through the room. At 6:30 volunteer Karen Andrews, a petite woman with a Miss America smile, began the night's study on Genesis.

After the women pulled out their homework, Connie Reed, who has attended for five months, recalled a recent epiphany: "I blamed God for things because all I knew about Him was that He was all powerful. I didn't know we lived in a fallen world, you know what I mean?" The other women nodded.

A Way Out teaches that Jesus is essential to recovery. "I had recovery before, but it didn't last. So there's no doubt about it, you got to have Christ," said Reed, an IOP graduate who joined the program after a near-fatal car accident and her son's suicide. She now lives in one of the program's safe houses, nestled in a small neighborhood just south of I-40. Instead of doing drugs, she grows tomatoes.

Across the table, Hope Stansell, about 5-foot-4 with side-swept bangs and a toothpick frame, told the circle that she wants to understand and "dig into" spiritual warfare. She's also hoping for a job after recently graduating from cosmetology school. Near the end of the study, Wiley reminded them that "God created us for such a time as this," and Andrews assured them that "no one is a mistake."

Mentors are a key part of the program. Pairings last as long as the women are enrolled, and mentors have daily contact with their mentees and access to the women's counselors. Kay Montague has mentored Stansell for over two years and volunteered with A Way Out for 11: "They're pretty real and honest." Mentoring is fun and rewarding, she said, but it can also be emotionally draining. "It's more like being a parent sometimes than it is a friend." Many of the girls operate from the mindset of a teenager, because that's what they were when they entered their destructive lifestyle.


You must be a WORLD member to post comments.

    Keep Reading


    Troubling ties

    Under the Clinton State Department, influence from big money…