I found an adoption website with blogs about kids with RAD.  First I was gratetful to not feel so alone, then I thought–where have you been all my life?

Also, after multiple rejections Yahoo! Voices published a poem I wrote!  I am amazed.

child slavery in Africa

Please consider contacting your favorite chocolate company to pressure them to enact fair trade standards in the cocoa industry.  Google “chocolate farm” and you will find articles about widespread abuse of children in west Africa.

This is a point of particular weakness for me as I wrestle with my relationship with chocolate daily.  I don’t think the answer is simply avoiding chocolate (although it would be beneficial to my waistline if I could…) but in voicing our concern as consumers.

No perfect solutions, I know, but I am heartbroken by the idea that hundreds of thousands of young boys live in hellish conditions because of the way chocolate is grown, harvested, and produced.

Got any ideas?


I strongly dislike the advertisements and intent of ABC’s show, GCB.  I dislike the promos so much I cannot imagine watching the actual show.  I looked for signs of protest and found only one—One Million Moms.  I am grateful they object to this show and its portrayal of so-called christian women (be they one b-word or another) and if you have a problem with this show I would encourage you to either email ABC or contact OMM to voice your objections about this show.

I have PLENTY of criticisms about the way organized religion, the practice of Christianity, ordinary christians, etc, but I do not see much in this show that suggests it reflects reality or that it would be tolerated if it were about another group of believers of another religion.



The house is quiet. I can hear the wind outside but inside it is warm, almost safe. My house would feel safer if the world was safer. If police officers were brave. If money were no object; instead: justice.
I can see Him look at me when I begin to whine internally.
His expression is wry when He has every right to be fierce
you know this belongs to Me, He says
I know.
I know it is His because of the pain
the plunge into darkness
swallowing the abyss whole
He returns to us
if this were a poem
instead of survival
i would call it

pushing buttons

i have a picture in my head of a chicken in a glass box at a boardwalk concession. it has been trained to peck buttons.
i am fascinated by the embedded meaning in the buttons i use–
remember me

i don’t want to lose sight of their embedded meaning
they are each doors to something big or small, eternal or temporal
what each of us does with time

snake bite

my husband says i talk too much. he is right, but all my other choices are addicting. i like the comic b-movie image of a scruffy cowboy bit by a snake. the other fella helps him out by cutting clean into the wound and swiftly sucking out the venom. he spits and grimaces, spits and grimaces. tragedy averted!

but not real life…
in read life the poison kills or spreads pain; you may or may not have the antidote.

now apply that metaphor to the grief my children feel about the way their brother stole their childhood.

words are not enough

i am broken

Many of the traditional Christian catechisms define people as being totally depraved. It is archaic for us–we are used to seeing people through the rose-colored glasses of publicity and media packaging.
I remember seeing a famous person on tv telling an interviewer that she was a wonderful mother (or something like that).
I had a vociferous critic of my parenting so I thought about what the woman was saying. Even without my mother’s voice in my head I knew the catechisms–I am not great, good or wonderful. I am broken. My whole life is broken. The only way it works at all is when I let God in to the broken spaces. He is the antidote to my sin, fear and selfishness.
Jesus was utterly forsaken so I would never have to be.
I used to think that His story could have been more humane–we politely give Him our gratitude and stand by broken by His death on the cross.
Now I realize that the horror of every lonely place and abuse in His story is the way He walks through and bears the trial and death I have earned.
And in return He gives me my life back.
I give Him death, He returns my life to me.
For the first time whole.

how long…

Mel wrote a story about punctuation.  It was wonderful.  I have been an English teacher for years, but it took me to this middle distance to admire and love the power of punctuation.

The same with the ability to conjure up answers from the internet.  I was going to type in a question that began with “how long” but the search engine ran just that–how long?

what came up was interesting; variegated. a window into what humans wait for.

what are you waiting for?

i am waiting for





psalm 40

you like me! you really like me!

It is safe to say that I am grateful for my blog readers.  ALL 3 OF YOU!

So you may appreciate this story. 

I count on the fact that I am not being read or observed, so i was surprised to find two likes on a typically dark post.  I investigated two unknown but genteel fellow bloggers.  Why would they like my dark and depressing little blog?

I checked out one of the blogs and discovered that my liker also liked a lot of other bloggers and they were all as happy about the mutual liking as I was.  Only I imagine none of the others were writing about barely clinging to their sanity as they tilted the windmills of public inertia over child abuse.

Hm.  So here’s my theory.  I think some people have found a brililiant strategy to find more cyber readers.  Tell them you like them!!

I want all three of you to know that I don’t just like you:

I love you.  I really love you.

And yes, Sally, we did really like you…