One of the things that really seems strange to me is the things Sea has learned “in the system.”

He complains a lot.  Gets irrationally angry.  Leaves out chunks of his story.  For most people the part he will leave out most consistently is the part about his devastating behavior, his abuse of children.

He tells me a story about anger based on entitlement–what he deserves.  When he lived with us this was most often expressed as “not fair.”  I don’t believe in fair, but I do believe in justice.

He seems to have a warped perspective about everything and I marvel at the darkness of his heart.

Then I remember the woman who was sick for 18 years, the man who was lame for 38, the dead man called forth, the power of the Cross.

I pray for a miracle for my son.

I used to tell people that the loneliness associated with our story made me want to go to AA meetings.  I would go and announce that I did not have a drinking problem (food is my big issue) but I just wanted to sit in a room full of people who did not flinch at tough stories.

I once looked up support groups for the families of sex offenders.  I did not like what I read.  The tone of the one I found suggested that the group was more interested in abuser advocacy and facilitation than I am.

I do not want to facilitate Sea.  He is guilty and he needs to change. 

I want to hold him accountable for what he has done

I want to tell him the truth and challenge his thinking

I want to prevent any more victims.

I do not believe he can or will police himself, nor do I believe he can ever be alone with a child

ever.

if you have done your best to protect your kids from abuse and one day find you have failed:

do listen carefully to your children

spend a lot of time listening

listen kindly and objectively (even if you are justifiably shocked and horrified by their stories, try to be calm while you gather information, emote later)

try to talk about their experiences while playing a simple card game, walking, or engaging in some other relationship building experience

if you do want to talk about the abuse directly, limit your time of enquiry to no more than 3 minutes

if you think your child has been abused, understand the abuser has deceived you and your child, may have threatened your child, and that your child may feel confusion, shame, and guilt about the abuse

unconditionally support your child

report abuse

get a good counselor

shield your child from the abuser

do not expect your child to live with or have any contact with the abuser

shield your child from people who are not supportive

DO NOT BE AFRAID TO TELL THE TRUTH

this is just the beginning

when i blog caps-free i am holding/nursing the baby

not being e.e. lee

i.e. clever

this is assymetrical blogging, both literally and figuratively

my neighbor tells me a story about her attempts to help one of her students.  the girl shows noticeable signs of abuse and neglect.  when people at her school report the abuse, nothing happens and it happens for so long that state social worker tells them to shut up and stop calling.

all i can think of is one little girl’s loneliness and pain.

i thank God for my friends’ tenacity.

as usual, edmund burke is right

One of my favorite stories from the gospels is when Jesus goes to the feast of tents (secretly) and then stands up at the end of it and publicly proclaims that He is the source of living water (John 7).

I admire strict sabbatarians, I am a liberal sabbatarian–shameless about eating out on Sunday, but beguiled by the idea of abiding in God on Sunday and making each Sunday a reminder of Heaven. 

Sea was caught on Sunday.

He used each sabbath freedom for unthinkable evil.

God remembers

Sea or his friend calls every Sunday morning.  I wonder at this, like the time I told them we would be traveling and there were still 26 messages on our machine when we got back.  Sunday morning should belong to God, but it seems that their schedule and the shape of their lives is off-kilter, like ours.

When everything came out I bought a book about the desert fathers, a group of Christians who left the dying embers of a corrupt christianized Roman empire to live in caves in the desert.

The accounts of these men are strangely mystical and I am a bit sceptical about how good they were.  I naturally distrust people and their biographers now.

But I figured that if we were going to wander in the desert of social stigma, I should at least learn about others who had lived there before me.

Now when I see the starkness of our life, I remind myself that it may be the desert, but I am here with my favorite people.