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About Elea Lee

Foster parent, adopting parent, family advocate, educator, homeschool parent

Love me, love my sheep

Love has become one of the most abused words in America. It seems to mean a lot of things to a lot of people–sex, pride, ceremony, donuts, but rarely does it resemble the human picture God gave us for love–Jesus, whose name means “God saves.”

How? Poor life, misunderstanding, hunger, humility, some blazing sermons a few resurrections and then the most brutal execution in the history of the universe.

Read that again and think about what it means–Love.

Then He rises from the dead.

Love. Again.

Love is well and thoroughly defined by Jesus but then he lets Paul, James and John define it as well.

Wanna know if you really love?
Ask yourself if you would endure what Jesus endured for someone.

Then for the love of God, protect that person from the dogs–coyotes–wolves of this world.

Because if you won’t it’s not love.

John 21:15-19

Hey! Cowboy!

You gonna tell me how this is done? I became a parent when I was 26. And I did it because of guys like you. Guys who have no trouble having sex with a teenager and getting them pregnant and no trouble walking away

You pregnant? You getting a big round belly? You gonna give birth?

Don’t think so. Right now all you can think about is your own sex drive.

So yeh, you wanna prove to me you are going to be a good single parent you are gonna have to pony up and “parent” the kid you already have.

You heard me right. If I could be a good mom to a stranger’s kids then you can start practicing being a good dad to my kid right now.

You be decent and truthful and kind to her for the next year or so and you will have good practice being a dad instead of a guy who thinks with his gonads.

Don’t talk smack
Don’t live smack
And you show me how it’s done cowboy.

Love,
Your baby’s Mother’s mother

How to heal sexual abuse

Imagine your child is the most beautiful baby in the world. Now imagine they are a beautiful toddler, then preschooler and then kindergartner.

(yes, I know your child is the most beautiful of all these things–this is why I wrote it that way– so you could empathize)

Imagine you homeschool because you enjoy time with your child so much. Imagine your child is both smart and good, charming and graceful and funny.

Now imagine you discover that your child has been sexually abused by someone they trusted. Someone you let be around your child. You trusted the abuser too.

When you find out that all this has happened before your child is 6, how will you feel? What will you do?

I can only tell you what I did. The first thing I did was grieve. I cried for at least a month. I cried for three years. I cried yesterday.

The next thing I did was ask how could I have missed it? The abuser was highly deceptive. Most are.

Then I stared right into the face of an awful list. On it were:

Acting out sexually
Academic problems
Bedwetting
Anger issues
Small cutting
Depression
Suicidal behavior
Poor hygiene
Gender identity crisis
Eating disorder
Low self esteem

Imagine you are the mother of the most beautiful child in the world and you do not want your child to struggle with the things on that list. You want healing.

I prayed and the answer I got was remarkably simple: the truth will set you free.

I had a hard time at first because of the list. I hated the idea that people would judge my child because of what had been done to her instead of seeing she was not those things.
She was just another 5 year old crime victim. Five year old rape victim.

You don’t get your head around that right away. Hurts too much.

But I began to tell our story. I used the language of the criminal code because what had been done was a crime.

As I told the story I found out one thing for sure: the list is wrong, really wrong.

How do I know? Because the vast majority of rape and child sexual abuse survivors never show up on the list, never reveal their stories.

They live quiet, normal, functioning lives with no predetermined set of symptoms from the list except the terrible loneliness and pain that comes with the betrayal of their innocence and the added weight of attempting to heal alone.

Why would they need to heal alone?
The list.
Who wants to have to deal with terrible pain of sexual abuse AND the stigma of that list?

Not me. I wouldn’t. But I have chosen to let the truth set me free and it has.

My beautiful child is no more at risk of the things on that list than any other child. In fact she is far less so.

Why?
Because she has me and I would swallow a world of pain, humiliation and prejudice before I would let her walk the road into adulthood alone.

In fact. I want to get rid of the list. It a terrible fiction.

Politics, truth and what really matters..

So. I think of myself as one if the 100 most disenfranchised people in the United States. Why? Because I vote.
And because when I have contacted elected officials about our growing need to protect our children they tell me that protecting our children is not their issue

Let me rephrase that: local and national elected officials who have responded to my concern about protecting children from pedophiles have said they won’t help me because it is “not” their “issue”

I used to think it was everyone’s issue.

I keep thinking–this is an election year, shouldn’t someone care?

So the Akin thing forced me to study up on the politics and what I found was interesting.

Akin was wrong–really, really wrong, but to what end?

He was trying to save babies. He meets his political downfall because he crossed a line in trying to prevent murder, mass murder.

The ends do not justify the means. His strong desire to save babies from elective abortion does not make what he said right…

but a bit of contextualization never hurt anyone.

Rape is rape, but the strange wording and semantic crash for Akin came because he was trying to legally address something that is known, practiced and acknowledged in obstetrics–doctors can call a lot of things the way they want to. Many doctors are already allowing or referring for elective abortions to minimize their risk of law suits if parents deem their child imperfect.

Akin is 50 steps ahead of a 50 year old game, but what he was discussing when he got caught out was the notion that a baby would be valuable even if she were the child of a rapist or child molester.

Ironically, another recent flurry of outrage occurred over a pregnant teen in the DR who was not permitted to abort her fetus so she could receive cancer treatment.

I thought it was interesting that no one thought to question why a girl of 13 or 14 was pregnant and how old exactly was the father?

Akin was wrong and he will pay for his verbal gaffe. But we all pay an unacceptable price if we laugh at the “rape rape” without asking how we can help the young victims of rape by providing healing, safety, comfort, advocacy and a voice–not a brutal medical death to a second innocent child when the first has endured too much.

“the good beach”

For a long time my name was Bitch. I will only write it once, hereafter I will use a placeholder, but it is important for me to acknowledge it just once.

My adopted daughter called me this regularly for years. Never without venom. It hurt to be called beach because of the venom. It hurt because she was saying I was not human, without value.

I suspected that my new nickname, like much of her other abusive behavior, was a reflection of her own struggles with identity. She said I was the beach, but struggled with who she was and how valuable she was.

She was valuable to me. I had sacrificed a great deal to be her beach, um… mom.

She is still valuable to me. I know she can be a pain in the grass, but she is my daughter. She is my daughter.

When someone treats her badly or dehumanizes her or devalues her. And let us be clear, those words themselves are placeholders for very bad things. People who should help her have done very bad things instead. Well, I may be a beach, but I want to stomp and yell and kick’em in the shins.

I want to say stop!! She is worth more than this!! She is my daughter.

I want to have a healing, undoing, potion for the harm done to her.

I do. It is a single name–Jesus. He became the beach for her, for me, for all of us to undo the undoable, to restore our lost and stolen value.

When she tells me what has happened to her I grieve and wish she would stop running from the one Man who raises the value of an ordinary beach like me.

He buys the field/finds the treasure/sets the captive free.

And instead of the rude name we have become accustomed to, He cups our faces in His hands and calls us by our eternal name–
Dear
Very Dear…

Insubstantial as smoke

After Herculean attempts at allo-lactation, she gives up. Her mermaid ancestors have failed her. In the intervening days she has prevailed upon a highly skeptical she-goat to abide with her and the child to act as a wet nurse.

Gwendolyn the goat: lifesaver.

The failure of the experiment fills the dragoness with a nameless grief. It is irrational and contradictory to expect dragons to parent much less nurse, but this failure cuts her deeply. She is keenly aware of her scales, her reptilian heft, so much about her unmotherly.

She sits in the mouth of her cave and rakes her long talons into her scaly hide in a mindless show of hopelessness.

What are you doing?

Gwendolyn demands when she arrives to find the baby hungry and his mother a crumpled figure of despair.

The dragon chuffs. Turning away to hide her own blood and the gashes she has made in her skin.

Gwendolyn stomps her feet. You must get ahold of yourself! You have a baby now.

The she-goat curls up next to the hungry baby and nurses him.

Get up right now! She commands. Go clean yourself up. We have work to do.

The dragon reluctantly obeys.

Forgiveness

She is a tough mama
Says things like
listen carefully
And be still

Of course she is swamped with work
Mostly contract–
Cleaning up crime scenes
And the debris left by careless
Men

She does not make the stuff she cleans
Disappear
She simply packs it away
In suitcases which resemble– safes
Attaché cases
Body bags
Zip

Then she turns to the aggrieved
Yes, the aggrieved
with her steely-eyed gaze
Says c’mon
Let’s drag this
To yonder cross.

My friend

Anger is my intimate
Companion
Eyes me over soup
Shouts instructions
As I mow the lawn
He has the worn face
Of a college professor
The demeanor of a silent
Partner
In what?
You are right to ask

Why is he here?
Oh, I will blink,
As I think how to phrase this…

He helps me to articulate
Why I am so dependent on
His wife, Forgiveness,
For everything