Children are resilient?

One of the ridiculous, perhaps even criminal notions repeated by adults is

children are resilient.

Really? Then why are adults so screwed up?!

The invocation of CAR (children are resilient) is really just a way to push off the truth–any victim of crime needs a lot of help. In fact we need:

Consistent and patient counselors and supporters

A structured sense of personal value

A sense of personal safety

Help with bad dreams and worse memories

Years to ask the question why?

Safe community

Knowledge and truth–especially the reassurance that being a victim is not our fault.

Someone to fight for us.

Prayer. Lots of prayer.

I think with this list most of us can be resilient. Without these supports–the wounds deepen and the road is lonely and painful indeed.

Don’t make the myth of CAR an excuse for neglecting the quiet pain of the wounded–we all need to know we are not alone.

We all need a Defender.

Elizabeth the 1st and Sally Hemmings

Sometimes we must revise the focus of history. Sometimes we accept as fact things we should revile as facts:

Both of these famous women were rape victimsby modern FBI definition.

Both women were molested by older men who had all power over them.

If we are to heal the breaches of our own abuse stories, we must take away the power of their rapists, and give these women a new designation–

brave survivors

The Loneliness

When I was 35 I arbitrarily decided I was getting old. I ran a lot that year and I had a baby–so I ran early in the morning and late at night. I struggled with some deep loneliness that year even though I was surrounded by people.

One person I prayed for all the time was a young person I loved who was also lonely–struggling with not being able to tell the truth about who he really was (or what he really loved?)

There was a song I ran to a lot that year by Yaz(oo) called Mr. Blue

To me the song is a placeholder for Jesus. He is Mr. Blue and he promises to abide with us in our wasted, bombed out lives.

The baby is now a beautiful girl. She was hurt terribly by her adopted brother. When I faced the story I was broken that it happened at all, and scared for her. I did not want her to struggle with the sadnesses associated with being hurt by someone you trusted.

So I opted to listen to Jesus–the truth would set us free.

It did.
Free from a church.
Free from some family.
Free from a dear friend or more…
Free from easy trust or blind acceptance.

Despite our efforts we remain free of these things. But that is the point–had we tried to hide what was done to our children we could have kept the appearance of normal and allowed our children to pay for it.

Or we could all be lonely together. Alone, that is, with Mr. Blue.

When We Look Away

How could any sentient person suggest that the Sandy Hook massacre was fake?

When I see the pictures of the victims I know that their families are lost in a sea of grief and pain. Not only do they miss their loved ones, they are caught in a vicious web of the beautiful life taken and the bloody end.

Yes. The pictures are there–a crime scene where there should have been snack time. The reality of what it takes to rob a person of her life with a deadly spray of bullets.

If we really want to make our families safer we must face the bodies of our dead.

And perhaps face the cost of our pornography of violence.

Honey Bunch

Honey Bunch once wailed in the car for the greater part of a 5 hour trip because she was required to stop howling in order to get a burger. Talk about un-happy meals.

Honey Bunch once climbed on the roof yelling obscenities because she did not want to go….to the tennis court.

She actually did that more than once.

She once flipped out at a children’s park over shoes. Shoes are an extremely big deal for Honey Bunch. They are technically more important than mother. More important than love, you could say.

Worried about abuse?

So you know someone who you think might be abused or in a bad situation?

If there is any serious danger call the police.

If there are warning signs sufficient to file a report with cps, file it

If you just have a bad feeling…

Be very inquisitive
Be emotionally supportive
Do research to gain more information
Provide non-material (no $) support
Food
Clothes
A good ear
Simple kindness
Any way you show an abused person they are valuable is love
And love never fails

Writing Therapy

I have been writing a lot this month and today I thought–ugh, I don’t want to write. I also did not really want to tackle bills, letters, grammar instruction or going to the store.

Gives me a headache just writing it all down.

But I know that writing is good for me. It forces me to own my thoughts and organize them. It results in a greater sense of control. All the things I dread are still there but now they are neatly ordered by want, need and fear.

It is the fear group that concerns me. Each of them is an unblinking carnivore, taking it’s place in line with all the other monsters

..waiting to devour my soul.

Why revenge is not sweet

For at least. a few months after I found out my children had been hurt by their adopted brother I would admit to other people that I had a desire to take him to a roadhouse down the street, announce his crimes and then close the door on him. I do not admit this with any pride, I tell this story because it is one step toward forgiveness.

There are things he could have done and can still do that are worse.

There are things he did which keep me up at night searching for answers.

And all humans are a rum bunch. Let’s be honest.

I am tired of reading about children being hurt. The more prolonged and grievous the hurt, the less I want to face it. But I do and I pray.

And I understand the wild and violent response people have toward the disembodied child abuser. The only problem is our wild cries for blood are not effective. And our response to real abusers is often muted and myopic.

My first question is–why not shut down NASA?

I know, you worry about all the unemployed astronauts, I would too if I did not already have a plan. Let’s take these extremely smart people preoccupied with the elusive quest for martian scat and put them onto the task of keeping children safe–ending child abuse.

You know–like the repair scene in Apollo 13 only with children not tubes.

Stop telling me you want some hairy inmate to put a beat down on those who harm children, call your congressman and tell him you want infanticide eradicated. Call your pastor and tell him you want to start a parenting group. Call the police if you hear a baby crying in a way that suggests abuse, not gas.

Do something to change the world. Because if you are leaving all this to the lawless to sort out, well don’t be surprised when all that is left is the wreckage of a country that might once have been safe for children.

Surviving the Perfect Storm

I went to Cape May once, Atlantic City twice, New York City a handful of times. Places of national iconic memory as well as personal.

I have also survived hurricanes. I know about their massive deadly power, the way they stir the sea. When you are waiting for a hurricane you pray two prayers–God, keep people safe and God, not us.

Most people don’t like to admit to the second one. It is a selfish prayer, a prayer of survival.

I think of the Krims. Their perfect storm was providing kindness to a stranger they thought they knew. The waters will recede, cleanup will restore the streets of New York, but each minute of each day will be a terrible hurricane of loss for an ordinary American family.

My prayers remain, just as I pray for all those who struggle to survive the violence of loss, another kind of fierce and deadly storm.

Dear Krim Family

My heart aches for you. I know your lives have been thrown into the darkest tunnel. You are constantly in my thoughts and prayers. Words fail.

There is an Old Testament story that keeps coming to my mind. A woman whose family was executed to stop a war sits over the bodies of her loved ones warding of the birds.

It is one of the bleakest images of grief–all that remains is her lonely figure on a hilltop. I wish I could ward off the birds of memory seething around you and your beautiful, heartbroken family.

May my words be like hands
Warding off the birds