For the Broken

Pretend you are in a boat
Rescued (just barely?)
From a raging sea

Pretend you are cold, bereft, shot through by shock
Broken and gasping
For air

You wonder first
That you are
Alive at all is a miracle

A miracle
Blanket put around your shoulders
Will you ever be free?
Of the cold in your bones to your heart

Love speaks softly
Invading the darkness
Light as a feather
Down for warmth
Waterproof like the sleekwinged
Waterborne bird
You will fly
You will live
You will soar

Blanket of love
Salvation comes from salvage
Salve
Latin for to save
Redeem
Draw from deep water
Back to life again

Like the Once-dead Man rising
Again from the deep
Dragging us with Him
Back to life

Eclipse

The exact wording eludes me–
A search for words
About an eclipse of the sun
Something like
If you want to look directly into the eclipse
Seek professional help

Psychiatric or astronomical?
I wonder
It sticks
As I stagger about
Sunblind like Jocasta
Because I looked directly
At the monstrous darkness
Ringed by blinding light

Mastering Play Therapy

My children are play therapists. They have a thriving community of small people who live and work together and hammer out the tough issues of life in community. These people are wiser and more together than most full-sized humans and I attribute this to my daughters’ wisdom and unfortunately, to the things they have endured in their young lives.

A short time after we found out they had been abused by their adopted brother, a story surfaced from their play world.

It is still very hard for me to face–Charles groomed the children by using their toys. He made some of them have sex. This idea was so awful to face or talk about that it took me awhile to get what the kids were telling me.

Two innocent little toys were robbed of their innocence. We had to do something. I staged a healing ceremony. We talked about the non-consensual nature of what had been done to them. I hoped it would help.

Now, years later, I have to say it helped the girl more than the boy. The girl has struggled to overcome what was done to her. She went from being a victim to a survivor. The boy, however, became a villain. I won’t go into all his crimes but he has done a lot of bad things. He can’t seem to change and he has left brokenness in his path.

My older daughter speaks of these things with both sadness and wisdom. She says that although she is not happy that F. has never turned things around, she knows he too was a victim of abuse.

I don’t have an answer for what F or any of us could do to change his villainy. Maybe when I do I will have mastered play therapy.

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.

“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…

The substance of things

She had been out of radio contact for awhile so I was glad when she called
She was in the hospital for all the usual stuff
I worry about the baby.

Give her my usual (inadequate) pep talks

Pray.

There are so many kinds of prayer–which we must remember, means talking to God.

There is easy prayer
Otherwise known as grace
There is harder prayer
Which involves some level of suspense
Like when will the baby or rain
Come?

And then there is the prayer you pray for a child lost at sea.

This prayer is only possible with miracles and men rising from the dead

It starts with a profession of faith
Something like…no one could do this but You

Or
You are a God of miracles…

Or (I admit)
God I have no idea whatsoever how you could do this but You can, only you can..

This last prayer is always a life and death matter