Rebecca and her sisters

Sometimes I should keep my mouth shut and I don’t.
Sometimes I need to open it wider.
I have a vision in my head
Of all the scenes I haven’t made
Brought to me in part
By the ones I could not avoid.

You wanna say
grow up!
Get a life!
Get a job!
An education!

But most of all
You wanna say
watch out!
There are dangerous curves ahead!

You are young and stupid and don’t know what you have effing got yourself into
Teething
Colic
Nightmares
And an endless stream of
Naptimes
Precious
You gotta listen
precious!
’cause that kid you are gonna have
Deserves the life you wanted
As well as the one you threw away.

Imagine a box

Imagine a box
A brightly colored box
Like a present/
Like a gift
Something inside of it
Calling you to life
Christmas morning and all your birthdays
It was the birthdays that got me
The little girl alone in the hospital with army issue socks?
Tragic.
Life is tragic.
But we can all use socks…
You taught me to love
And risk myself
be brave child,
You whispered
Open the box.
Treasure inside.
I promise.

God stories

When I was a very little girl I thought religion was an insurance policy. I figured God was too busy for personal communication but that church and prayer were our way of joining his club.

I had a stuffed animal named Mouse who was my best friend. I could not imagine life without Mouse. Mouse was a great friend and I could say anything to Mouse. In fact, I worried a great deal about Mouse not going to heaven. I knew that faded bags of foam padding and chintz were not eternal. It was a rough dilemma.

When I was 10 I went to a charismatic prayer group at one of the Catholic churches. I was used to formal prayer but this was wilder–singing, hand raising, speaking in tongues. I did not know what to do.

So I closed my eyes and said, “God, I don’t even know if You are real or not, but if You are, show me.”

I immediately felt an intense love. It was like He had put a blanket of love around my shoulders. Not only was He very real–He loved me!!”. That was a life changing moment.

The rest has been a beautiful love story–perfect on His side, deeply flawed on mine.

I tell people Jesus loves them because He does but also because He has saved my life. I am crazy about Him. I want everyone to get to know Him–the God who is Love.

And Mouse? Well, mouse was always really Jesus

In disguise<3

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…

Famous?

I am in a children’s museum feeling inadequate because I know that I had one primary goal in life: be a good mom. Even before I had kids I wanted to be a good mom in Sunday school, youth group, to my 50 year old Iranian student–good mom.

I will feel my inadequacy in my bones

It is not our fault we are deceived by predators.
It is our fault if we don’t provide the remedy.

The truth sets us free…

Hic sunt dracones

A word on draco–um. Dragons. There are two branches of dragon ancestry–eastern and western. In the Middle country dragons are the ancestors of empire, the progenitors of kings.
They are, in short, our parents already.

The western tradition is entwined with the eastern in that the Mongols crossed the steppes and who knows what Marco said about them? But the western dragons are a chimerical bunch–they have arms, legs, wings that may or not be vestigial.

Their blood might be either immortal or toxic. They are the clear and long-sighted guardians of treasure, rivers, waters, and lairs.

They have fire in their nostrils. Armored skin. But who knows their hearts? Who knows their ancient souls?

Cat stories

Years ago there were two stray cats who adopted us. They were pregnant at the same time and had two litters of kittens. J. had the brilliant idea to give the kittens away at a preschool graduation.
One of our children was quite upset about his decision. She wailed as he took them to the school- mom, he’s giving away all the kittens!!!

The same two cats had a subsequent litter and taught their kittens to stay well away from humans–not to be trusted.