Divorcing Facebook

In all fairness to Facebook, I was a failure from the beginning.

I never posted a grumpy cat meme. I posted Bible verses. I wrote about child advocacy.

I was no fun.

So the decision to exit stage right was overdue. I stayed for the people I knew I would miss. And I left for my family’s safety.

Several times this morning I found myself fashioning vestigial posts about ghrelin, Alice Monro, and a beautiful rainstorm.

Notice I am still blogging, so I am hardly cured.

But it is a start.

I believe in the power of prayer. With or without the artifice of social media to prove that I am real.

I want to be real–

A tree that merely grows quietly in the forest. Making little noise at all.

Sibling Day

I always see a rather dour group of chocolate, flower, and card execs huddled together in a dimly lit office…

(Think Brando in Godfather)

Coming up with new holidays–world chicken day? Classic sitcoms day? Creative tie day?

So there. You have my context for Sibling Day. Notice I have waited until the celebrations have subsided to comment.

Years ago I had to buy a book called Sibling Abuse after my adopted daughter revealed that my adopted son was abusing my youngest daughter. And others. He had a list of victims.

He had used his siblings. He abused their trust and their innocence.

And the aftermath was scorching. Our family has stood in a lonely place for a long time now.

My sibling did nothing.

My husband’s sibling as well.

So “sibling day” is kinda painful for me except for one thing–

The children in my family now have the best siblings. They shelter each other and enrich the lives of their brothers and sisters.

They give me hope.

I just wish I could give them the uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, and friends they so richly deserve.

Dear Cassandra,

You were the smallest of the babies and just as beautiful as your sisters.

Your foster mama was a veteran fostering and adopting mother. She told me

everyone has a birth story

Meaning that adopted and foster children had a way of making their entrance into a family memorable.

I worried about you because you were so tiny. I visited your foster mother one day in the spring before they made it clear that all three of you were destined for adoption by the people who took you.

I will never forget praying for you. Praying for the path your life would take.

When you love a baby, your world orbits that child’s well-being forever.

Dearest Mercedes,

Your foster mama was a grandmother and she cherished you so.

She and her daughters sang you lullabies with your nickname–Sadie woven into the songs.

Your hair was slightly darker than your sisters, even though Veronica was your identical twin.

I have home movies of you with your sisters on your first birthday. All three of you together was such a joy to see.

Such beautiful babies.

It hurt to lose you. It was some consolation to know you had your sisters.

Mark Twain on Social Evil

Mark Twain said that when he was growing up in a slave state (Missouri) he was never confronted with a single dissenting viewpoint.

Pastors preached the (biblically erroneous) notion that Africans were cursed by God and therefore ought to be slaves.

No one saw any abuse of the slaves.

The slaves kept quiet about their opinion one way or the other.

In the Missouri of Twain’s youth slavery was a de facto good not evil.

A situation he addresses well in Huckleberry Finn.

But it was not true. Slavery was and is an abomination, an aggression against other humans.

What aggressions against humans do you take for granted or even passionately support?

Abortion?

Child sexual abuse?

Human trafficking?

Abortion is legal in the US and many people are passionately supportive of it. But it is a greater evil than slavery.

And while child abuse and human trafficking are illegal, if our government does not enforce their extinction, they will and do flourish in the gap.

What does it cost?

I struggle with a voice in my head telling me that a woman in my ramshackle physical condition has no business hitting ramps on a wakeboard.

It is a powerful voice.

And yet I cannot help thinking that challenging that voice and hitting those structures is a victory of the heart.

Victories of the heart are often costly victories. We are challenged to face our deepest fears of loss and humiliation, pain and failure for love.

And so with the even objectivity of a math problem you could say–the measure of our love is the measure of our willingness to overcome our fear.

Or better said by a Braver Man–perfect love casts out all fear.

Tell me you love someone and I will ask you, what dragons have you fought to preserve your beloved?

Always the same reaction

I was standing in a Walmart years ago when someone I had known for years told me she had been sexually assaulted.

She told me because I told her what had happened to us. She gave me the fragile gift of a common experience–a tragic common story.

I never knew. She is a beautiful, very together, very articulate woman. I never knew about this heartbreak.

I find my reaction to these stories is always the same. I want to hit something. I want to pound out the anger and hurt that is inherently a part of any crime

Especially against children.

Especially when they trust the person who hurts them.

I say this because if you have one of those stories you need to know you are not alone.

I grieve for you, pray for you, and long for justice for you.

How Pedophiles Groom (everyone)

Afterwards the conversation held such dreadful power.

My adopted son, 14 or 15, sat amidst his younger sisters’ dolls and toys, identifying each one. My husband and I marveled at the time. Charles was not very nice to us. Not very kind in general. His attention to his younger sisters’ toys seemed an unlikely window into kindness in his chilly heart.

It was not.

He knew the toys well because for years “playing” with his little sisters had been the sinister doorway to grooming them for abuse.

It was a blow to the gut to know this too late.

My pain over my childrens’ lost innocence will not go away. It shouldn’t. I determined to do what I could to save others from the agony.

I made a commitment to speak out.. More times than I can count I have lost people in the process.

Recently Charles began dating a young woman with very young family members. I let someone know that Charles should not be alone with children ever.

His response was swift and angry. He swore at me and told me to back off or he would file harassment charges against me.

Standard for Charles.

What was shocking was the response of girlfriend and family. Even though Charles went to prison on a plea deal for what he did, girlfriend told me she did not believe me.

She and her family have rallied around a child molester.

What happened next was equally interesting.

Once she accepted his version of his story, he publicly humiliated and belittled her. I knew what he was doing—on one hand he appealed to her naïveté to accept a lie, on the other he pushed the boundaries of their relationship to flex his power.

This is an unfortunately common story. Where is the.outrage in the media over Verizon peddling child exploitive pornography? Where is the department of justice to enforce existing laws against the exploitation of children?

We stay quiet, afraid to rock this broken boat, while our little ones get let out to sea.

Watching all of me

PBS has just aired a haunting movie about women in Austin who struggle with eating and weight issues.

I viscerally connect to their food issues, but found myself crying in the middle of the movie because of what they said about community.

The truth is I have been a community-free individual since 2010. I have my family, former friends, and a church or two to thank for that. And my own fear.

Initially my dogged insistence on transparency…

I cried for my children. The older ones create shelter for their younger siblings.

The older ones remember the years of loss.

The younger ones ask questions about family as though the units of extended family–grandparents, uncles, aunts, were classes of dinosaurs or dragons.

Mythical creatures, all of them. Afraid to face the truth on our side.