Still haven’t heard from the senator from Ft. Worth…

Dear Senator Davis,

I still have not heard from you (which is strange). You said that you wanted to hear stories about abortion provisions in Texas. You said…and correct me if the national media got this part wrong…

That you were standing for women’s rights in Texas? I am waiting for my right to be heard.

Please let me know where I can send these small pink sneakers. Your office address is fine, I just want to know that you will receive them.

See, that is the difficult part for me–you have said you are listening and standing and representing, but are you listening to women like me? Are you standing for all of us?

The abused? The abandoned? The unwanted?

It’s just a tiny, adorable pair of baby shoes, right?

The feet they are missing. They are so small.

Sincerely,

Elea Lee

Cocktails and BOGO with the esteemed Dr. Gosnell

Wait a second, we all remember what we are talking about, right?!

I mean so close on the heels of Kermit Gosnell’s house of horrors…we are all clear, right? We are advocating for or against a process wherein a living baby is forced out of her mother’s uterus in cut up pieces to be reassembled like a bloody puzzle…

I mean, with all the well-heeled ladies thumping their augmented chests over women’s rights and all…

It started to sound like y’all have forgotten that half of the human beings who go into abortion mills come out in bloodied pieces.

Little Pink Sneakers

Let me say this straight off–I am a disenfranchised Texan. This happened several years ago at the end of a long and fruitless battle to keep children safe from identified sex offenders.

But last night helped.

I applaud every elected official who stood up for children’s rights in Texas last night.

Funny how the national press has focused on Senator Davis’ shoes. I focus on Ernest Hemingway’s. I have always loved the story of the six-word short story, not so much because it had to be Papa who told it, but because my heart has been broken more than once by the shoes never worn by babies–babies I lost to miscarriages or adoptions. I miss the children who should have worn the shoes.

Over 84 thousand babies lost their lives last year in Texas. Too many empty pink sneakers.

If you think that is a tragedy there is something you can do–

Trace the outline of a pair of baby shoes on a piece of paper and send it to Ms. Davis.

A six-word story is amazing. A picture is worth a thousand words. But the world entire is in the eyes of a child.

Speak for those who have been silenced.

All Those Tiny Pink Sneakers

Scattered in the chaos of my house there are pictures of my children–very small, grainy images of each of them when they were smaller than a dollar bill.

Small, but priceless.

So why would requiring a woman to see pictures of her baby be such a big deal?. Because unlike me, some women don’t treasure these reminders of their tiny children.

The truth is that in many countries including the United States sonogram is already a part of the abortion decision. Women wait until the gender of their developing child is evident in the picture and then they terminate the little girl.

Thank you, Ms. Davis, for the graphic reminder of all we are losing.

And the eroding rights of women–especially the really small ones. Here in Texas and all over.

No Justice for Jada

Another story you don’t want to read–an innocent child abused to death by drug addicts but the court vacates a legitimate sentence of murder because they do not see sufficient intentionality?

Are they crazy?

Nope.

In fact, they are being highly pragmatic. They are reflecting the value of a single child’s life in our culture. How much is Jada’s suffering and death and the lies told to cover her murder worth to you?

Make some noise. Justice for Jada.

Cherish Perrywinkle

From the beginning her name was spelled wrong–Charish, Peri- and Perri all were thrown into the horrifying chronology of a little girl taken and murdered.

I first saw “Charish Periwinkle” and have not changed it on my original post. I have not edited that post for several reasons–it reflects the tumult of hours in which there was a report, an Amber alert, a traffic stop, an arrest, a missing child, and then a confirmed tragedy.

If you go back a bit you might say the tragedy started May 31, the day Donald Smith was released from jail–seemingly without restrictions. Or more than a year before, when a court of law sentenced him very lightly for yet another egregious felony after over 30 years of dangerous aggressions toward young children.

The story says nothing about how the state or the country expected this predatory man to avoid his dark actions.

No one but his neighbors and his victims really cared about that.

And yet now we know what should have been addressed before–he was always capable of monstrous harm.

And now we have just a name–Cherish means to greatly love, prize, or esteem and yet she was not cherished by the man who treated her like a cast-off rag doll.

And I still maintain–if we cherish our children we will do something to ensure that every child is safe–at a dollar store, a Walmart, a McDonalds–each symbols of our drive-by, fast-food culture.

Now symbols of everything that can go wrong in the life of a dear little girl named after love and flowers.

Do you care about Charish Periwinkle?

The story is unbearable. You want to look away. Not read it. Unthink it. Yell to the hapless mother–if he fricking wants to buy the kid a snack he can bring it to her in a to-go bag!!!!

You want to just write the story off–idiot mother!

I say this because I was the idiot mother. Now I am the nearly-friendless mother. I don’t have a social life because too often I have told the story of how I trusted an honor roll high schooler with my kids and it cost us.

I want to make a bet with you–

If you have kids you trust them around someone you shouldn’t. Whether you want to face it or not: we all know pedophiles.

They don’t all resort to murder, but they all kill. They kill innocence and communities and faith.

Whatcha gonna do about it? Go get a snow cone? Read about North West?

How about not calming down? How about making some noise? If the flipping NSA can troll the net for terrorists shouldn’t they throw a few tax dollars at keeping a 9 year old safe from the bad guys they already know about?

The Beautiful Song

In the months before I lost Veronica I refrained from listening to ordinary love songs. I remember those months too well–waiting in hope and fear.

I had so much faith. I knew–knew He would bring her back. It has been 14 years. 3 to go…

I have felt that fear so many times since–the fear of loss and grief and love.

Perfect love casts out all fear.

Imperfect love clings to the scarred feet of Perfect Love, praying for flat out miracles.

Your own mother?!

He tells me in shocked terms that he has lost all his money. More to the point–his family has taken it. Fast. Five or six thousand dollars in under two months.

His mother has lied to him and taken his money. Ugh.

I have ambivalent feelings about what he tells me–I don’t believe anyone should let him babysit. I want to believe he can change. I tell him I will always be your mother, you will always be my kid.. But I still want to tell the people around him–watch out, he can do devastating things.

A judge
A state
A juvenile system
A bunch of elected officials
And two complete communities, two complete families…well, dozens, really, have told me shut up.

But the children…who will protect these children?

Our conversation and my mother’s role in supporting him unequivocally raises issues of intense grief for me.

He is a convicted pedophile and she has given him support and encouragement.

I am her daughter and she has rejected me since I was a young child. It is hard to face the comparison and it is painful to acknowledge the way she sees me.

I run to God.

I run to this Parent who will not leave me. And because He refuses to abandon me, I know He sticks with all of us–our misshapen, sin-harmed souls so far from home, so close to the Cross that saves us.