Why does any man keep chopped up baby parts in jars?
And why cover for a monster?
Gosnell
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Category Archives: child advocacy
Why are people so chicken?
My daughter asks after I have waged yet another quixotic public awareness campaign about preventing abuse.
I tell her siblings this story to buttress my own vertiginous disbelief (in the chickens)….
They ran psych experiment wherein a single person was surrounded by a classroom of people “in” on the experiment.
A series of paired cards were shown, each with an objective, empirically correct answer–the longer line, for instance.
In each case the majority voted for the wrong card.
Soon the lone dissenter joined the majority.
Sure it can feel crazy to vote for the powerless, the disenfranchised, crime victims, and children.
But right is right.
And the short end of the stick stays short whether you are a weenie or just perhaps a little bit brave.
After all, the life you save could be your own.
The Witness
It is 3 flipping twenty in the morning and I have written myself out of a paper bag several times recently. But not this time.
This time I give you a picture–our protagonist is at the brink of death when the neighboring Amish descend over the rolling Pennsylvania hillside–their quiet presence ostensibly saving the life of young Harrison Ford.
I am naive to believe in those faux Amish extras. To quote Isaiah:
stop trusting in men
This is the last day of April. Much has happened this month, not much fan fare about the victims of crime and child abuse. Quiet. Too quiet. As I have quipped before–no one wants to be the spokesperson for dysentery relief, too stinky.
I want to say this–I am not sorry I have been a vociferous child advocate. I am only sorry I have failed. My children are not safe. Neither are yours.
When I feel the despair of the freakishly ignored I understand why most victims of child sexual abuse never share their story–it is worse to tell your story and be treated like a freak than keep quiet and attempt to mend alone.
It is as though our children were naturally able to count with their hands but each time they gave us the correct answer we slapped their hands and told them to parrot a wrong answer–like carrot or France.
You might ask yourself how dizzying, confusing, and painful it would be to know that 2 plus 2 is four, not Siberia, but never to be allowed to say.
I don’t have to ask. I know.
3:34 am
The least of these
I am haunted by a good thing.
We brought popsicles to the park. Melty hazards, right? So we are pushing the last of them on our kids when a small boy tugs my skirt and grins up at me–oh! His kingdom for a gooey fudge pop.
I felt terrible we had no more. I also felt terrible that I dripped on his adorable sister. Chocolate sugary baptism!
I rushed to the car and got some hugely inferior snacks. I wish I could have given my small friend a life-time supply of Popsicles. His openness and candor was a glimpse of heaven.
Because the kingdom of God was made for such as he…
I cry for a broken world and rough, broken people. I cry, and pray for the children.
Disfigured vs. Transfigured
This story will seem disjunctive to you:
It is late in the season for chicks. We are at a friend’s farm. A very kind friend. A good listener. We are recovering from a great blow to the heart of the family
My young son finds an egg in the chicken coop. He cradles it gently in his hands and runs into the kitchen where several large goose eggs are incubating.
A month later little Biscuit is born. Hatched, if you will.
My son saved that one small feathered life from being scrambled. A small story.
I have been thinking about what it is we are and what we are becoming. None of us will stay in our eggs forever. We will break out to splendor or be cracked over a waiting pot.
Mark 9:2 (NIV)
After six days Jesus took Peter, James and John with him and led them up a high mountain, where they were all alone. There he was transfigured before them.
I am going to unspool this strange story tomorrow. But for tonight only this–are you being disfigured or transfigured by the small events of your life? Your secret fears? You abiding passions?
When Jesus is revealed in secret his splendor is unforgettable.
When you and I are exposed for our true and eternal selves, what will people see?
Splendor or the pot?
After the Sea
We sleep in boats
Strewn out across
An unending sea
Cling to blankets, shelter, each other
An archipelago of contained air
All that holds us
Up inflatable dinghies,
Flotsam unstable
We call to each other
Sun-drenched dazed
Testing our new words
Like… beach balls….
Flood….
Antediluvian–
post-apocalyptic always
Cup your hands
Across your eyes
Look to the deep
Where the leviathan hides
Home.
Martha Speaks, Mary Speaks
I love the PBS show Martha Speaks. Martha is a very lovable talking dog who teaches vocabulary lessons. One of the reasons I love PBS kids is the safety inherent in these child-centered communities. Such safe places.
In today’s episode Martha becomes discouraged when her constant chatter is not appreciated. She neglects her speech and has to resume talking quickly to foil a crime.
I feel for Martha. Often people don’t appreciate words. Some things are difficult to face, much less talk about. This episode always makes me grateful for those who expose crime and injustice. Like my adopted daughter, for instance. She helped her little sister get help. She spoke out.
Thanks kid.
The Bad Days
Some days are just hard. You could tell me I need more sunlight or you could tell me that I need to leave the past behind me. I wouldn’t advise it, but you could.
But what I would say–
Grief is a big dog sitting on your chest
An arrow lodged in my sternum
The shadow on my daughter’s
Face
Lost people
And the dream of a family where everyone is safe
Someday.
April.
Google holidays and earmarked days in April. What do you get? Doctor Day? Earth Day? STD Awareness? Our calendar is littered with days of remembrance, but how about child abuse?
There are supposed to be child abuse awareness marches today. Heard about them?
How about crime victims? This week is dedicated to crime victims. Heard about that?
We get really quiet when it comes to child advocacy and victims’ rights.
Why?
Why are we so afraid to speak for the children? Why are we equally skittish about protecting crime victims?
Who speaks for the voiceless? Do you?
Our Inner Voice
I just read a poster–
the way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice.
Wow, I thought, true.
I remember my grandmother’s wake–old style, do-it-right southern luncheon. I could hear her voice in my head exclaiming over how delicious the fried chicken was. That was the last time I heard her voice.
My mother’s voice haunts me. I miss her laugh and her intelligence and her occasional generosity. But there are many things she says to and about me I do not miss. I have taken steps to avoid those painful words.
After my daughters’ counselor read Just she said, Now I understand why you are such a careful parent.
I want more than anything for my children’s inner voice to be one of profound wisdom and love.
A love that lasts forever.
Carrying Light 