An image has been taken, carefully constructed–a smiling woman with her small child, a pink placard, and a message of support for the categorical destruction of babies remarkably similar to her own.
When I was younger the rhetoric surrounding the clinical extermination of humans before the age of birth was careful, reluctant, almost sheepish or apologetic. Famous among these voices was Hillary Clinton who said that the aim of promoting legal abortion was to make it, “…rare”
When I was younger “the unborn” were called babies by those on both sides of the argument.
When I was unborn, abortion was illegal.
Now there is a veritable cacophony of irate institutions and voices–democratic presidential hopefuls, movie streaming services, (ironically) the Disney company, a long list of celebrities, and that smiling lady with her baby on the grass
All bent upon promoting and facilitating medical murder.
And with each carefully posed picture, each premeditated exclamation of outrage they push down the simple facts–we have laws in this country which promote and facilitate the brutal, violent, dehumanizing murder of millions of people.
People who would one day watch Disney movies
People who might subscribe to Netflix
People who would argue unequivocally for their own right to life
If they were allowed to live long enough to
where have all the flowers gone?
Our children all
We live our lives between Christmas and Easter
All that matters in between.
I read this morning that Sasha Obama may have made a decision about where she is going to college. I am happy for her. Happy she knows. Happy she is happy.
When I found out my daughters had been sexually abused by their adopted brother I was immediately aware of the similarities and differences between my children and Sasha and Malia.
Both sets of sisters are:
About the same age
Have well-educated parents
They even share the same initials
Years ago I asked myself, “what would the world do if the Obama girls had been the victims of felonies?”
Surely we would mourn and pour out support for them.
I would hope we would, at least.
My daughters were the victims of abuse during the Obama administration. The way they were treated by the criminal justice system was a function of the Bush and Obama administrations, as well as the specific decisions of the elected officials of all three of the branches of the state government of Texas.
My partner and I argue about why they have and are being treated a certain way when they apply to universities in Texas and elsewhere.
He says it is because they do not attend a public school and that is all.
I maintain that while that has been a point of obvious discrimination against one, the other seems to have encountered additional roadblocks because she has written openly about her status as the victim of a crime.
Committed against her all before her eighth birthday.
She had the courage to write about being a sexual assault survivor and is now experiencing what I call bureaucratic limbo.
I rejoice for the Obama girls, but I cannot help but wish my daughters had the same rights they have.
The right to education and the right to be heard.
Due process. I am still waiting for due process.
*Some names have been changed because I don’t always edit as carefully as I should.
I miss you girl
Miss your sister
Your nieces, nephews, cousins, children
Used to sing
Break-up songs for lullabies
Wish I could write you and me
A happy kind of story instead
No lost loves, no broken promises
Hope changed into
The steady gaze of a man who can build with his own two hands
For all us, broken
Matthew 1:1 NIV
 This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham:
Matthew seems pretty confident that Jesus is the Messiah, a word with so much power to reckon with us and all that has captured us that I am not sure how big or long or loud our explanations of Messiah could be and still be only an approximation of the real.
Some synonyms: King, Anointed, Savior, Redeemer, Ransomer, Hero, Deliverer, Protector
Just an ordinary looking guy with an odd refugee backstory who comes along, works with wood, talks some smack, heals the crowd, dies for all, inexplicably
The end-the beginning
for all of us.
having lost the ancient word for fire, underestimate it into neat concentric squares folded, shelved and forgotten next to ugly Christmas sweaters, baby pictures, and odd clay art projects of now-adult progeny
Neglect means nothing to it, coiled, implacable, unfazed by short and mortal attention spans
Let the last leaf fall but…
Do not neglect the sun
Content for now to burn
At a safe distance
Until the day it will unhinge from invisible moorings and float
Balloon-like Beauty towards us
Suddenly, immaculately attentive
To this nakedness before impending fire.
Crowded city, lonely manger
Tired little mama so close
to the house of bread
You tell me the story of
tokens we substitute for transubstantiation
Exchanging trinkets for the
Stuff of life (everlasting)
or looking for the little clues-
“The ones who still hold on”
So very far from home
He knows you
try to pull a fast one
Child with the big words
In his eyes
Calls your bluff
I know you love Christmas!
Light is no ordinary word when spoken
In the dark
Commanding songs of rescue from the sleep-deprived
Who ponder why
gifts for the
Who makes a transom from a cross.
think of the worst book
Each page, each word, each sentence
Awful for a long time until
They are re-written
With the simple line drawings of a child
Obscuring words and pictures of
darkness, evil, or moldy and stained
With the loveliest trees
Birds in flight /charcoaled nimbi
Their feathery heads tilted
Asking why are you sad?
Each page of darkness
Transformed by this
Light, where there used to be all those
Crayoned over/ into heaven
By this poet-redeemer
word spoke to life.