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.

Unravel

Odysseus,

I picture her each night
Her hair, the yarn unravel
All the work of a single day
Woven and unwoven
Like the even exchange
Of breath in and out

Her days are split
Between unwelcome suitors
And reflexively scanning the horizon
For the husband of her youth

Waiting.
Holding the wolves at bay
Unspooling the skein of her work
Making it invisible
To save the idea of a man,

Odysseus.

Eclipse

The exact wording eludes me–
A search for words
About an eclipse of the sun
Something like
If you want to look directly into the eclipse
Seek professional help

Psychiatric or astronomical?
I wonder
It sticks
As I stagger about
Sunblind like Jocasta
Because I looked directly
At the monstrous darkness
Ringed by blinding light

Love me, love my sheep

Love has become one of the most abused words in America. It seems to mean a lot of things to a lot of people–sex, pride, ceremony, donuts, but rarely does it resemble the human picture God gave us for love–Jesus, whose name means “God saves.”

How? Poor life, misunderstanding, hunger, humility, some blazing sermons a few resurrections and then the most brutal execution in the history of the universe.

Read that again and think about what it means–Love.

Then He rises from the dead.

Love. Again.

Love is well and thoroughly defined by Jesus but then he lets Paul, James and John define it as well.

Wanna know if you really love?
Ask yourself if you would endure what Jesus endured for someone.

Then for the love of God, protect that person from the dogs–coyotes–wolves of this world.

Because if you won’t it’s not love.

John 21:15-19

How to heal sexual abuse

Imagine your child is the most beautiful baby in the world. Now imagine they are a beautiful toddler, then preschooler and then kindergartner.

(yes, I know your child is the most beautiful of all these things–this is why I wrote it that way– so you could empathize)

Imagine you homeschool because you enjoy time with your child so much. Imagine your child is both smart and good, charming and graceful and funny.

Now imagine you discover that your child has been sexually abused by someone they trusted. Someone you let be around your child. You trusted the abuser too.

When you find out that all this has happened before your child is 6, how will you feel? What will you do?

I can only tell you what I did. The first thing I did was grieve. I cried for at least a month. I cried for three years. I cried yesterday.

The next thing I did was ask how could I have missed it? The abuser was highly deceptive. Most are.

Then I stared right into the face of an awful list. On it were:

Acting out sexually
Academic problems
Bedwetting
Anger issues
Small cutting
Depression
Suicidal behavior
Poor hygiene
Gender identity crisis
Eating disorder
Low self esteem

Imagine you are the mother of the most beautiful child in the world and you do not want your child to struggle with the things on that list. You want healing.

I prayed and the answer I got was remarkably simple: the truth will set you free.

I had a hard time at first because of the list. I hated the idea that people would judge my child because of what had been done to her instead of seeing she was not those things.
She was just another 5 year old crime victim. Five year old rape victim.

You don’t get your head around that right away. Hurts too much.

But I began to tell our story. I used the language of the criminal code because what had been done was a crime.

As I told the story I found out one thing for sure: the list is wrong, really wrong.

How do I know? Because the vast majority of rape and child sexual abuse survivors never show up on the list, never reveal their stories.

They live quiet, normal, functioning lives with no predetermined set of symptoms from the list except the terrible loneliness and pain that comes with the betrayal of their innocence and the added weight of attempting to heal alone.

Why would they need to heal alone?
The list.
Who wants to have to deal with terrible pain of sexual abuse AND the stigma of that list?

Not me. I wouldn’t. But I have chosen to let the truth set me free and it has.

My beautiful child is no more at risk of the things on that list than any other child. In fact she is far less so.

Why?
Because she has me and I would swallow a world of pain, humiliation and prejudice before I would let her walk the road into adulthood alone.

In fact. I want to get rid of the list. It a terrible fiction.

Forgiveness

She is a tough mama
Says things like
listen carefully
And be still

Of course she is swamped with work
Mostly contract–
Cleaning up crime scenes
And the debris left by careless
Men

She does not make the stuff she cleans
Disappear
She simply packs it away
In suitcases which resemble– safes
Attaché cases
Body bags
Zip

Then she turns to the aggrieved
Yes, the aggrieved
with her steely-eyed gaze
Says c’mon
Let’s drag this
To yonder cross.

My friend

Anger is my intimate
Companion
Eyes me over soup
Shouts instructions
As I mow the lawn
He has the worn face
Of a college professor
The demeanor of a silent
Partner
In what?
You are right to ask

Why is he here?
Oh, I will blink,
As I think how to phrase this…

He helps me to articulate
Why I am so dependent on
His wife, Forgiveness,
For everything