Public Executions in North Korea

The news is grim.

In North Korea it is a capital offense to watch movies or own a Bible.

Recently I have read several articles about genocides in Africa, the lingering tragedy of the holocaust, and the absolute scourge of human trafficking. This world is full of human cruelty, and no country on the planet typifies the extent of this darkness more than North Korea.

What can be done?

Prayer is essential. But make no mistake, prayer is the earnest supplication of authority. We should pray to the King of kings for those whose lives are marked by misery and injustice.

But we should seek justice from lesser authorities as well. Where is our moral voice in this? Why is the world so mute when atrocity is at our doorstep?

Who will speak for those who already reside in hell?

And what cost to our souls if we stay silent?

Hat People Myopia

I have a childlike way of seeing the world. There is a story in The Little Prince that I have found very useful over the years.

The narrator tells us that he once drew a picture of a snake swallowing an elephant. When he showed the picture to most people the drawing they exclaimed,

nice hat!

They could not picture the inside of the snake–the hidden elephant, if you will. He determined to talk to the hat people about insubstantial things–golf, the weather.

I find my hat picture is acknowledging great darkness in this world. Who wants to read about child abuse? Who really wants to write about it?

Not me.

I would rather not. I have done it aggressively, unapologetically over the last two years because I realized that it is a too-common story exacerbated and perpetuated by silence.

It has been an ugly cause. Made the more ugly for me personally because I realize how many “good” people do nothing.

I won’t ever be good at talking about golf while the world is burning.

Someone I cared about and once trusted as an elephant-seer had a conversation with me that reminded me how lonely the world of the abuse survivor can be.

The person’s discomfort was palpable and they couched it in terms of my Christianity. I have a feeling a lot of people look at my story of unhappy endings and think,

she must have done something wrong.

Of course I have! I am a sinner. But mental illness and child abuse happen everywhere, not just in my life. We don’t talk because have been taught to be ashamed.

That is not freedom in Christ. Freedom in the love of God involves a central story of pain, humiliation, agony, the death of God.

I cannot see the survivors of the crucifixion singing glib songs of cheap sentiments in the days of the cross.

Beware of people who preach resurrection joy without crucifixion agony.

The story of heaven can only be told if someone is willing to reckon with hell.

Thank God He did.

Approaching the Infinite

My young son poses the greatest math questions–

Is x 15 hundred thousand million billion? Is y 85 hundred 251 thousand 6725 million?

Yes. I know that means I need to work on number sequence with him, but there is a lovely poetry to his big, big numbers that I am not anxious to lose.

He approaches the infinite with gusto.

We, the American tax payers, often seem to have even less of a grasp of the bigness of big numbers. We need to break them down into meaningful units.

A trillion, for instance. Do you know how much a trillion is? A trillion dollars? A trillion stars? If we are ever to regain our fiscal footing we all must face an unimaginable debt. A debt in the trillions. Lots and lots of them.

And how about a billion? A billion people? A billion years? It is easy to pretend to grasp numbers that are beyond our normal comprehension.

And even a few hundred million. Heck, let’s just say 65. Sixty five million is great lottery payout, but a nightmarish loan.

Be careful of the debt you are not rich enough to pay by yourself. Be careful not just about money–here today, gone tomorrow, but the other kinds of debt a human can incur.

Grace or judgment on each note.

Blackhawk Down

This is the anniversary of tragedy in Mogadishu.

But my sense of loss over these events has bled outward through the years.

When it happened I wondered why Clinton waffled so badly not just in Somalia but even more tragically in Rwanda.

The gruesome loss of American lives in Africa would eventually be overshadowed by the meaninglessness of their sacrifice–no one came to save the Somalis and no one came to save the Rwandans.

And really, Who will save any of us?

We call ourselves a rich country but we are debt-soaked and impoverished, too spoiled and weak to pass a balanced budget and live within our means.

And yet our moral deficits outstrip our fiscal woes. Clinton was a moral-less man yet so many revere him. All I can see is the people he let down–people who expected him to use his office to protect the innocent not debauch young women.

And that is where the story gets personal. In 1998 when I was losing a foster daughter to a fixed adoption, Clinton was embroiled in a sex scandal. I wrote his wife asking for a federal review of the illegal activities I witnessed as a foster parent.

Months later I got a form letter from her telling me to appeal to one of the people I had reported.

I got the message; I lost the child.

My remaining adopted children craved violence. They did not have much to work with at our house. Most of our movies were kid-friendly.

But the three my adopted son ferreted out because of their violence?

Tristan and Isolde
Blackhawk Down
The Passion of the Christ

Now both he and his sister glory in their horror movies.

Not perhaps realizing how close they are to autobiography.

Blackhawk Down….

In the spring of 2007 another Blackhawk helicopter came down near Opp, Alabama. This one had my father in it. He was on an accelerated schedule to train pilots for our foreign wars.

People whispered that Bush was at fault. The army had rushed training. The pilots my father taught were too green. There were flaws in the flight simulators.

His students walked away from the crash, my father did not.

Some accidents are “unsurvivable.” They change who we are forever.

There are two parts of the movie I cannot forget. In the first a fatally wounded soldier is told he will survive as his life bleeds out in the darkness.

In the second the survivors reach sanctuary.

In the end we will all face the unsurvivable wreckage of our broken lives. And when we do, only a Mighty Fortress will save us.

Social media games

The word games on Facebook drive me crazy. Really, people? Really?

You really don’t think I and 300 million other people cannot find a state, a drink, a dog’s name that doesn’t have “a” in it?!?

Yes. I know these games are just for fun, but their cloying recurrence on the Internet becomes a mild irritant to a reclusive evangelist with an ax to grind (me–a pronoun without an a).

The truth is there is a question we cannot afford to neglect and it has nothing to do with spelling.

It is this–name anyone or thing other than Jesus that can save you.

Yep. I said the j word.

Everyone is looking–money, sex, fame…combing our small and brief horizons for anything, anyone who can save us.

When like milk, Connecticut, and Rex, the answer is right there before us–

Jesus.

A savior with no a in his name. Only love in his eyes.

Jizya and The Ugly Americans

I first heard of Jizya when I was studying history with my children. The caliphates of the near east would levy a tax on non-Muslim citizens.

It was couched as a brilliant stroke of evangelism and diplomacy–the tax encouraged conversion by presumably making space for other religions.

The present iteration of Jizya emerging from places like Egypt and Syria is brutal. Survivors report demands for cash combined with murder. Coming out of countries where we are shaping policies?

The United States is simply responsible if we push the agenda of, provide monetary support for, or look the other way when any foreign entity extorts and murders on our watch.

The Jizya stories have so far been confined to the margins of journalism about Syria and Egypt.

Ask yourself these questions–

Who are the “good guys” in these countries?

Who are we supporting?

And if you, like me, read a lot of news and still don’t see those things spelled out by our government and media…

Why?

Why don’t we know?

The Conjuring and Haunted People

I do not like horror movies for one simple reason: violence and pain is not entertaining.

There is too much real horror in the world for us to get our jollies from “fake” horror.

So I was intrigued when I read about The Conjuring, no real violence? Only a modicum of bloodshed? Has a man known for his scarifying horror porn turned a corner in making a scary movie with old-school methods instead of new-school exploitation?

Perhaps. But I don’t usually stray into movie review just for kicks.

The reviewer I read pointed out that most of us just say–why doesn’t the family move? That is the second time this week someone has posed that question in connection with horror. The first time the question was in response to the 7 deadliest neighborhoods in the US. A friend asked–why don’t they just move?

There is no reason why a fictional family beset by camera-funded haunts could not up and move except the placement of the crafts services table.

In real life however, the answer is right up front–poverty. People stay because they are too poor to move. The neighborhoods stay dangerous because poverty does not fund decent law enforcement.

Poverty begets crime, neglect, and the exploitation of our most vulnerable citizens.

When the money is gone so is the safety. We live in a dangerously impoverish country–little girls left in trash bins and garbage bags. Grown women murdered by a sex offender who stalked their neighborhood…then left them curled in trash bags. Kidnapping and harm.

The value of human life is plummeting in our country. Law enforcement does not keep us all safe–especially in the poorest places.

Ironic. We all know this movie will gross millions, hundreds of millions, all the while the gleaming cities of America go bankrupt, and more children die in our haunted streets.

Where could we move to be safe?

Losing people

A few days ago I received an email from a family member–normal right?

I could tell this person’s email account had been hijacked because s/he and I do not have a family relationship anymore. S/he joined the ranks of friends and family who were so chagrined by me that the relationship could not be repaired.

Close relations of crime victims often inflict terrible secondary wounds.

They are ashamed of me and my story and to preserve their “normal” life they do really wretched things.

Friends can be equally painful. They stop being friends, shrinking quietly into the shadows, not calling, not inviting our family to events. That familiar blanched look of fear…silence…gone….

I had a friend who was a sister to me. Unlike many she stuck with me through the shock, grief, and early period of survival, but she deeply disapproved of my public efforts to draw attention to what happened to us. Too public…to noisy…

She is gone. It hurts.

The list gets longer and more erratic after that–people who make their money from shepherding other people–gone or worse–cruel.

You start to rethink people. The world seems increasingly lonely.

Yesterday the Christian Post asked if it’s readers experienced loneliness. A bunch vehemently denied it–

Never! I have God! Ditto!!! Double that!

But of course I have to be the lone dissenter. I said,

Jesus experienced loneliness, why shouldn’t I?

That is my motto and I am sticking to it. But I won’t lie to you–I wish I had kept my mouth shut for my children.

They had a shot at “normal,” if it weren’t for my big mouth.

The truth will set us free…no one said it would make us look normal.

Normal is the lie.

For all of us…not just mouthy me.

OJ Simpson, Trayvon Martin, and Justice in America

When OJ Simpson was on trial for murder I worked in an elementary school in a poor, urban area. Most of my colleagues were African American.

We huddled around the tv at lunch to see what was going on. I remember the day of the verdict. Most of my fellow teachers cheered as though their football team had won.

I wondered–

where was justice?

I really doubt that many of them actually thought Simpson was not guilty. What they thought was

life is not fair for black men in America.

It isn’t.

And now we see it not being fair again. We see justice again faltering–this time the victim is African American and the team cheering is white.

This is not a football game.

It is not right for any of us to be so blinded by the outside of another person’s life that we rejoice in their pain, their murder, or their injustice.

Do not tell me God is in charge in the world today if He is not in charge of your heart.

When we bay for blood, hate, and bottled feces in a world shot through with agony and loss we prove we know nothing about love.

And make no mistake. God is not our little Santa Claus, He is not the captain of the white folk football team.

He is love and He is coming soon, with justice in His strong right arm.

That should make us all pray hard. Because not not one of us is holy.
Not one.