Category Archives: parenting

Jesus Had Two Dads…

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Ironically I first ran across this interesting “justification” of same sex parenting when I was researching the story of a young boy who was trafficked and sexually exploited by his “dads.”

I still grieve for him and the terrible tragedy of his life with them…and I ask who will pick up the pieces?

There are plenty of wretched parents of all sorts of backgrounds, and I do not–not think that homosexuality disqualifies a person from great parenting any more than I believe that heterosexuality engenders great parenting.

Let’s face it, most of us are just ok parents, and some of us are just plain lousy.

But back to the marquee statement–

Jesus had two dads…and he turned out ok.

When I read that statement my first reaction is–really?!?

And my second is–have you read the story?!!

Dying beaten and broken on a Roman cross is not ok.

It is the death of a criminal.

Jesus died with murders, thieves, terrorists.

He believed he was paying the ultimate price for a broken world.

Do you?

How to be a failure

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First of all, let me restate for the record:

I am an egregious sinner and a (to quote my adopted daughter)–“failed parent.”

So yeah. Don’t be me:)

Second, a story…

When I first became a parent it was to a 12 year old boy who had been through hell.

He flipped out fast, threw rocks at our neighbors’ cars, and his caseworker told us our only option was to call the police.

Our next two charges we kept, despite the fact that they screamed at the top of their lungs 2-3 hours a day.

We lived in a cute little neighborhood. Imagine our neighbors’ chagrin when the howling started and their tremendous relief when we finally moved.

Imagine being young, reasonably cute and surrounded by a maelstrom of LOUD everywhere you went.

I still can’t believe we did it.

But we did.

Because we believed

In Jesus

Still believe, actually.

Before I wrote this I asked my oldest biological child how how life would have been different for this child and the family if I had followed advice we have encountered over and over about hiding our adopted son’s predations.

The answer was a chilling thing–

If I had, if we had, hidden the crimes against our children and supported their predator, we would have unleashed darkness on our children.

In other words–we had to tell the truth, be the failures in the eyes of family, church, and community to succeed in the one thing that matters–showing our children they are precious.

In fact I would say this to all of them the same–you are precious.

And if you are a threat to yourselves or others I will be the first person to call the police.

Because, my dear, we all deserve the law–it’s gravity and protection.

Beneath a grim and unavoidable Cross.

RAD Memories

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I had a dream a few nights ago. I had no money, no means of buying things. I had been given the task of engaging my adopted daughter (who has disowned me) in a conversation.

Because it is a dream, I choose to discuss an array of roasted and cooked chicken that is behind a butcher’s counter.

I try to keep the conversation very neutral, very chicken-focused.

Because when your kid is RAD that is how you learn to roll…even in your subconscious.

I am going to start laying out my memories of life with my adopted children. Like an old woman pulling sweaters from the attic. I need to organize this thing….the life we lived together.

The first thing you should know is the last thing that happened–she cut me off because she suspected I had reported her brother….suspected him of child abuse.

Ironically, as with so many things before, she unleashed her anger on the alleged reporter instead of facing the crime.

The terrible crime.

Surviving RAD–so far

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I don’t mind saying it–some of my biggest heroes are the fostering and adopting parents of attachment disorder kids.

RAD is the nightmare consequence of leaving a baby without physical and emotional nurture. It is a scary mix of pathological thinking and behavior.

It deserves to be a household word, but it is not.

RAD is preventable–babies need the security of physical and emotional caregiving. They need to know that when they cry someone will respond to their needs. They need to know love.

If they do not get that love and security their brain functions and emotional wiring gets pretty messed up.

Scary messed up.
Impossibly tangled.

Recently Reuters and other news sources have focused on the rise of an informal networks developed to help adoptive parents with disrupted adoptions–many because of RAD.

I have read the installments with a grim empathy…for the parents…

As the adoptive mother of two RAD kids, I know exactly what drives well-intentioned parents to abandon fheir kids.

After reading this article I am deeply grateful we all survived.

So far…

RAD parenting–no hugs, no learning

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Recently I have wanted to find a book, a blog, a map for what happens to reactive attachment kids when they grow up. I haven’t found it yet and it’s absence in my life has been a reason to keep writing.

No two human beings respond to the same life trauma in the same way. One dude with a lonely, difficult childhood invents physics, another robs banks.

Same with RAD kids. Everyone gets a chance to write the story of their own lives. “My” RAD charges are not writing great stories.

In addition to a tendency to lie rather flagrantly and manipulate people without shame, the RAD adults I know are bullies, using the force of emotion and accusation to intimidate.

I worry about the children in their care.

Children whose babyhood and childhood begin to mirror the lives of their mothers, fathers, uncles, aunts–young people who have not come to terms with their own childhoods and the toxic wounds created by the absence of love.

Bread for stones

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Jesus gives a powerful analogy for the love of God.

He said that human parents are evil but they still give their children good things. Fish instead of snakes. Bread not stones to eat. He then completes the thought–if we are so messed up but we still do right by our kids. How much more does God bless, love, and nurture?

Great, unless your parent doesn’t do those things.

What if your mother gives you a snake? What if your father gives you stones for bread? What then?

God is enough. He allows His precious children to be raised by wolves, but He sends a Lamb to save us.

Stones always remind me of Jesus. I think about the weight of small stones and imagine the size, weight, and impossibility of the stone in front of the tombs.

God gave his own most beloved son a stone. And that Son emerged alive. The Bread of Life.

Stones for bread.
Bread for stones.
Always Jesus.

Who Killed Antonio Santiago?

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I remember being shocked and outraged by the original story–an unsuspecting mama is accosted by a couple of African American teens and her baby is murdered .

Appalling, right?

When the story re-surfaced meme-style as a defense for racism and murder I left it alone. I thought–tragic, but the assailants were charged.

Then my fellow child advocate, Miranda Yonts posted very quiet updates on the story.

It seems that there are other suspects in the case–the baby’s parents. Both tested positive for gunshot residue.

When you go back to the original story something stands out–the original suspects were tagged based on truancy records. Mama says–two black teens and the system finds two black teens. They might be guilty of nothing more serious than skipping school.

Four suspects. A terrible story. Who do you believe?

The Practice of Justice

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When I mull over the latest horrendous story of a child being exploited or murdered I think–somewhere in the multiverse there is a version of me who writes a blog on great chili recipes.

I hate this beat.

But I write about it because I know that exploited children are forgotten, marginalized, stigmatized, and dismissed.

How do I know? Because my children are crime victims. It has been a lonely road for all of us. We have lost family and friends. People react with distance at best. I am not going to catalog “at worst.”

But here is the thing–my kids–the crime victims are vibrant, intelligent, compassionate, wise beyond their years.

I write for them in belief that many other children who have been victimized deserve to heal with dignity.

They deserve a voice.

If you say you are “against child abuse” but then sideline, stigmatize, and ignore actual victims you drive home a message of silence, oppression, and injustice that indeed speaks louder than words.

It all comes down to who you actually invite to your party. That is the test of justice. Ironically it is also the measure of love.

OJ Simpson, Trayvon Martin, and Justice in America

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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.

Predator Warning

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My dog likes his walks, and my schedule usually makes walking possible after dark.

Last night we were walking in a suburban neighborhood in the hill country when I crossed the street toward what looked like a black dog, perhaps the shadow of a dog?

I had not gotten all the way across the street when the animal emitted a loud, threatening feline hiss.

Dog and I made for the opposite side of the street! I think it was a panther, maybe a bobcat. I have heard mountain lions before and this one did not have a typical mountain lion lament…

It was spooky, and even weirder in the midst of houses.

I think I should probably warn the people in the neighborhood. I doubt myself wondering– who will care? Who would listen?