The Real Quiet Place

In the stories of Jesus’ public ministry there are accounts of people who have been healed of skin diseases which would have set them apart from their communities due to infection prevention measures codified by the Mosaic law.

In some of these stories, Jesus heals them and gives them permission to not tell people they were ever infected with these diseases.

I think this injunction was made (at least in part) to allow them to have a new life, unencumbered by prejudice.

When my family moved to a new place a few years after we found out that our adopted son had sexually assaulted some of our children, I realized that this was our chance to “start anew.”

We had pushed for legal consequences for Charles. We had a good counselor in the aftermath. We moved to protect the children. We were open with everyone in our previous community.

But we chose to continue

To tell our story.

The result has been fascinating and lonely.

There is a lot of prejudice about victims of sexual abuse and their families, maybe especially in churches.

We could be contagious?

Maybe

Or maybe it is our openness that scares them.

Either way, we call it “the island.” We live on an island

An island made of truth and pain and loneliness

With a single, unwavering resident

The one who heals us.

The one who knows this quiet place.

The one who tells us the truth will set us free.

My family is healthy, happy, and stable because we have never tried to hide

The story of our grief

But it can be quiet

On the island.

Planting Daisies

I pull down the old book, look for recipes for cultivating children, like the time she sewed the earth with dragon’s teeth and made them into men…

I don’t want men

I want daisies

Dozens and dozens, hundreds and hundreds, legions and legions, fields upon fields

Filled with Bellis perennis–beauties everlasting

Because only God can

Make lasting

Children out of words

And wildflowers

lighthouse

I started this blog eight years ago, when it became clear that no one was going to come to our rescue.

At that time the issue was my adopted son, who had sexually assaulted some of my children and some of the other children we knew, was being released from the Texas juvenile system. He would not have to register. His crimes had been lessened in a plea bargain, and then they were to be sealed.

We lived in the house where he had lived, where he had hurt the children.

I started the blog because I didn’t own a gun. I started the blog so there would be a record.

It has become more than all of that, and (at least so far) we have survived.

I believe in writing. I believe words can stand where people have walked away. So that is what lighthouse is about–a blog about fosters

Wherever you may find us.

3.5

What if God were just twice as smart as you? Twice as nice. Twice as precise. Would you worry then, Darling?

Worry about the things He would tell you

Before, not after, the flood

The possibility of both

Righteous anger and a casual

Ordinary

Blast of glory

Refuting all the

niggling details of narcissism

And all your little monsters

Eyeing you hungrily from their corners

Waiting to take all

The clues, the love-notes, the blazing stars

He has strewn about this place

Only hope for

Ransom.