I heard this on Christian radio today, right after they played needtobreathe’s Multiplied, a song I take seriously.

To paraphrase John the Beloved– there are not books in the world to write down all he has done.

Jesus hasn’t just saved my life, he has challenged me to live brave when I am a coward, to love the unlovable because I am one, to see the night sky differently and to acknowledge that

He is not a tame lion.

Having a relationship with Jesus should be challenging. It should abolish our prejudices and take us outside our comfort zones on a regular basis.

It should be bigger than us. A strong, insistent wind.

And it can be quite lonely and humbling and heartbreaking.

I often think that western ideas of “evangelism” are inefficient and strange precisely because we have lost sight of our Main Man.

Having a relationship with Jesus is like having a relationship with your own heart or lungs.

Where ya gonna go? This guy has life, and that more abundantly.

It will cost us stuff. Stuff we will think we cannot bear to pay.

But no matter what that cost, it has cost him more.

And he paid it for me.

I lost your real name a long time ago when I lost you.

I am reminded of it every day, because when you lose a child you don’t recover. You might survive it, but you don’t recover.

You should remember when you grow up, meet your real mom, become who you will be–

A person is haunted by all those lost days–lost pigtails, birthday parties, school pictures.

You just miss the kid. All the time. And the very best you can do is look for her face in every crowd. Pray for her happiness at every meal. Wish her well.

Wish you well. I will always wish you well, because you were my baby.

Always.

I wanted to title this “sea monsters”
Because no one believes they are real

So one less thing to worry about, right?

But an unrestrained, mentally unbalanced family member?

All too real.

It is an utter, shameless, flagrant failure of law enforcement that led directly to tragedy in a quiet Spring, TX neighborhood.

He should have been in prison for attempting to murder his wife.

He should have been in jail facing charges for attempting to murder his own mother.

Dozens of people knew this man was not safe.

And now a brave young girl faces a life of unspeakable sorrow because we did not stop him soon enough.

If we are not willing to pay to prevent crime, we leave it to the victims to pay, forever.

A Sudanese appeals court released Meriam Ibrahim today.

Thank You, God.

The story has been told too many times–a woman, a girl, gang raped by a group of males. Often beaten as well. Left for dead.

I cannot bring myself to call them men. Anyone who would do this to another human being is a monster, not a man.

Men must have some moral code. To rape teenage girls and then hang them is such an atrocity, such a clear sign of a broken system–a system that has made it clear that in India it is open season on women and children.

As appalling as the crimes themselves?

A police force that turns the other way, tacitly affirming that the victims lack any protection from the law.

We in American may look at these stories and choose to believe that it could only happen there, not here when in fact the torture and murder of African Americans in the South during decades of racial oppression proves differently.

These terrible crimes need only two contributing factors–hate, and a government that refuses the protection of the law to its most defenseless citizens.

We expend our words extravagantly about the wisdom of our poets, our beloved memoirists, but it sometimes seems as though we pick and choose our stories.

I heard yesterday about Maya’s “abusive childhood” and the years she spent in silence. But I heard little to indicate we as a nation are willing to examine the take-away of the very things that defined Maya and her titular caged bird.

Because the issue of caged birds is a thorny problem.

Angelou went mute for years as a child because she felt responsible for the death of her abuser.

She was not. He was. He was responsible for violating her and the law and then in turn the law was responsible for a completely inadequate response.

We tout the years of silence instead of decrying a lost childhood and a deeply riven justice system.

Not much has changed. I am convinced that it might have been more effective for me to choose years of deliberate silence over the quiet futility of decrying our inattention to sexual assault survivors.

Except for this: my daughters deserve to watch me fight for them. They deserve to let me carry the futility and the anger just a little.

When so many of us refuse to carry it at all.

The year I found out my adopted son was a felon I fasted a lot. It was survival fasting–not so much about food or no food, more about please, God, help us survive this.

He did.

But at my low points I still questioned whether fasting helped.

Meriam Ibrahim reminds me why we fast, so I decided to…fast again.

Governments protest. Lawyers appeal. Journalists report. A young mother languishes in jail, facing torture and death.

Such pain and uncertainty defies description.

It seems a small thing to beg God to spare her.

Please. For her little ones. Please…