Meet Mrs. Whiskers

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By the time M was two she had a fully realized world of people she had created. They were and are vibrant characters.  This past year she wrote a story peopled by punctuation marks.  Also quite interesting.

I say this because she is a beautiful survivor.  She was being abused by Charles when she created her first kingdom.  These people we still love.

But she is haunted as well  knowing that Charles continued to abuse her little sister for a long time after she asked him to stop abusing her.  She assumed he would not abuse her little sister.  She was seven.

I am haunted by the abuse as well. There is a wall in my life that signifies S’s solitary hurt.  One night this week I wrote on it, first a memorial, then a Bible verse, then a picture of a cross.  Then I got an idea.  I realized that my children’s vividness overcomes evil.  Jesus brings new life.  So I painted a chalkboard over my grief wall.

First we wrote each other love notes.  Then M drew Mr. and Mrs. Whiskers.  They are English cousins of Harvey and we love their accents.

When she tells me about the Whiskers, I just hug her really tight.  It is grace to see an ordinary resurrection of something as pedestrian as a wall.

Grace.

Dear Mom,

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Here are some markers–I struggled with a sadness so strong when I was young that I frequently wished for death.  God would tell me, hold on, it will get better.  Your storms almost killed me.  How many times did you tell me you did not love me?

When I was 17 I saw that dad was not the bad guy.

When I was 22 I realized that I would have to weather your storms to make wise decisions

When I was 30 I faced my monsterization-just like grandma and grandpa.

When I was 30 I heard you hurt me viciously and intentionally.

When I was 34 I faced your mental illness.

When I was close to 40 I talked to you about it.  That did not go well.

 

For over 15 years I have weathered your vision of me–a monster.

I know you love your dogs more than me

You sided with a pedophile rapist over your grandchildren, his victims.

I do not believe this letter will reach you.

But it is the last way to say

I love you, get help

You need help.

 

In my Father’s House

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There is a camp that we go to every summer.  The kids love it.  Years ago it taught me about heaven–

Beautiful place/people kind, generous, helpful/full of joy/few there are afraid to be childlike/exuberant

Good dancing/food/music

This year we brought home a bug which is now besetting my 4 yr old

When he threw up at 2 am he apologized

My poor darling.

I told him that was why I am here.  No problem.  I love him.  I got it.

Jesus said in his Father’s house there are many mansions

Which is not an odd thing for a Carpenter God to say, but a very odd thing for a homeless non-materialist.  Like many things He says it illuminates when a person walks behind Him.

He means shelters

Hangouts

Splendor

He means God giving us His own

Beautiful Heart

dawkins, gervais, and mythologies

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So….the atheists I know have gods.  They tend to be egoism and stimulants, pride, and vanity along with other garden variety idols.  I find these side roads into idolatry particularly sad when dealing with atheistic myopia.

I wonder, do they really not see how important it is for the world to revolve around them?  When you are an atheist this is particularly sad because your life (by your faith’s disposition) has no more significance than a bit of plastic jetsam swirling around in the Pacific.  Idolatry of a plastic toothbrush, let’s call it.

By contrast there is Jesus.  His words are deep, warm, incisive, ironic, profound, and true, often all at once.  His voice resonates over the course of recorded history.  He is the antithesis of egoism.  There is no, “and then Jesus sat down to a satisfying breakfast of fried eggs” verse in the Bible.  There is some interesting stuff about Him NOT eating and casting out demons…oh, and raising the dead.  The dead.

His smallest words matter.  His weeping, His silence, His unbearable pain.  And then there is His advice–keep the eternal, lay up treasure that will not rust or rot.  He shows us how this is done

by dying to our egos and ourselves

by purchasing with our money, our time, and our hearts

treasure in Heaven.

treasure in Heaven…

What does God treasure?

Us.

we are His precious treasure

and just in case we did not see it, He makes His mark on the center of the map of human history

with a Cross

 

Toryn Buckman

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I became a foster parent because of stories like Toryn’s.  I quit foster parenting when I realized that the state of X was not in the business of rescuing the Toryns of the world.

I am not going to tell you what happened to her.  Google her.  I want you to read at least three articles about what happened to this precious little girl.  Then I want you to think about several things.

What is justice for Toryn?

Where does evil like this come from?

Where does it end?

Can we afford to wince and look away?

Are you sorry you read about her?  Was it a downer?  Would you rather have watched a juicy episode of Game of Thrones?  (Please don’t, by the way..)

Please understand me.  It is always easier to expect someone else to take care of the Toryn’s of the world, but it is impossible to believe no one suspected anything was wrong in the life of a child who was beaten to death over the course of at least six months.  What we do know is that no one saved her.

Let me repeat that again.

No one saved her.

 

As a christian I am as appalled by this story as most “normal” people–whatever their creed or belief.  But I have some answers for these questions, hard, difficult, stay up and pray and fast answers, but answers nonetheless.

My answers start with Matthew 18 and end with a River and a Tree for the healing of the nations.

And in the middle is a Man dying on the Cross of history, the rictus of pain for a little girl named Toryn and all of us.

Scarred Savior.  Scapegoat God.

S. speaks out

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My brother hurt me in unimaginable ways.  He broke my trust in love and in childhood.  I know he hurt everybody else in my family in all these ways too.  Sometimes I wish that he would have to face God for what he did.  I wish that he would be punished for what he did because it is not okay that he did it and he hurt our family.

Not safe

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It is not safe for women to drink in bars

It is not safe to date

It is not safe to send your children on school field trips

It is not safe to assume that your government won’t release sex offenders without any supervison

It is not safe to trust people in your family, at your church, in your home, or in public spaces

It is not safe to let your child out of your sight

 

Does this seem like a paranoid list?  Each “not safe” refers to a real story.  These are statements of fact based on real events.  Within the past few months two separate crisis counselors have told me that young women now accept date rape as an unavoidable reality.  And it is.

 

Think about what it means for all of us that getting someone drunk and drugged is an ACCEPTED form of rape.

 

Forgiveness is not the same as lying about the past

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A friend asked me, do you put the kids to bed and at least get five minutes to yourself?  No, I say, not really but I like them all…

Hours later I realize how strange that must sound, how incomplete.  What I see in my head is thirteen years of eidetic episodes of unlikable events–bullying, tantrums,  swearing, violent protracted rages, physical assaults, homicidal imaginary friends, routine larceny, and lies, cursing of the most egregious kind.  Some stories so awful I do not want to write about the hurt.  And all of this before the years of C’s sexual felonies were dragged to light.

Most sane and normal people would have known better, right?  We believed if we did not give up on m and c they would be good, or at least better because of love.  Because of Love.

Jesus said, greater love has no man than he lays down his life for his friend.

Somethings are easier than others to lay down, I say beneath the shadow of the Cross.

Those 13 years took things that did not belong to me from the most precious people I know.  To say I like my children is an understatement.

They are my heroes.

shame on Susan Sarandon

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I have lost all respect for all of the people involved in the movie, “That’s My Dad” but none more than Susan Sarandon.   How does a woman keep any vestiges of self respect when she acts in, promotes, and gets her daughter to participate in a movie which makes fun of child rape and a child sexual abuse victim?

What have we come to?  What has Susan come to?  Please protest this movie.  Please tell people to contact others including the producers of this movie to let them know that child rape is never funny.

Guys, profile 2

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Charming.  Well-spoken.  Educated.  Beautiful children.  A life story that seemed to suggest he was a good man, a caring father who had suffered a bit of injustice but was bravely shouldering his burden, taking care of his kids.  A brave single father who worked as an athletics director for a national non-profit. Single-handedly started a traveling basketball team for pre-teen girls.

When one of his victims reported him to her mother who then contacted his supervisors at the non-profit, the supervisors told the mother and the victim that her story was not true.  Mom told the girl to stop talking. No one called the police or CPS and Guy was able to continue to molest girls for several more years.

Eventually he was caught molesting a girl under ten years old.  Claimed it was a misunderstanding.  Took a plea bargain.

Has never admitted he is a pedophile even though he has multiple victims.