Squirrel Heaven

You know I believe
No squirrel should die
Where children play

Yet the little one lies with its arms folded as if
In prayer, so peaceful looking for a violent demise
Car…speed…human indifference…

Squirrel heaven.
Do you believe in it–Squirrel Heaven
Or have you jettisoned the eternal for once and all?

As though you could
As though you had the power to make yourself
Less than forever

I keep thinking of a comforter–masculine, nautical stripes
For sale, at a tenth of its original value
At the catholic resale shop
Catholic with a capital sea?

Unending waves of loss

Could I stop them with this Comforter?
How many capital sees does it take
To build a shelter for this child
I hold in my mind
Her grief and bewilderment

Not all blankets
Are comforters

Jesus in this broken house

We are watching Bebo Norman sing Broken in a torn up house. The boys ask me why? Why is the house broken?

I say, he wanted to fix the broken house…likes to fix’em. Knows how…

Why?

Because He can…and it is a metaphor for us. Jesus was a carpenter, after all.

Their voices are overlapping–

We are all Jesus when we do what He would do…
He is here with us and in the broken house…
….Who would not want Jesus in their house?

They are bells on a cathedral.
Small, sure voices of love.

Unadorned God

We crave celebrity.

We want to be heard
Remembered
Immortal
Eternal

But what if God is all those things?

What if He is irresistible?

So He comes in disguise…

Ordinary baby
Refugee
Blue collar guy

So we have a choice to love Him

Undazzled by all these marks of a king
We see only the naked broken
Man instead–
All indignity
our collective broken
Soul

I parse this down for the crazy woman
You will meet in the parking lot
Where the carts are mere flocking birds

To tell you
do not miss this
Irresistible Love-
God with all the cities of the world
In His Eyes

The Four Horsemen

Apocalypse has been rendered almost meaningless. Which is odd when its shadow grows long and dark with this final sunset of our story.

Our story–history, this powerful thing between us.

These horsemen comfort me, despite all tangible logic: because they are real. My fear is not irrational….

He takes the form of “a Lamb that was slain”…breaks the seal…unleashes these visions of woe.

Could I look them in the face? Brace myself for the blows? No.

Make them fierce to let us know that our nightmares and histories are the same.

Men once torched Prague and watched it burn with their shiny jackboots mirroring dark destruction. Who will save us from ourselves? A day’s wage for this handful of flowers. Flowers we leave on these graves. These graves etched in stone. Our own.

September Girl

Cassandra’s foster mother once told me that all children have a birthing story. With each parent–biological, foster, adoptive.

I held onto her words when things were hard with M and C. They often were. so much so that I doubted myself until the day I met you–September 22nd, 1997. You were only a couple weeks old–tiny and perfect–and I loved the feeling of complete safety in the NICU.

They trained me in infant CPR and how to use your apnea monitor. Then I took you home. From the moment I met you I loved you. Perfect and wonderful and entirely lovable.

So grateful for you, no matter how unbearable it would be later to lose you.

Splitting Hairs, Not the moon

Information about Adnan Syed’s last appeal suggest that one of the central points of the appeal is that he wanted to cop a plea.

A plea bargain (had it been solicited or offered) would have required Adnan to admit in court, under oath, that he had killed Hae Min Lee.

He would have plead guilty to a reduced charge (like 2nd degree murder, perhaps) and in exchange he would have received a reduced sentence.

No SK. No Serial. No lingering questions.

And no justice for Hae, her broken family, her community, peers, and loved ones.

So when the most truculent and vociferous proponents of the “Free Adnan” movement speak exclusively of the collateral damage to Adnan and his supports, I have to wonder if they have lost sight of the heart of this story–the agony of a lost daughter, a lost girl, a broken-hearted family, and the physical reality of a young woman brutalized and murdered.

I would ask these people how can the bay and croon over a man accused of murder and stay so conspicuously indifferent to the real and only true victim in this story–Hae Min Lee.

Jay.

Thank you for talking to The Intercept. You have a right to tell your story.

I wish I could say this to you directly–to say you are believed and that you did the right thing testifying and that I am sorry that your life has been put on display.

I feel bad for you and all the other students who knew Hae. You all were changed by Hae Min Lee’s murder.

And whatever else happened, you deserve to be believed.

The Korean American Women Left Out In the Cold By Serial

Sarah Koenig has done many things well in Serial. But she has a big tell which betrays a serious and inexcusable bias.

She constantly refers to this story of the murder of a vibrant young Korean American honors student as “Adnan’s case.”

This has never really been Adnan’s case.

This is Hae Min Lee’s case.

By focusing on Adnan, not Hae, Serial has willfully ignored some big unanswered questions.

1. Hae’s car

If Ronald Lee Moore was a burglar (rapist and murderer) wouldn’t he have stolen the car?!

(…and how did Jay know where the car was?)

The accident in December is more important than Sarah makes out. It gives Adnan a template for what happens on January 13th.

2. Hae’s culture

This is the area of reportage most visibly and cavernously neglected by Serial.

In order to understand how Hae was murdered and by whom you have to examine who she trusted and who she would not have trusted and why.

She would not under any circumstances have given a ride to a stranger. Which meant that her body would have had signs of Moore’s typical blunt-force assault, rape, and trauma if he had been involved. He would have had to subdue her against her will in public, in daylight.

Hae, and Hyang Suk were both from a culture and a community with a strong inculcated sense of xenophobia. Neither would have allowed a strange man in their car or house willingly.

Which means that in the timeline of the last known day of Hae Min Lee’s life you have to ask who would have had the ability to convince Hae to let him (or her or them) in? Who would she have allowed in her car on the way to picking up her young cousin?

Ronald? No way.

Jay? Maybe…but highly unlikely.

Adnan? Almost certainly.

There is a heartbreaking news clip from the time of the murder trial. Hae’s mother speaks in Korean as Hae’s brother translates.

She refers to the alleged murderer as Hae’s “friend.”

Not boyfriend.

Not lover.

The fact and force of her daughter’s murder devastated Hae’s mother. Yet even in that devastation she resorts to the word “friend” when describing her daughter’s alleged killer.

The fact of her daughter’s sexual contact with Adnan would have been terribly painful to acknowledge…because honor matters to Koreans. It is intimately layered into their language and culture.

It stays layered into their culture long after they have emigrated, long after the line one might draw between “Korean” and “Korean American.”

Hae Min Lee was a Korean American. Hae Min Lee was an American woman.

But she has yet to receive justice or anything like it from other American women who doggedly refuse to see her as a person, a sister, daughter, or friend who deserved both protecting from the law and a voice.

Serial may have done many things well, but in its haste to defend Adnan, it has left non-white, non-privileged women to fend for themselves once again.

I keep thinking about the phrase–a jury of your peers.

Did Adnan receive justice from a jury of his peers? Maybe, maybe not.

Did Hae, or Hyang Suk?

Absolutely not.

…they never had a chance.

A Letter to the Guilty

I was struck by a stranger’s assertion–a totally innocent person.

There are no totally innocent people. No one is that good. We ride our bicycles in the darkness without a light, go places and do things we simply should not. Not go. Not be. Not do.

It seems to me that putting two teenagers on display for a gruesome, heartless murder is a little like putting them into an ancient coliseum, only our lions are as digital as our judgement.

We say none of the things we should say. We are afraid of the truth. Simple, awful truth.

Truth: a young girl’s sexual partner can harm her. Irrevocably harm her.

Truth: there are great, tragic gaps in the story of Hae Min’s murder that should have been filled by adults–mentoring, listening, intervening, protecting.

People can be dangerous, prone to violence and heartbreak.

And….

All our empty words cannot bring back the dead.

It is difficult for me to believe that Jay fabricated his story whole cloth. It makes more sense that he found himself trapped inside a story of violence and death and told parts of a terrible truth.

But “part of the truth” is not enough for any of us to survive. What we all need is naked truth, but naked truth is excoriating–tearing families, communities, faith, and assumptions.

Naked truth requires a Savior–

Our single and only Totally Innocent Man.

He died surrounded by the guilty

He died to pay for the last choking lonely terrible life of a girl who fell into the hands of violence.

He died for us, the broken.

Not just for the terrible secrets of two boys involved in a crime. But all of us as well.

All cries for justice and truth lead inexorably to the Cross…