Why revenge is not sweet

For at least. a few months after I found out my children had been hurt by their adopted brother I would admit to other people that I had a desire to take him to a roadhouse down the street, announce his crimes and then close the door on him. I do not admit this with any pride, I tell this story because it is one step toward forgiveness.

There are things he could have done and can still do that are worse.

There are things he did which keep me up at night searching for answers.

And all humans are a rum bunch. Let’s be honest.

I am tired of reading about children being hurt. The more prolonged and grievous the hurt, the less I want to face it. But I do and I pray.

And I understand the wild and violent response people have toward the disembodied child abuser. The only problem is our wild cries for blood are not effective. And our response to real abusers is often muted and myopic.

My first question is–why not shut down NASA?

I know, you worry about all the unemployed astronauts, I would too if I did not already have a plan. Let’s take these extremely smart people preoccupied with the elusive quest for martian scat and put them onto the task of keeping children safe–ending child abuse.

You know–like the repair scene in Apollo 13 only with children not tubes.

Stop telling me you want some hairy inmate to put a beat down on those who harm children, call your congressman and tell him you want infanticide eradicated. Call your pastor and tell him you want to start a parenting group. Call the police if you hear a baby crying in a way that suggests abuse, not gas.

Do something to change the world. Because if you are leaving all this to the lawless to sort out, well don’t be surprised when all that is left is the wreckage of a country that might once have been safe for children.

Bad night…

It started with the baby tossing a new testament into the toilet. It went downhill from there. Everyone has times when they feel hopeless, when they feel lost. I write this, but I don’t know, some people seem pretty darn self-confident.
Sigh.

Sometimes I wish I could unspool things, undo them, un-live them. I cannot, so instead I write about them to attempt to make sense of them. Sometimes it goes so dark even writing feels futile–no one is listening, no one cares

About what? Inappropriate magazines at grocery checkouts. So bad I avoid taking my kids to the store. I complained, others have complained. The magazines got worse. The store is owned by Christians

About what? My son looked for his favorite PBS show on yahoo video and was sent to a page with two clips from the show and an array of hard core porn. I complained but what good will it do?

Really. I believe that no child in this country should be exposed to porn of any kind and I feel like a voice in the wilderness.

This is an election year. Is anybody listening? Does anyone care? Our children are not safe in the grocery store, at church, looking for educational shows in their own homes. Our children are not safe.

Oh, and the new testament? Jesus descended into hell before for me. He knows the territory. He knows what He is doing.

He knows this stuff hurts…

Like hell.