Pope Francis compares child sexual abuse to human sacrifice. Think about that for a moment. The comparison is appropriate. But it’s worse than that. We who were abused by leaders in the church continue to live. We didn’t die of our injuries on the altar of sacrifice. Our hearts still beat a tattered pulse. Our brain still holds the truth, and the body always keeps the score. The horror of abuse is followed by a lifetime of adapting. Here are some things I know: I know we can’t un-ring that bell. It happened. I know that Jesus left the ninety-nine in search of the one. I know that … [Read more...]
The Wounded
I am standing on a 10 meter Olympic diving platform. Suddenly, there is a roaring in my ears, a cacophony of sound; voice, noise, high pitched screaming. I clap my hands over my ears – and jump. Fear claws at my throat as I plummet toward the water. Impact is disorienting. Water churns at being violently disturbed, and then? Utter silence, a muted existence, like I imagine a cocoon, or womb. Until the silent screams begin – open mouthed blasts of heart pain – for no one to hear. They reverberate only in my mind. Inevitably I float up to the surface. When I break through the waterline, the sun … [Read more...]
The Buck Stops Where, Exactly?
President Harry S. Truman’s Oval Office desk contained a plaque, set on a walnut base facing his guests, inscribed with: The Buck Stops Here! Shouldn’t that be the Southern Baptist Convention’s working principle, on behalf of its 15 million members? Enter the endless loop: a conversation, or course of action incapable of resolution. Endless loops exist in marriages where partners circle round to the same old argument; they exist in organizations without clear standards of practice; they exist in a denomination whose leadership lobs a crisis back to the local congregation, citing local … [Read more...]
Two Kinds of Truth
The Sequel to “The Tipping Point of Sorrow” I was there. It was a windy, clear night. I sat on the bed and brushed tear dampened hair from Michelle’s face and tucked it behind her ear. I had just overheard that our father had gotten my fifteen-year-old sister pregnant. “I envy her dark wavy hair,” I thought contemplatively as I lifted strands away from her neck needing to touch her, offer her comfort. I ached for this grief-ridden girl/child, with a profoundness that closed my throat. Michelle was twelve when she came into my life. She was the oldest of six siblings the state took away … [Read more...]
Airspeed and Altitude
Sunrise yesterday morning saved me from a headlong plunge into despair. A gift from the universe. My mood swung from disbelief to hope, but skittered off center at the drop of a hat. My husband’s cancer is on the move again. A misogynist will occupy the white house. I’m pushing the boulder of my life’s work uphill against a country’s general disinterest in our newest national epidemic – sexual abuse. And a prissy Victorian era woman wrote a lousy review that says my story is too graphic. Were she to write it, it would embody decorum. On top of that, my husband snapped at me this … [Read more...]
The Cost of Following Your Heart
Some decisions cost more in the not making of them, than the making of them. I wrote The Fifth Sister in an effort to encourage, support, and empower the 42 million of us in the US who were sexually abused as children. I didn’t make that number up. It’s a stat from the CDC (Center for Disease Control) as of 2012. Forty-two million. I’m pretty sure that number has gone up, not down. Back to the decision. I turned down a major TV network – twice. Their viewership boasts 83% of American households. I still shiver internally to have made this choice. Why? In April, as The Fifth Sister … [Read more...]
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