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...]
You Are Amazing
Written after a conversation with a woman who had just read The Fifth Sister, and shared her story with me. You are amazing. Look at what you’ve done with your life, given all you’ve been through. You have a heart full of love. They couldn’t take that from you. You worked on yourself to make sure you didn’t do to another what they did to you. You rose above horrifying betrayal and believed you could love and be loved. You found a good spouse, who adores you, thinks you’re smart, witty, a little bit quirky, and loves you flaws and all. You have given your children a safe home. … [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...]
