One Down

One good day.  Followed by one more.

It's a nice break.  Good food, good friends.  A relaxing day.

I miss church.  I so wanted to be there today, but I arrived and was informed that I was in nursery.  I was in nursery last time I was in church weeks ago.  I missed that today.

But I was comforted by friends and people who love me in our church.  It was good to be home.

I don't think I will ever want to leave again for help.  Help has to be available where we are, I am sure.  It is a matter of finding it.  Like I told my friend in church, if you go away for help and things go wrong with a counselor, there is no way to get away or to discontinue the contract and look for someone else.  I want to be sure that there is a good fit with a counselor before I ever agree to work with one again.

But I am stabilizing some today.  Still sad.  I wonder if that will ever go away. 

Defining Family

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Go Deep

We went today to a Good Friday service.  A play.  It was well done.  My heart was not quite in it, but it was nice to watch.

As I sat there quietly in the church watching people come and go, I began to think.  Life is so confusing right now. I feel like I'm being tossed about with no idea what is up.

And I sat there quietly and felt that God was quietly talking to me.  "Just leave it all.  Just swim back out to the deep.  Go deep with me and leave it all."

Right now, it is as if I am being tossed in the surf, bruised, banged, swallowing salt water, unable to get my footing.  All what went wrong in the counseling sessions destroyed the supports I had in place for dealing with what is going on in my life, stirred up all the pain of people telling me if only I would.... clean house more, smile more, do whatever more.... that the anger would stop, and left me reeling and without support.  I feel totally bewildered and hurt.  Rolling in the surf.

You can drown in shallow water, you know.  Battered about too much to gain footing.

Today as I sat, I felt God saying to me, "Dive back out into the deep."

I lived in the deep.  Allowed to think, allowed to process, allowed to ponder, wonder, worship, be.  I was comfortable there.  And then I was told that was bad.  That I was not to communicate with friends.  I was tossed into the surf.

Now, I am still under orders not to communicate with some good friends which is causing me an enormous amount of pain right now, but I doubt my internal world can be controlled by outsiders.

Today, I am going to walk away from all this surf and tumbling about bruised, and dive back into he deep.  Just to rest with God.  To not try to figure out people or what I should do or why someone would say that or.......

To just be quiet.  Alone with a God who loves me.  And a God, I am more and more sure, who had nothing to do with what I was just put through.

Taking time to breathe.

Once I went to visit my friend (oh, how I would love to go see her now and just sit on the beach watching waves), and we went to the beach.  Now she is not a deep water swimmer, but loves the beach and the shallows.  I love to swim.  I have no fear of water (when I am not responsible for watching my kids) because I float like styrofoam.  All I have to do if tired is roll on my back and rest.  I can even fall asleep floating on my back.

So I swam way out, past the surf, past the breakers, out to where the sea was calm.  I flipped over there and rested, thoroughly enjoying the empty beach and the quiet of the ocean gently rocking my as I napped.  Later I felt guilty, my poor friend might be worried about me - just a speck out in the ocean alone, so I came in.  But out there, while I floated, just beyond me dolphins played and I enjoyed watching them out there in the silence.

A quiet place.

That is what I feel now God is saying.  Go deep.  Drop all this stuff of what people did, what you lost, and all that is going on now, go deep and rest.  Out where the dolphins play.

I watched this play.  And saw how God responded to women.  I begin again to believe that God is different than His people.  To have hope.

And last night, a friend came back.  One friend who I can relax in her hug and shudder.  I told her what happened, what was said.  She was confused and angry.  Her comment, "That person is not like that at all!  That person is a person of integrity."  That comforted me.  Because not only was my integrity questioned harshly, so was another.  And both hurt me.

So I rested in her hug.  And in her words.  She knows the people involved.  Knows them well.  Unlike the counselor.

I take the hug, and I turn and dive out into the deep.  To leave all the people's confusion and chaos behind.  To rest out beyond where people go.  I am not afraid of drowning out here in the stillness.  It is the noise of the surf which was bruising me too much.

People may control who I talk to, but they can not control how I think.  And I can think deeply, rest, recover, run for safety to a God who I do not thoroughly understand, but I know loves me.  There I am safe, and there I will stay until I am strong enough to face the chaos this caused.

There tears can fall without even those tears being judged.  This hurts.  It hurts not to pick up the phone, not to write, not to share my heart, to ask for prayer.  It hurts.  And the hurt is making life harder right now.

So I go out into the deep.  Back into the quiet place by God's heart where He sheltered me so many times.  Where He took me the day my daughter died.  To the silence of being loved.  Where no questions or others are allowed to step.  To rest.

90 Seconds

Grief.  Sadness.  Pain.  Joy. Anger. Peace.

Feelings.

One thing these people we were sent to told us was that emotions only last for 90 seconds.  It's been scientifically proven, they said.  If you feel it after 90 seconds, that is because you re-trigger yourself by re-thinking about it.

So basically, you are making yourself sad.

As a parent who has lost a child, I found that insulting.  Heck, I felt more than 90 seconds of grief for a friend who lost a child!  I still do.  And more than 90 seconds of joy when years later, another child was born into the house.

But I thought about these people's theory.  I thought about it the day I drove away from their house.  That day, I struggled to keep the tears from running down my cheeks as I drove.  I tried quietly counting to 90, to see if the feeling went away.

It didn't.  It was more stable than that.  Grief. 

It lasted through a 12 mile bike ride, although I found that biking helped.  Repetitive physical activity.

I'm so tired out from all that happened.  In shock from it.  I'm puzzled.  Do I sit down and give up?  Do I fight?  Do I..... what?

Right now, I'm inclined to do nothing.  To rest and recover.  To wait.

The last I heard from God, He said step back and wait, I am going to do something.

I hope this was not of His doing.  I don't think so.  It is not like God.  But it is confusing.  Where is He and what is He doing?  When is He going to step in and do something?

How do I wait?  Patiently?  Passively?  Actively?  I don't know.

So I wait.  Sometimes crying, sometimes just going about life.  Waiting for God to talk again.  He told me He is still here.  Reminded me, going back in time to a time before a friend stepped in to walk with me, reminding me that even then, He was with me.  I know that.  But I am so confused.

I feel like I am in shock.  Stunned.

Some days, I feel like giving up.

Then I sleep.  Or walk.  And pray for the strength to go through one more day.

And hope that God shows up and something happens.

It hasn't yet.

So I live one day, sometimes one hour at a time.

I ignore friends when they ask how I am.

How can I answer?

I'm ashamed of what I was called, even if it was not even close to the truth.

I'm too ashamed to talk to my friends.

What if they believe it?

So I just live one day, sometimes one morning at a time.

With simple things.  Today, I am going to de-bone the chicken I cooked and make dinner with it.

Today, I am going to clean the kitchen and plan the week's meals.

This afternoon, I am going to do a load of laundry.

One thing at a time, I slowly do, trying to stay involved in it, straining to focus and not think.

But it is almost spring, and most years, I would be outside searching the garden for the first shoots of my bulbs.  This year, I dread them.  My bulbs will bloom, and I will see them and be sad remembering.  They were a gift.  They used to make me smile.  Now, they bring tears.

I'm so confused that I don't know which way is up anymore.  So I de-bone chicken and do laundry.

It makes him happy.  Maybe that is all there is to life.

Chapter 19

I think one of the hardest chapters for me to understand is Judges 19.  Although Genesis 19 is almost as bad.

In Judges, it is the story of the Levite and his concubine.  She had returned to her father's house, and after awhile, he goes to get her.  He stayed five days, and then left with her and traveled.  They got to a city, and after a long wait, an older man invited them to stay with him.  While they were there, men from the city banged on the door demanding that he be handed over so they could rape him.

Ok, so far, the story is going badly, but from here it takes a total nose-dive into unbelievability.

Instead of several options perhaps available to them, the old man offers to hand out to the men a trade.  "Here, have my daughter and his concubine instead."

Hmm...

wow.

In the end, the man shoves his concubine out the door to the howling mob to do whatever they want to her.  They do.  They rape her all night until she dies.

And... inside the house.... the brave men enjoy their dinner and sleep??  And the daughter whose father was so willing to throw her to the mob listens to the crowd and to the screams of the concubine and....  cowers knowing her own father would have sent her out to them too???

The story in Genesis has a slightly better ending only because angels intervened.  There Lot takes in strangers and when wicked me bang on his door, he is willing to throw away his daughters to be killed to save his own skin.

It sickens me.  The value of women.  Worth being thrown out.  If a man was endangered.

These passages bother me.  Not so much Genesis since the angels stepped in.  But the account in Judges sickens me.

Why?  What is God's view on this?  He is silent.  It is true that they come and judge the city who did that, but there is no judgement on the men who threw her out to the dogs to be killed.

Just silence.

How can that be ok?  I want God to strike the man dead.  But He doesn't.  Just silence.

There are times that I wonder how much has changed.  I live in a world where people are all too willing to sacrifice the women if it saves the men.  I've seen it in other couples.  I see in in our marriage.  In our mission.

Not that everyone in our mission is like that.  But some are.

But I've met a few that would rather throw me out than risk losing a man.

 "Oh, don't listen to her, she's just unstable."  "Women, so emotional, you know."  and my personal least favorite, "She's just damaged from her past.... she'll never be ok." And now the new one, "Well, she'd doing this... I told her not to, but she is anyway..."

And this last week, I watched as someone was willing to throw me out to be attacked in order to save his own skin.  To deflect attention from himself by throwing me out.

Now to be honest, he tried to rescue me afterwards.  Tried to go back and say he didn't exactly mean what he had said, but it was too late.

I got chewed up and spit out.  And some things will never be the same after that.

It's sad.  And I am hurting.  Hurting that my value is that little.  That it is easier to throw me away than to risk losing him.  Or to face his own problems.  Easier to throw me under the bus.

Sadly, there were no angels in this story to say, "hey, no!"

And I'm wounded.  And unsure if I ever want to trust again.  Or if I'm just not worth fighting for.

If no one else will fight for me, why fight for myself?  I can't fight a crowd.  I'm outnumbered by those who will just as rather discard me than risk the loss of my husband.  Maybe it is time to give up hope of any change.  To just live as is.  I can't fight anymore.

If Someone Believed In Us....

I wonder what the possibilities would be

if we all had someone to believe in us.

To say, "Try, I'm sure you can!"

and, "Almost!  Try again, you'll get it for sure!"

"Look how close you came, try again!"

and "Wow!  Look how well you did it.  I knew you could!"

What the possibilities would be

if we all had someone to believe in us

even when we don't believe in ourselves.

I picked up a new student today

he's struggling.

He's actually one of "our team",

so he calls me "auntie".

I love this boy.

It's been hard to watch him struggle

as I could so easily step in.

But I waited.

To be asked.

So that the initiative came not from me, but from the parents.

I needed that to be successful.

Because, to be honest, sometimes some problems have different causes.

Some are the student, some are the school, 

and some are the parents.

Some a mix of all three.

Not that parents don't care or are wrong.

It is just that not all parents are capable

especially working in a different system than what they were raised in.

It adds frustration.

Frustration with a learner rarely helps a learner learn.

Which adds more frustration.

Sometimes a change is needed.

So I waited.  To be asked.

Now I pick up my kids and one more.

We come home, we eat a snack.

And in a calm, relaxed environment

with a friend from his class

we start on homework

my daughter and my nephew.

Encouraging each other.

Each have their strengths

Each their weaknesses.

We work together.

I smiled today to watch

what he could do with encouragement.

It confirmed my suspicions

that this was not only the child

who struggled with learning

but also the parents

who struggled with helping

in such a foreign environment.

Sometimes both parent and child 

need a rest from each other.

To go back to enjoying each other

and not working through difficult things

every day

until it colors the relationship.

I told the teacher that I will work on two things

One - the will to do his work

Two - the belief that he can

I believe that when he believes he can

The will to do will also be there.

So my first job, believing in him.

Firmly.

Not the fake belief of false praise.

Too gushy.

But the real belief.

See here, what you did?

That is great!  With a little more work, that will be really wonderful

And you can do that.

It takes some work and practice, but I know you can.

Today, I smiled to see him work.

To even redo a section

all over again

with a good attitude.

Such a good result.

He came in today with my daughter tattling on him

"The teachers were so impressed with his work!"

He glowed.

That glowing is quiet right now

Still deep inside of him.

I want it to shine from his face

The pride of a job well done and praise well earned.

A head held high

and confidence in the road ahead.

I believe it is possible.

Someone told me once

when I couldn't believe

that they will believe for me.

It confused me.

If they believe, then I have to work to prove them right.

I worked, until I, too, believed.

Today, I believe for this child

until he believes for himself.

What we all could be

if only someone believed in us!

To Start With.....

Ah, back to routine.  Jetlagged.

Back I went to my job at the school.  I missed those kids.  Sometimes... until they all started whistling in art, until they started talking back in geography.

I was sad to see "my kid".  It's a degenerative disease.  He will get worse.  Then he will die.  There is no stopping that.  But the process is so degrading, so sad.  And these last weeks, he lost more independence, and today, helping him, I wanted to cry.

I worked a double shift today, running from one job to another.  Crazy. I walked into the nursing home.  Four people gone in those two weeks I was gone.  Two died, two moved.  Four goodbyes.

Our new lady takes the prize for the most foul mouth I have ever seen on a female.  She's vile.  She hits, kicks, spits, and rams us and other patients with her walker.  She swore at us and called us only by swearwords or "liar" all evening.  She called a heavier worker "piggy, piggy" all night.

Another new lady is sweet as anything, but only speaks Spanish.  Her husband was extremely abusive, so only women can attend to her or she flinches and cries.  I hug her tonight and tuck her in.  So glad she lived longer than him and we can now spoil her rotten.  I pull out my Spanish, dust it off, and try to talk.  She smiles.  She recognizes my trying and is pleased.  No one else here speaks Spanish, so she has been lonely.

Another new lady speaks English, but badly with a Russian accent.  We're becoming more international in the nursing home as the immigrants who live in this country age, too.  Portuguese, Ukranian, Indian, German, Dutch, Spanish - we've got them all.  I'm becoming more and more valuable in a staff that is basically monolingual.  I can talk to those who no one else can.

I'm tired tonight.  But routine is nice.  Work is nice.  Friends who knew where we were going to ask how things went.  To rest in their care.  Friends who have ideas of people to try.

But I value most the drive home.  The sheer exhaustion and darkness of the drive home. When I listen and talk over with God.  Having been beaten up (thankfully by a tiny lady, so I can dodge fast enough), watched life and death, wrestled people in and out of tubs and showers, cried with those who cry, comforted those who accept comfort, then I am at rest, able to hear.

Today I thought that if I try the same things, I will get the same result.  And I don't like that result.  So why not be brave?  Why not risk?

I had a good point I wanted to start with that one day with the counselor.  I wrote it out.  Ask for permission to read it.  But the man interrupted, switched the topic, dove into me again about my integrity and don't I see that what I did was really wrong.  And I began to cry again - frustration about being judged wrong, frustration about not being able to share the important point I had prayed over, written out so carefully, and wanted to share.

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Up Above the World So High

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I went for a walk - the evening darkness was a good place

for invisible tears.

I felt hopeless.

But I remembered a verse I had read that morning.

Today, I do not remember which

but it was something about God's care enduring as long

as the moon was in the heavens.

That evening, in tears, I had cried with God.

And He said He was there.

And I told Him, that however dark the road ahead was

that when I saw the moon, I would never forget

that His love was still there.

I think I knew to say the moon...

since it is more often in the evenings that anger visits.

I promised God that night.

That the moon would be a reminder

between Him and me

that He would never leave me

no matter how rough it got.

And there, out of the grey darkness, the moon shone straight at me

Up high above the earth

above the clouds.

And I remembered the covenant spoken years ago.

I will remember when I see

That You are still here

in the dark.

And I smiled through the invisible tears.

I am not alone.

I may feel hopeless.

I may hurt more than I can express right now.

But I am not alone.

And God will not leave me.

I am loved.

I don't know why He doesn't bang some heads together.

I wish He would.

I wish He would step in and save the day.

He hasn't.

And it's been a long, long road since that first promise to God years ago.

But He's still here.

And will be here tomorrow.

I don't know if it gives me hope

but it gives me something to stand on.

I survived yesterday.

Maybe I can survive today

with God.

Perhaps even tomorrow.

This is not my forever.

My forever is to be loved by God.

Perfectly.

Forever.

This is just my now.

My now is painful.

But the moon is still in the sky

And I will remember that God still is seeing me.

Burying My Dancing Shoes

I learned to dance.

Not really dancing - I'm still a klutz.

I wanted to learn how.

I did learn one dance.

But I learned to dance.

The freedom of a happy heart

hearing the quiet voice of God

singing over me in joy.

And my heart danced.

I danced in the sun.

I danced in the rain.

I danced in the storm - 

the quiet burdened dance of pain.

Today, I hurt too much to dance.

I don't think I ever want to dance again.

To be that happy.

Ever again.

When you're that happy, I learned,

you can be that sad.

I don't want to be that sad.

Ever again.

I'm burying my dancing shoes. 

I don't hear any singing.

I don't hear the quiet voice of God.

I know He is there.

Even when I don't hear Him.

I just never want to dance again.

I will grow up, change, and go on.

God is still there.

But we will not dance.

Perhaps we will plod.

Instead.

Perhaps I will be responsible and boring.

Quiet, methodical.

Perhaps disciplined.

All this walking might help.

But I don't want to giggle and dance again.

I'm burying my dancing shoes.

 

 

The Upside Down World

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Walking Alone

I used to have someone to walk with me

Now I don't.

It is as if I woke one morning, stepped outside,

and the familiar was gone.

I'm bewildered.

stunned.

Not knowing what to think.

Confused.

So I walk.

It is better than staring at the walls.

I walk.

Four miles one day.

Six another.

I walk.

It doesn't help fill the hole.

But it gives my mind something to do with the bewilderment.

I walk.

Today, a change - I biked.

Twelve miles.

Instead of step, step, step,

pedal, pedal, pedal.

No aim.  No goal.

Only one more step.

It keeps me busy.

 

Loneliness

I'm lonely.

A deep loneliness

my internal world grows larger

because there is no safety in the external world

because I live with someone who think that to think deeply

is a sign of something wrong

is an unneccesity

why think?

when you can just live in the moment and not think at all?

But I think, ponder, wonder,

It is who I am.

There is nothing wrong with having a different personality.

God made me like this.

But now I am lonely.

A deep loneliness.

There is no one to talk to.

There is no one to listen.

So I retreat.

I am silent more.

I want to cry.

I want to talk.

I want to laugh, smile, wonder, see, learn, think.

And there is no one to listen.

So I pause.

Unsure of how to act in this reality

Nothing really changed here

Except that I lost friends

And live in silence.

Now I must sort my way through this mess

alone.

And added to the pain of what I live in

Is the sharp pain of loss.

So I retreat some more

to silence.

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I am like a flower

I open in sunshine.

I'm lonely.

Lost good friends.  Alone. 

So I retreat

I stretch the boundaries of my internal world

And look around at the silence there.

I must learn to live alone.

To be comfortable with loneliness

I think of the girl in The Island of the Blue Dolphins

alone with the sea and animals

she managed

I want a pet

an animal that can pick up my internal cues

and respond to them.

I watch the wind, the skies, the trees.

Thinking.

But I no longer attempt to translate my thoughts into words.

There is no one to tell them to.

March Swim

Today I biked

outside in March

It is beautiful here

Still cold, but warm

Patches of snow remain in the shadows of the trees.

But the sun is warm.

Warmer than at home.

We stay with odd people.

They do their jobs.

And they disappear.

Into their room.

And shut the door.

All afternoon.

They appear for supper, delivered - they don't cook.

Do the dishes.

And repeat their disappearing act.

We sit in the house entirely alone

Puzzled.

We've known a lot of cultures

between our travels.

But never encountered anything as odd as this.

As if we have leperosy.

We sit uncomfortable.

No books, no games, no signs of life.

No tv, no radio, no music.

An awkward silence fills the house.

Are they sleeping in there?

Should we whisper?

What is wrong with us?

It reinforces the wonder we have if we are just a job.

They were paid from 9-12, and that is that

But it is uncomfortable

sitting here alone in silence, bored, whispering

We make plans of escaping.

We tug the rug just a little

setting it off from it's perfect perfection lined up just so.

We lay guesses to how many seconds when they are out

will pass before they straighten it.

We push the salt an inch away from the pepper on the stove

And count to how long before someone pushes them back to their place

Properly lined up with their labels facing out.

We tire of these games and the sense of rejection sets in again

Are we so bad that they can't hang out and play a game of cards?

What culture is this - this culture of ice?

So we go for a bike ride

leaving the silent house.

And bike through the woods on this sunny March day.

We bike to the lake.

No one is near.

I strip down to my undies

And dive in.

The cold stings my skin, bites my brain

I crawl out, warm up in the sun

Then dive in again.

For me, it's a ritual

Washing away the smell

Of people who walk by when I cry

Who leave us alone like lepers.

I wash it away.

In the cold mountain lake.

We bike home, flying down hill.

Wind on wet skin is cold.

I run to the fire, warm up my fingers.

They look at me like I'm crazy

All doubt for sure erased.

Who swims in the mountains in March

In lakes still with unmelted snow piled 'round?!

I do!

The Box Kite

I scribbled lines

doodling

thinking

grieving.

Drawing lines.

What did I draw?

 

I wanted a symbol.

Something that was mine.

When I drew it, I would know this is what I mean.

Like when I trace a circle in my palm

when I open my hand in prayer.

Symbols speak where there are no words

when words are tired

of saying the same thing.

I looked at my drawing

A kite.

It looked like a kite

I added some extra lines

A box kite flying in the sky

smiling down at me

a structure solid

floating lightly

I smile back; my heart flies, too.

Up it flies.

the string pulls tight

the string goes slack

Broken

It won't stay here.

but my kite flies still

a solid structure

floating lightly

I smile back, I watch it fly away.

And I still smile.

I doodle my kite

Upon my paper

And smile remembering.

Fragile Optimism

Today

I feel there is hope

small

but perhaps.

The problem is I have seen small changes

big talk

in front of people

only to have it disappear when people leave.

So I am cautious about optimism.

But optimism grows like a bulb flower

through the snow.

Determined

yet easily broken.

Strong enough to push against ice

Fragile enough to be destroyed by a footstep.

I feel sad about some things.

They seem hopeless.

Others have some hope.

If no one steps on them.

 

Facing Pain

Maybe he can't handle it

just yet

the pain of facing what he has done

the scars, the wounds

twisted, infected

the type that cause you to open your mouth in shock

to just be amazed

at not only the damage

but the neglect

not incision lines neatly sewed up

not cuts carefully pulled together and sewed as best as possible

wound left open

that healed by neglect

drying out from the inside

gaping scars

they are hard to look at

perhaps even harder to know you caused.

Maybe he isn't there yet.

Unable to face that.

I can understand that

I don't like it

I think it is unfair that I have to face them

day in, day out

That my whole being, who I am, has changed from these  scars.

Life is unfair.

And you go on.

Perhaps he can't face what he's done yet.

It's unfair.

But if he will walk on a journey to where one day he will face it

That might be ok.

If he says, "That was the past, why think about the past"

There will be no going on to the future

we learn from the past to live in the present so we don't repeat in the future

this is why we study history

battles fought and won

laws and constitutions made

mistakes in peace treaties that caused other wars.

We learn.

There must be a going back to the past.

There has to be.

Or there will be no going forward to the future.

It's not his personality.

He'd rather live today, happy.

But there has to be a going back

perhaps he is not ready to face that today.

Maybe I can be patient.

Alone.

Still.

with these wounds.

No one is willing to look.

  It is so ugly, so frightening

that no one wants to look

to admit to themselves that someone they know and like

could do that.

So alone

again

my wounds dry out

and begin the process of secondary healing

from the bottom up

leaving twisted scars

which will make people hide their faces

when they see me.

The Collective Silence

The story of the Beaten Jew is one I understand

bleeding, beaten

while the religious community walks on by

Perhaps they thought he was dead

didn't want to be defiled

that would interfere with God's work

and they were doing God's work

Many walked by

over years

each had their excuse

its not my responsibility

she's lying

it can't be that bad

we need him

we're doing God's work

that would get in the way

since when is it God's work to leave the wounded on the road and press on busily doing God's work

as if God depends on you

It was wrong

they whisper that now

that shouldn't have happened

it's sad we're not better than this

it is a pity that those who were there threw arrows instead of helping

that is not good

if you want, you can file a grievance

tell them that was wrong

I sigh

stare off into space

why is all this my responsibility

to help my husband heal

to file a complaint

it is not a secret

it is not unknown

why do I have to do it

pick myself up, bleeding to a weakened state

and say, "don't do that.  It was wrong."

I want to be defended

Is there no one among the bystanders who is willing to say

"no."

"she is worth enough to me that I will say no"

"that what you did is wrong.  and you need to admit it"

no one

they are now willing to get help

if I agree that his anger is really his pain

and try to help him deal with that pain

but no one stands willing to say

"hey!  No!  What you did is wrong!"

to hurt her was wrong

to not answer her screams was wrong

to accuse her of being hurt was wrong

to insult her was wrong

Am I that valuable enough to anyone?

I don't feel it.

It is as if there were bystanders at a rape

who stood by

silent

they neither defended the victim

called for help

or covered her when it was over

They said

"no one else is being raped...

... it must be something she did."

And what is sad

is that there is no one who is willing to say

either to the rapist

or the silent bystanders

"YOU WERE WRONG!"

To tell them.

I have to do it myself

later

when the one who hurt me is healed enough to handle that.

So I cry

yet again

wanting someone who cares enough to say

"you can't hurt my daughter"

if it were my daughter, I'd bash some heads in.

And God hasn't.

you see, it's not only people who haven't stopped this

God didn't either.

He let His people fail.

And He did not stop it either

and that creates its whole new pain.

not only abused

abandoned

rejected by God's own people

and no one is brave enough to tell them they were wrong

they are brave enough to tell me

that I shouldn't be so angry over it

that I should choose kinder words to talk about it

but no one will tell the ones who hurt me that it is not ok.

because those people are more valuable than me

they do God's work.

And they can't stop them

to mop up the blood from the beaten Jew

I want to curse them

to pray that God will let them feel pain and be abandoned in it

but I can't

I would not wish this on my worst enemy

 so I tell God that I want Him to smack them all hard

in eternity, to keep them on the far other side than where I am

to hang them up and gut-punch them.

to defend me

just this once

and when it hails and they go out to move plants

and just then the hail suddenly intensifies

I giggle.

A few solid stings from hail won't hurt you

feels like the stings of the words they have thrown

so I giggle

I know God won't smack them upside the head.

He doesn't with me

but He might sting them with hail

and I might giggle

through the tears.