Sahara drew this picture while she was listening to Ryan and me hurling insults at each other. Me: "Talking to you is like talking to a slug. What a waste of time!" Ryan: "Yeah, well talking to you is like talking to Satan. Except without the nice words." Sahara: "Daddy? How do you spell "love" again??" Ryan (to me): "A slug? Why did you say a slug?" Me: "I was trying to think of the most stupid animal possible..." Sahara: "Mom! Dad! Look at my picture! It's you and me all saying 'I love you' to each other! Do you like it?" My heart: "CRRRRRRACK" I mean, my daughter, five years old, had to sit there and draw a sweet reality on paper because her reality was so crappy. She drew what she wanted her family life to be like. The only good thing that I can find in this, is that at least I can SEE it clearly, at least it did break my heart, and at least I am now fighting fiercely to give her (and the other kids) the family life that they so desperately long for.
You're gonna get better, you better not leave me here anyway. I want to get up, when you wake up, but when I get up I fall down. I'm falling down, I fall down, I broke myself.
This morning I had an epiphany. Every single morning, I get so upset with my husband because of the way he stirs his coffee. Ding-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling-a-ling, so fast and almost violently, waking people up when he does it. This morning, I realized why it upsets me so much - it sounds so similar to The Bell at our school, Fanda. Every morning they rang that bell to wake everyone up, DING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LING-A-LING!!!!!!!! And rang it for breakfast, and for school, and for snack, and back to school, and for lunch, and back to school again, and when school was finished, and for dinner, and for shower time, and for bed! It was always such a jarring sound, and seemed to go on for so long, especially early in the morning. My husband, the way he stirs his coffee, gives me that jarring sensation every single day. I think we will need to speak about this.
Hey, little sister. We were magic, you and I - our imaginations took us to worlds that nobody else could go. We could have been twins. Maybe we should have been! I remember telling people who asked us that we were. We shared that joke between us, and giggled over it many times. We could speak to each other without any words, do you remember? I never wanted anything to hurt you, ever. When you came to school, when you were seven, even then I was protecting you, hovering around your dorm and always sneaking glances your way when we were in the dining hall or walking to our classrooms. I don't remember wondering if anything was happening to you back then. I do remember being afraid of it, and afraid for you. I made myself your guardian, but I was so small, only nine years old. We were both so small, but you were already as tall as I, and soon to pass me vertically forever. I remember being told not to be around your dorm so much, that you needed me to not be there so that you could adjust to being away from your parents. It made me so angry, them telling me that. I didn't listen. I was there for you when you woke up in the morning, making sure your hair was brushed and you were wearing clothes without stains on them. I was there at night when you went to bed. I would sit by you and listen to you breathe, always worried that one night, you would just stop. I remember putting my ear closer to your face so that I could hear you breathing and be reassured that you were still there. That year, when you were older - ten years old maybe? Your little friends came running to find me, frantic about you being beaten by your dorm father. I raced to your dorm, and yelled at him to his face. I threatened him that I would radio mom and dad and tell them about how he was treating you. He backed down, but I was punished later for having intervened. You were always so shy, but the older you got, it seemed the more you went into yourself, and I feel like I lost you somewhere along the way. I am so sorry, little sister. I wish I had been bigger and stronger and braver. I wish I could have sheltered you from everything that happened. I wish I had known how to scream more loudly, how to push back harder against them. I wish I could have known the words to speak so that we could have gone home to mom and dad, and stayed there. I carry this with me, this idea that I should have protected you more. I fear so much for you now, for what you may have endured that you cannot remember, the things that happened that affect you now so much, every day. I would have died for you, if I could have. I still would.
In Sleep we lie all naked and alone, in Sleep we are united at the heart of night and darkness, and we are strange and beautiful asleep; for we are dying the darkness and we know no death. Tom Wolfe
You can only come to the morning through the shadows. J.R.R. Tolkien
I am ready for the morning. I am ready for a new day. With the darkness comes no rest, but with the light of dawn I see a spark of hope for something beautiful.
Tonight, I played in a drum circle, danced wildly with a gang of small children and a man playing a pan flute. I was also shot and killed by a little boy with a stick.
Photo inspired by Michael Franti - Hey World video
Although I am a Jesus follower, and am His fully, I am finding it hard to pray... just feeling deep emotions. Heavy sadness, anguish, some hope, much cynicism, and rending heartbreak. I am exhausted past the point of being able to express very much at all. If I could find the words, I would pray for NTM to have a TRUE heart change, to be broken and reborn from the ashes of this atrocity into something beautiful and amazing - something world-changing. I would pray for individuals who are hurting terribly, not only the victims of Fanda, but their families and the families of the accused. I would pray for wisdom for Kari and I as we march forward in much weariness. I would pray for churches to stand up with us against this darkness. I would pray for the angry, that their hearts will soften and they will become sweetly broken and made stronger by their experiences.
Sahara drew this picture while she was listening to Ryan and me hurling insults at each other. Me: "Talking to you is like talking to a slug. What a waste of time!"
