The Trauma of Reporting a Sex Crime

*newsflash*
 this is the traditional mugshot
 for upperclass white males.

This past week, Brock Turner was sentenced to a ridiculously short sentence (six months) after being found guilty of three felony sexual assault charges.  See here for details.  His victim delivered a moving speech, which can be read in its entirety here.  It's well worth the read, even though it's triggering.  She details the trauma of her abuse, along with the often overlooked trauma of reporting, the resultant trauma of dealing with the police and the legal system, the additional trauma of little to no repercussions for abusers, and the added trauma of a lack of acceptance of responsibility from the predator.

When I read her speech, I realized trauma truly only begins with sexual assault or abuse.  And I felt a sisterhood with her, because even though I've been open about my history of abuse, I've been silent about the trauma of reporting and its aftermath.

As I've been open about my history, I have been amazed by the massive numbers of people who have come forward, telling me that yes—they were abused too.  Literally hundreds of women (and men!) have shared an appreciation with me about my openness, telling me it allowed them to feel less alone, less afraid, less damaged.

But I have never, NOT ONCE heard of anyone who reported their crime.  And I have been wondering this week…why?  Am I the only one, out of all the people I know? They say only one in three sexual abuse incidents are reported.  I find it entirely possible that even less are reported.  But even those who do…why aren’t we talking about it?  

Maybe nobody is talking about it because, like me, reporting was deeply traumatic.

 This "system of justice" is broken.  It breaks us down, while telling us it's fighting for us.  It presses us into the box of "victim", telling us we need to sit complacently by while they do the fighting for us...but the fighting is ineffective flailing in the dark.  It is fighting for table scraps while the predators have steak.  We know ahead of time that the laws are against us; that if the predator had stolen our car or our life savings, he will more likely be prosecuted, convicted, and jailed.  That if we were in a court case, our sexual history and mental health status wouldn't even be an issue.  Yet, when someone steals a part of our innermost being, we aren't protected, and we are allowed to be skewered in court.  This system makes sure we remember good and well that we ARE the victim.  

 I want you to know, if you experienced the trauma of reporting; You are not alone.  

So I break my silence.  I have reported twice; two separate abusers, at two separate times of my life.  The first time I reported, I went through an entire interview, sitting in a stark interrogation room, detailing the abuses I had experienced and where they happened, in minutae.

This is almost exactly what the room looked like.  Really comforting.

Within an hour after my interrogation (umm, "interview"), I received a call from the detective that there was nothing which could be done against the predator, due to the statute of limitations.  It just happened too long ago.  If only I had reported earlier…

If only my abuser hadn’t traumatized me into submission, denial, and a dissociative disorder…perhaps I would have. 

The second time I reported, it was kind of accidental…a product of my abuser’s actions more so than mine.  Ironically, my abuser took that choice away from me, as he took many choices away from me.  He chose to be public to certain people about what he did, but refused to accept responsibility.  Thankfully, honorable people didn't take kindly to his "confession-sans-culpability".  I was swept up in the resultant mess.

 I spent a year, dealing with the police and the prosecution as they investigated my abuser...then the prosecution decided not to press charges after all that time.  I have lived through the interviews, the anguish, the delay of healing (the delay of living) while waiting for the "justice system" to do their work. I do believe the people within the system are kind, are dedicated towards making victims feel safe, and do their best; unfortunately, they were responsible for accidents and delays which should not have occurred. I believe that I received the utmost of care our department had availabe, and I was still unwittingly victimized by the people who ought to have protected me.  This is wrong. 

Unfortunately, only one person from within the justice system showed any remorse for the way I was treated, and I do have hopes that my experiences will spur her to press for changes.  I feel too worn out to do any advocating at the moment.

Additionally, the legal system is convoluted and messy, and—strangely—tied to location.  The particular abuse against me is a crime (even a felony!) in 28 states, but isn’t even illegal in Ohio.  They tried to find a way to prosecute him, but without a "pattern of behavior", (i.e. more victims), they couldn't.  How strange to hope for more victims.  I couldn't do it.  I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

The process of reporting  made me feel like a criminal.  After walking down sterile hallways, passing grim police officers, I was placed in a cold, colorless room with a thick, heavy door which made a loud “click” every time someone entered or left.  I wondered if I was being locked in and observed.  I never checked the door, but I did later find out that I had been videotaped.  Perhaps I had been told at the time—I don’t recall—my anxiety levels at the time muddled with my ability to fully digest everything told to me.  The authoritarian behavior of the people around me compounded that anxiety and added to it a feeling of impotence and victimhood.  The presence of handcuffs and guns, coupled with the atmosphere of the room, triggered memories within me reminiscent of abuse I have endured where shame and guilt was a strong motivator for compliance and silence. 

Over the course of the investigation, I was repeatedly told to allow the department to “handle” the case.  To try to put it out of my mind.  That when any new development occurred, I would be “the first to know”.  But during that year, there was minimal contact between me and the police department.  I would get panicky every 2-4 weeks, and call for an update.  Invariably, I would be given the same mantra…”We’re still working on it, there’s just so much info to go through, but when something’s decided…you’ll be the first to know.  Trust me.”

I never even had a conversation with the prosecutor.

  

 I’m sure the officers believe they are being reassuring and helpful when they tell victims that the police department will take care of everything, but it is most decidedly not helpful.  The last thing a victim needs is to have what little control she has achieved once again removed from her.  We want to feel powerful, and reporting without follow-up, without being involved in the process, turns us into victims of the police department.  We have simply switched authority figures in our co-dependency.

And I wasn’t the first to know.

Instead, after a year of ups and downs, I found out from a third party, IN A COFFEE SHOP, that the office had decided not to press charges.  An accidental slip of information in the prosecutor’s office, and additional trauma was laid on me.  I made an utter fool of myself in public, unable to hold back the tears and tremors.  I thought I had prepared myself for that day.  I knew the laws, and the unliklihood of conviction.  Yet the shock caught me.  PTSD will do that to you.  I was unprepared, in a public place, and betrayed—once again—by those who had reassured me repeatedly that they were trustworthy. To add insult to injury, the police lost some of my personal property, submitted as evidence, irretrievable property.

One of my concerns is that if I, an above middle-class white woman, can experience victimization at the hands of the people who are attempting to stop abuse...what's happening to the marginalized women in Springfield?   I wonder about the drug addicts, the prostitiutes, the homeless...I doubt they receive the care I did.  Something needs to change.  

Interestingly, I have discovered that I now have some power. Now that there is no investigation, I could name this man, and say everything he did, and provide evidence of the abuse.  I could splatter the internet with his crime.  And to be completely honest, I enjoy the feeling of power that gives me over him.  That's probably one reason why I don't do it.  But mostly I don't name him because my victimization is a personal thing, and those who are active in my recovery know what happened, and who did it, and they are watching out for me.

Even though there was no prosecution, my abuser has experienced some repercussions.  I don’t feel like they are adequate to what he did.  I don’t feel like people are safe from his abusive nature.  But I also know that many influential people are aware of his crimes, which gives me solace.

We are, in many ways, shattered by our experiences.

Some women have continued past this point.  They have fought for legislation—that’s how 28 states have the correct laws in place.  Part of me feels like I ought to do that.  Fight for the greater good.  Because that's where the change needs to take place.  This is a severe problem, with issues stemming from far up the legal system and beyond into the way our society views women and sexual abuse victims.

But I’m exhausted from the process.  Reporting isn’t easy, psychologically.  Police are ill-equipped to deal with traumatized individuals.  And even though I have an excellent support system knowledgeable about trauma-informed care, they are at times dumbfounded as to how to support me.  I boldly say that things need to change, yet I am overwhelmed with my own healing.  It is humbling to say that someone stronger than I must carry that banner. 

The “system” failed me.  But I haven’t failed.  If my abuser hurts someone else, I’m on record.  There will be a “pattern of behavior” established.  Knowing that he is not repentant for his crimes, it’s important to me that I’m on record.  I did my best to stop him from within the system, but if he abuses again, I will be the pattern. It’s sad that it has to be that way.  That us victims practically have to show up on the witness stand in the process of being abused for it to be prosecutable.  That victims are the ones put on trial.  Our histories, our mental health, our stability; that’s what is on trial.  I was told that I would be crushed by the prosecution, if I was put on the stand.  That they didn't think I could handle it.  I'm not emotionally stable enough.  But I will be.

And it's because of the abuse we suffered, that we cannot be stable or healthy enough to face our abusers.

 Our abusers make us incompetent witnesses.  Isn’t that ironic?

Maybe some day things will change.  Maybe it will be us, the abused; the reporters and the ones who knew reporting was worthless--banded together through our tears and outrage--who find the strength in unity to do what we cannot accomplish alone.  We can be champions and heroes for each other and for change.

Because, Beloved sister or brother, you are not alone.

My Dirty Little Secret

Have you ever noticed that your dirty little secrets, more often than not, are comprised of sins committed by others and not you?  That the things which shame you the most are the things you, just perhaps, should be proud of?  Things you did to survive when you didn’t know any better, or ways your body coped when all seemed lost.  Evil was perpetrated against you, and the evil was compounded when there was no protection for you, so you created your own protection—usually subconsciously.

And then society tells you that your protective measures are shameful.

I’m sick of the burden.  I’m tired of the exhaustive pain of wondering what type of situation might happen to “expose” me.  I’ve spent nearly a year after it was found that my therapist had been leaking private information about clients, wondering who knows what about me. 

I’ve been in fear of evil people doing evil things for far too long.  So I have chosen the day and the time to tell the secret which has been weighing on me and not allowing me to move forward.

My “inner circle” has long known this secret, and has accepted me and loved me for who I am.  Sometimes it has taken a few conversations for them to understand me, but their love for me and their desire to walk with me in my pain has always been their main concern.

But I had been told to keep this aspect of myself secret.  My therapist told me that people would misunderstand; I would be considered a freak or unstable.  Nobody would accept me as a viable employee or volunteer.  He told me to hide this information from potential employers.

I can’t do that.  I am not going to live in the shadows.  I want to live an open life; I want my experiences to be an invitation to others that pain can be overcome and healing is within reach.

So…without further ado…

Along with the host of other mental illnesses which I have discussed in previous posts, I also have been blessed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID)—otherwise known as Multiple Personality Disorder.

The diagnosis really was not much of a shock.  I have always been excellent at dissociating—that tendency to disconnect from reality, such as drifting off during a boring lecture—and particularly dissociating during stressful times.  My former college roommates certainly thought I was rude because I became perfectly stone-still, as if I was intentionally ignoring them during difficult conversations.  In truth, I wasn’t even there. 

So sometimes, I was just…gone.

But other times, when I left, someone else took the helm.  These people were specific adaptations of certain aspects of myself, designed to deal with issues which I couldn’t handle on my own and still function on a daily basis.  They are the reason I never recalled being abused as a child, because “I” never had to deal with it; someone else handled it, then she retreated so I could get up, go to school, and do my math and social studies unencumbered by PTSD.

It’s actually an amazing coping mechanism, which allowed me to have a relatively normal childhood, and I’m thankful for it.  But once the danger was gone, the “talent” became a liability instead of an asset.  My “alters” languished and ran amok.

I don’t even remember huge blocks of my college years, and it’s not because I was drunk—I went to a “dry” college, and my friends and I weren’t exactly the wild and crazy types.  But it just wasn’t “me” who went to college.  And that’s kind of sad.

I don’t recall certain things about my childhood, either, because it was a shared experience.  I can look at pictures and see the little girl who looks like me, but her expression is NOT me.

Chris survived on very little sleep for years,
while nurturing the child in me.

My husband has become adept at reading my face.  Slight alterations in expressions evince the presence of differing aspects of my personality.  It has been a difficult and confusing whirlwind for him; certainly nothing he signed up for when he married me.  Of course, I never signed up for it either.  But he could have walked away and I wouldn’t have blamed him.  Instead, he dug in his heels and he learned to love every single little bit of me. 

I think public perception of Dissociative Identity Disorder was severely damaged by the book and subsequent movie, Sybil, which—by the way—has now been discredited as highly sensationalized by the woman’s therapist, and much of the “story” has been proved to be untrue.  The real-life “Sybil”, Shirley Mason, eventually admitted that her therapist had emotionally manipulated her into a partnership from which she could not extricate herself.  Recent media hasn’t done much to help either, with shows like The United States of Tara and movies like Fight Club and Me, Myself, and Irene creating a comedic and altogether false perception of what DID looks like on a daily basis.

Multiples aren’t “crazy”.  And our “alters” don’t usually want to expose us.  They don’t run around doing abnormal things, because that’s not their job.  You may very well know someone with DID, and you may have even met one or more of their alters, but you might not have noticed because they don’t seem that different. Remember, the purpose of an alter is to “step in” for you when you are overwhelmed.  The last thing an alter wants to do is to create MORE problems…they are there to SOLVE problems.

So when an alter lets you know that they exist, they are being exceedingly vulnerable.  It’s a terribly frightening thing to show your innermost parts to someone. And an alter is an innermost part; full of pain and suffering, shame, remorse, guilt, confusion, and a deep desire for acceptance.

I am exceedingly grateful to those who have given unconditional love to all the parts of me.  My children, especially my daughter, who mothered the child within me.  My cousins, who spent many wee hours chatting online with the child they knew decades ago.  My friends, who have brushed off caustic and abrasive comments, followed quickly by childlike confusion.  But mostly my husband who spent countless midnight hours reading books, singing songs, and looking at snowflakes to assuage the fears of a child scared of the dark.  Who was willing to crawl into the darkness with me.  And with whom I can now enjoy the light.

I enjoy what I consider a more “integrated” self nowadays.  I’m not sure if I will ever be completely unified.  There are too many theories on the subject; and what matters is my own daily life anyway, not some esoteric philosophy.  What I know about myself, is that at times I still need a little dissociation to make it through the day.  But I need it less and less, so that’s progress.  I am grateful for the gift DID has given to me, to allow me to function and thrive as I have.

And I no longer want to feel ashamed of it.  This is me.  I am One, and I am Four.  And if God can be One and Three and proud of it, then there is no reason for me to hide behind some curtain of shame because someone I used to trust told me to keep things a secret.

And if whoever inside of me would please tell me where she put our car keys, that’d be fantastic.

When Your Abuser Blames You

It may have been an attack by a stranger, or a planned “seduction”, but the words and actions he used, either overtly or covertly, blamed you for what he did.  He made you responsible for his desires, then he excused his disgusting behavior by accusing you.

“The way you were walking—you tease!  You wanted it.”

“I couldn’t resist you.  You kept licking your lips.”

“You always smell so good.  It’s like a garden I want to bury myself into.”

“I needed love and affection.”

“My wife is distant.”

“You belong to me.”

“I can’t help myself around you.”

“You seduced me with your constant come-ons.”

And we believe those words.

We believe them because it’s easier to blame ourselves than to accept how incredibly victimized we were.  It’s easier to shame ourselves and maintain the deception of control than to place the blame and shame where it belongs, and admit how totally helpless we were.

We believe the lies because they were told to us during an extremely traumatic event, when our brains were more susceptible to suggestion.

We believe them because some people around us reinforce those beliefs, in a multitude of ways.  If your attacker is known in the community, comments such as, “But he’s such a nice guy…” insinuate that there MUST HAVE been something you did to bring out such deviant behavior.  People question your recollection of events, because you seem confused at times…*NEWSFLASH* that’s a sign of trauma.  The family members of the attacker may encourage you or others to “stay quiet” so his life won’t be disrupted.  Your abuse is minimized, your part in the abuse is maximized, and your abuser angrily maligns your character.

 

We believe those hateful words because, in some cases, we had a relationship with our abuser.  And one day, a person who seemed kind and caring turned into a monster.  Or they slid into monster-hood.  Or they showed the monster who had been lurking underneath all along.  Either way, you have both pleasant and traumatic memories.  The reconciliation of those two aspects of one person is emotionally devastating.  What is truth?  Who is trustworthy?  Was this a “good” person who just snapped, or was this a “bad” person who manipulated you to achieve their own selfish desires?  How far back does the evil go?  And as more time passes, instead of answers, questions multiply.

But let’s talk about your abuser.  Most likely, if you are like the majority of survivors, your abuser hasn’t come crawling to you on bended knee, sobbing out his remorse.  And he probably won’t.  Ever.  He may receive some type of legal justice or social ostracism, but even then he will likely protest his innocence in some form for the rest of his life.  He will claim victimhood in one way or another.  He may admit to what he did, but he will blame you or his parents or someone who abused him or something.  He will be sorry—sorry he got caught.

I’ve realized two things about abusers which give me a slight amount of comfort.  A few truths that allow me to believe in the lies he told just a tiny bit less.

First, if an abuser were to actually admit that he was completely responsible for his actions, he would have to acknowledge what a despicable and depraved act he actually committed.  That’s not an easy task, and is nigh on impossible for someone with a fragile ego who equates what you do with who you are. 

Let’s consider this for a moment; what’s the M.O. of an abuser?  He is someone who has such little belief in himself, who thinks he MUST command OVER someone else, that he is willing to use physical, mental, spiritual, psychological force over someone vulnerable to achieve a feeling of superiority.  He has not achieved actual success or superiority so he must contrive it for himself.  This type of person is not only a coward, but his whole sense of self rests on his actions instead of his state of being.  He cannot say, “I did something evil, but I am not evil.  I can admit what I did wrong, repent, accept the consequences, and still be—deep within myself—a person of value.”

What a sad way of thinking and living.

One of the men who abused me once asked me, “Have you ever seen a man so insecure?” 

The answer is no.  I haven’t.

I pity him.

I also would like to give my husband an hour alone in a room with him, with immunity for anything that might happen.  My husband’s a rock star.

Anyway, I believe this is why an abuser doesn’t admit to his crimes.  But why does he have to blame his victim?  That’s the second thing I’ve realized.

If the abuser cannot accept his culpability, then his brain must manufacture reasons for his behavior.  And our misogynistic society makes it easy to blame the woman.  Abusers don’t often say they were mentally ill—once again, their egos can’t handle the idea that there is something wrong with them.  Instead they blame the woman for some imagined seduction.  They contrive scenarios which sound ridiculous to everyone else but themselves.

And then you—the survivor—hear them.  All you want is admission of guilt.  You want people to say, “What happened to you, and what you felt…that was—and IS—real.”  But the only other witness to your pain twists and subverts it into something sick.

Eventually, people will wonder when you will return to your “old self”.  They don’t understand that he killed her.

She was crucified for his ego.  And she is gone.  This shattered wreck is what is left, and broken messes can’t put themselves back together.  Broken messes are either swept up and thrown in the garbage, or they are collected, piece by piece, and they are carefully fused together until the original shape has been reformed.  Sometimes broken messes fall apart again; the binding agent used previously having been found to be inferior.  Sometimes tiny pieces get lost.  But those who see the beauty in the brokenness continue their efforts.

Tell.  It's still worth it.

That’s what this fragile clay jar wants to say to you, the survivor.  YOU ARE NOT WHAT YOU’VE DONE, AND YOU ARE MOST DEFINITELY NOT WHAT HAS BEEN DONE TO YOU.  You are a precious jewel.  Your pain, your tears, your inner tears which you fear to cry…they are beyond value.  You are loved.  I don’t know you and I don’t know your story, but I know your pain.  You can fight the sadness and the suffering, because you are of infinite worth.  And how do I know that?  Because you are a First Edition.  There has never been, and will never be, another you.  You hold a piece of the universe—a piece of eternity—which no one else holds.

The world needs your uniqueness.

Namaste.

#merrychristmasstarbucks

Dear Offended Christians,

Please boycott Starbucks this holiday season.  Don't continue to support Starbucks by buying their drinks and giving them the fake name of "Merry Christmas" because their holiday cups don't show enough "Christmas" spirit.  Just go get your coffee elsewhere.

BEHOLD! The ombre red cup of Satan himself,
here to ruin your Christmas spirit!

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s what the world thinks about us Christians right now:  http://www.salon.com/2015/11/07/merrychristmasstarbucks_watch_the_absurd_war_on_christmas_call_to_arms_over_red_coffee_cups/

So…why am I asking you to refrain from your peppermint mochas?

Because the over-worked baristas don’t need your “Merry Christmas” crap.  Those people who SERVE you the drink you ordered—they didn’t choose the cups, and they can’t change a thing.  They can’t complain to the management about customers harassing them.  They NEED their jobs, especially around the holidays, so they have to put up with your self-entitled hooey because your cup isn’t as pretty as you think it should be.

designs from the past four years

Because here’s the truth:  Starbucks cups NEVER SAID “MERRY CHRISTMAS” before!  If you think Starbucks is making their cups less “Christian” by removing the ornaments, snowflakes, polar bears, trees, and other “holiday” related items, then perhaps you need a refresher course on the true meaning of Christmas.

***Reminder:  Christmas is a holiday where we celebrate the birth of Jesus.  This event took place in a warm, desert environment where snowmen, reindeer, and polar bears don't exactly thrive. Might I suggest this inspirational video, The True Meaning of Christmas, from one of my all-time favorite philosophers?

So, how is toting around a red cup bearing the image of a reindeer supporting the “Christianized” version of the holidays?  Aren’t we actually supporting some version of a Nordic Christmas?  I mean, what percentage of Christians actually get snow for Christmas?  Or have money for ornaments and trees?  Or have reindeer prancing in their yards?  Seriously, WHAT DO THESE THINGS HAVE TO DO WITH JESUS? 

Do you think this cup
offends people in the tropics?
Maybe they need their year
 for a cup design.

But our "red cup" behavior would be like Paul going into a secular shop, and instead of saying, “Hey, let’s eat the bacon!"(which is what he did, by the way); he says, “These pigs offend me.  This store should not sell pigs.  I’m a card-carrying, sword-toting Roman citizen, and I know my rights!”

So let’s be rational about this.  You either accept the business practices of these secular businesses, and you enter into their domain with the intent of being light in darkness.  Or, just stay away.  Christianity doesn’t need you to make our job any harder than it already is.  We don’t need angry attitudes; turning hard-working individuals sour against our God. 

If you want your cup to say “Merry Christmas”, write it yourself.  If you can afford a Toffee Sprinkle Soy Mocha Skinny Caramel Latte or whatever it is you are buying, then you can afford to buy yourself a freaking Sharpie and decorate your own cup.  Hey, it may even be therapeutic.  Coloring for adults is all the rage right now.  You may even start a trend.  Leave Sharpies at your local Starbucks with a note inviting others to decorate their own cups any way they please.  They might just draw a palm tree on a beach, which may not be “Christmas” appropriate for you, but I assure you that a large portion of the world will find it looks just like THEIR Christmas.

Please, let’s spend this season showing people WHY we celebrate Christmas.  Why don’t we remember, when we order our Gingerbread Latte, that Jesus DIED FOR the person whipping our milk to the proper temperature?  That Jesus would want us to treat that HUMAN with compassion?  

Seriously, it's NEVER a good idea to mess with people
who are serving you things you plan to ingest.

During a busy holiday season, when everyone is cranky and the lines are long, HOW YOU TREAT YOUR BARISTA SAYS A LOT ABOUT YOUR FAITH WALK.  In God’s eyes, we are all just as special, just as loved, and just as important.  Look in their eyes.  Smile.  Say “Please” and “Thank You”.  Tell them you appreciate their work.  Say “Merry Christmas” if you want to, but if they are Jewish or Atheist or something else, still wish them a pleasant time with family and friends.  I mean, shouldn’t we STILL WANT THAT for them? Let's not shove our words into their faces without being willing to walk in relationship with them.  Let's not try to hurt or anger or trick people whose lives are closed books to us, who may be having a very rough day and just need a touch of kindness.

Let’s make this season a “Be Nice to your Barista” Christmas and find amazing ways to bless those who serve us with a smile every day. Let's remember that the people behind the counter are the ones God calls us to love and they are NOT the ones He calls us to demean, degrade, or dismiss.  They are His children, and if they don't know Him, He wants us to show them what He's really like.  So, would God or Jesus walk into a Starbucks and demand the barista write "Merry Christmas" on his cup?  I know what my God would do.

And to my favorite baristas...thank you for your smiles, your willingness to make my favorite specialty drink which takes extra time (even though YOU got me hooked on it in the first place!), for always making me feel welcome.  YOU BRIGHTEN MY DAY.

Hope is the thing with feathers...

Our family has had some very discouraging experiences lately.  And at times things felt hopeless...  It was easy to react to circumstances around us and become depressed.  But that is not the natural state of a God-follower, and the Lover of our souls thrills to show us a better way.  For me, He delights in surprising me with the gift of a feather.  Yesterday, He partnered with Chris (and a few birds) to remind us of some important truths.

Allow me to share our little story with you:

Cooper's Hawk

Chris and I were looking out the kitchen window yesterday morning, and saw a bird stalking something.  

Perspective from that window is difficult at times, because the backyard is large, and it took a moment to realize it was a Cooper’s hawk; we hadn't recognized the massive size of the bird until we began comparing it to objects near it--it was at least a foot tall when standing.  

We couldn't see what it was hunting, but it was intent, swooping from branch to branch, standing still, listening.  Eventually, we went on about our business, ignoring the bird.  After all, we were overwhelmed with life.

Our Hope Feather

Later in the day, Chris felt compelled to walk into the backyard; he felt that there was a feather waiting for me.  He walked blindly to where the hawk had been, as he felt directed, and there was ONE feather sitting there.  As he picked it up, he felt that it signified hope.

He relayed his experience as he gave me the feather. He was certain it was from the hawk we had seen.  

I Googled hawk feathers, and it looked similar, but not quite.  I figured there had to be some relationship between this feather and the hawk, so I continued to read and learn about the Cooper's Hawk.  I learned that it preys on smaller birds…such as this bird...

 

Red-bellied Woodpecker (don't ask me why it's red-bellied, when its head is redder than its belly)

 ...whose tail feathers look just like our hope feather!

Red-bellied Woodpecker feathers

And then I began worrying.  Did the hawk totally maul this bird?  So I went into the backyard; looked around.  There were NO OTHER feathers.  I had seen pictures on the internet of what those hawks did to birds--utter carnage!  There was NO WAY the woodpecker had been killed, at least not here in our yard.

Back inside, I researched the woodpeckers.  They tend to forage for bugs in dead and formerly healthy trees, and are pivotal in halting the Emerald Ash Borer, removing up to 85% of the larvae from an infected tree.  So basically, they remove evil and allow health to flourish.

A predator was after it…but it appears the only damage it did was to remove a single tail feather.

 

A feather, fully plucked from a bird, can be re-grown in two weeks.

So this bird, his life threatened, thinking perhaps that this was the end…he simply lost a tail feather.  That’s how ineffective his enemy was.

I relayed this to Chris.  His “hope” feather was indeed true.  It was telling us that the enemy may hunt us, and we may feel as if our life is all but lost…but at that desperate moment, all we might lose is a tail feather…something easily re-grown.  We cannot be defeated.

We forget that our experiences, which can be pleasant or painful, are not what defines our state of being.  We are called to be MORE THAN the sum of our experiences; instead of simply reacting to life, we are to move in our lives and the lives of others as a FORCE for good.  We are to be little red-bellied woodpeckers, gently removing the bad so healthy growth can occur...and when we are attacked, we can relax in the unseen forces around us, protecting us, lifting us, carrying us to safety.

Yes, we may lose a tail feather every now and then.  We may even feel like a plucked Thanksgiving turkey, but the enemy is ineffective and will ultimately lose.  When we feel like life is overwhelming us, as if wave after wave is crashing into us...as if we are facing a tsunami...we have HOPE.  Something so strong, so firm, so secure, that no storm can destroy it!

Michelle Cherry-Picks Leviticus in a Culturally Inappropriate Way (which is funner) *with pictures!

After my recent blogs, certain anomalies have come to my attention…

Yes, I’m going to chat about homosexuality again, in the context of the Bible and Christianity.

Before I delve into OT law, I give you...JEWVERINE!

I watch prominent Christian groups pull the same verses from the Bible over and over to prove a point…I even used to do the exact same thing; but it’s begun to get under my skin. These are the verses:

Leviticus 18:22 “Do not practice homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman.  It is a detestable sin.”  Hmm, “detestable”…yep, sure sounds like God REALLY hates that.

Leviticus 20:13 “If a man practices homosexuality, having sex with another man as with a woman, both men have committed a detestable act.  They must both be put to death, for they are guilty of a capital offense.” OH YEAH.  “Put to death”…must be a REALLY BIG SIN.

Seems super-obvious right?  …As long as you subscribe to the cherry-picked version of Leviticus where you ignore all the other verses.  Like these:

Leviticus 11, which tells you not to eat animals such as pigs, rabbits, snake, shrimp, lobsters,etc.  Hey, you can’t even TOUCH a dead one.  So…my favorite childhood stuffed animal—a cat made from REAL (dead) RABBIT FUR!—“defiled” me.  And what about all those former football players who used a genuine “pigskin”?  DEFILED!  These animals are called “detestable”—the same adjective used for homosexuality.  And btw, NO MORE BACON FOR YOU!!!

Leviticus 17:10  “And if any native Israelite or foreigner living among you eats or drinks blood in any form, I will turn against that person and cut him off from the community of your people,”  Ever had a steak or hamburger rare or medium-rare?  Whoops.  I guess it’s off to the desert for you. <kisses goodbye>  Don't forget to stay hydrated.

Leviticus 18:19,26 “Do not have sexual relations with a woman during her period of menstrual impurity….You must not commit any of these detestable sins.”  Not even a teeny-weeny little bit.  And notice this is grouped in the SAME CATEGORY AS HOMOSEXUALITY.  Punishment:  Banishment.  FOR LIFE.  Yea, I went there.  It’s right there with homosexuality, men.  So stop yelling “Abomination” okay?  Don’t make us pry into your sexual history to see if we need to ostracize you too.

Leviticus 19:16,17 “Do not spread slanderous gossip among your people.  Do not stand idly by while your neighbor’s life is threatened.  I am the Lord.  Do not nurse hatred in your heart for any of your relatives.”  This verse is literally SANDWICHED BETWEEN THE TWO VERSES ON HOMOSEXUALITY.  Why don’t we treat these sins as seriously?  Why not start a campaign against slander and gossip and hatred?  Now THAT would improve the world!

Chris's new look.  He rocks it like a BOSS!

Leviticus 19:27,28 "Do not trim off the hair on your temples or trim your beards.  Do not cut your bodies for the dead, and do not mark your skin with tattoos.  I am the Lord.”  So, it’s okay to trim beards now; to cut your hair also—but tattoos are still detestable?  Do I have that correct?  God puts them both in the same breath, but we assign our own judgmental values on their holiness.  Is anyone other than me seeing the RAMPANT HYPOCRISY?  Can someone tell me WHEN did GOD split these two instructions apart and assign one to be void and the other to be valid?

Leviticus 20:9 “Anyone who dishonors father or mother must be put to death.  Such a person is guilty of a capital offense.”  OUCH.  Seems like there should be a bunch of dead kids out there.  Same paragraph as an anti-homosexual verse, so, you know, let’s keep all these laws, eh?

Perhaps you disregard the OT verses, and use the NT verses as your argument.  Verses such as these:

1 Corinthians 6:9,10 “Don’t you realize that those who do wrong will not inherit the Kingdom of God?  Don’t fool yourselves.  Those who indulge in sexual sin, or who worship idols, or commit adultery, or are male prostitutes, or practice homosexuality, or are thieves, or greedy people, or drunkards, or are abusive, or cheat people—none of these will inherit the Kingdom of God.”  TAKE NOTE:  Homosexuality IS NOT singled out as being worse than anything else on this list.

The church as an institution has a corner on THIS disease.

1 Timothy 1:10,11 “The law is for people who are sexually immoral, or who practice homosexuality, or are slave traders, liars, promise breakers, or who do anything else that contradicts the wholesome teaching that comes from the glorious Good News entrusted to me by our blessed God.”

Yes, the Bible has words to say against the practice of homosexuality, JUST LIKE PEOPLE WHO DO THE FOLLOWING:  (note; BEING a homosexual is never stated as a sin.  NEVER.  And p.s. There are NO recorded words from Jesus about homosexuality either.)

·        Take other Christians to court

·         Cheat

·         Are involved in ANY sexual sin (like porn, masturbation, lustful thoughts, watching or reading sexually explicit material, premarital crossing boundaries, extramarital boundary crossing, or simply having sexual relations with your spouse with a selfish heart)

·         Steal

·         Are greedy

·         Drink too much alcohol

·         Are abusive, either physically or verbally

·         Cheat people

·         Lie

·         Break promises

·         Do anything un-biblical

Who can look at that list and call themselves sinless?  Ever looked at another kid’s paper to see what answer they put down for number ten?  Then you are GUILTY.  Ever looked at a girl and wondered what she looked like naked?  GUILTY.  Ever kind-of stretched the truth on your charitable giving on your taxes?  GUILTY.  Were you a party binge drinker in college?  GUILTY.  Ever told your child that you would do something for them, and forgot?  GUILTY.  Got frustrated at that sales clerk and spoke harshly to her?  GUILTY.  Honestly, I’m fairly certain I do at least one of these things daily.  I mean, who can manage a day without doing ONE THING “that contradicts the wholesome teaching…”?

Sure, we may look at the previous examples and say, “Well, in comparison, those things are minor infractions.”  I beg to differ.  Are your actions contrary to the Holy nature of our God?  We are not called to compare ourselves to other people; we are called to strive to be like the Holiest of Holy!

I may be repeating myself, but I don’t think people get this:  SIN IS SIN.  YOUR SIN ISN’T ANY BETTER THAN ANYBODY ELSE’S SIN.

I have been given a massive blessing by having some amazing and wonderful people in my life, who also happen to be homosexual.  When I am with them, I don’t sit around and think about that aspect of their life every single moment I am with them.  If I did, then there would be something wrong with me and my thinking.  I don’t want others who have a relationship with me to constantly think about the nature of my sexual life while I am with them, either.  That’s sick.  If I can’t stop thinking about sex, then it’s my thought life that needs an overhaul, no matter what is going on in that other person’s life.

Perhaps if we began focusing on our own sins instead of pointing out the sins of others(or behaving as if THEY are more sinful than we are), the world would see Christ in us a little better.  After all, I can only change me.  And other people won’t see the love of God in you, or learn about His grace through Jesus if you don’t show it through your actions.  If you show hate and anger, they will learn that your god is a vindictive and evil god.  If you show love and compassion, then they will be given the opportunity to see the true God through you.

I'm learning.  Thanks to all those amazingly patient people out there.

Michelle plays connect the dots between Misogyny and Homophobia; Part Four: Namaste

PART FOUR:

Namaste

You can read the previous posts by clicking here:
Part One: Male Space
Part Two: Gaydar
Part Three: Tables Turned

Unfortunately, our social problems are much greater than just misogyny and homophobia.

It’s a mindset in all of humanity.  In men and women.  It’s a refusal to choose empathy.  It’s a stubborn, deep-within-myself narcissistic need to be RIGHT—and therefore YOU ARE WRONG.  It’s an insistence that MY WAY is the correct way, and YOU NEED TO SEE IT MY WAY.  And I DON’T NEED TO LOOK AT IT FROM YOUR PERSPECTIVE BECAUSE I’VE ALREADY GOT IT FIGURED OUT.

All the shouting, the finger-pointing, the hatred.  It’s tearing us apart. 

Whatever happened to “They know we are Christians by our love”?  Who would say that about us now? 

In my pastor’s sermon a few Sundays ago, he mentioned that a recent poll of young adults, when asked what “Christians” are, they responded with the word “self-righteous”.  And I’d say that is spot-on, when discussing what the vast majority of the church looks like today.  I grow weary of the whiny facebook posts of people complaining they are being persecuted and how we need to stand up for our rights as American Christians, before we lose them all.  (P.S.  “American Christian” is an oxymoron.  Ever heard this?  “There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female.  For you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  We are to put our patriotism aside for a greater cause.  Yes, I am exceedingly glad to have been born in America.  But it comes secondary to my Christianity.  By far.  I don’t say I am a Female Christian or a White Christian, or identify my Christianity in any other way.  My spiritual identity is in CHRIST, and Christ alone.)

It’s funny, because I don’t recall a single sermon being preached by Jesus or any of the apostles where getting persecuted was a worry.  I recall lots of joy about persecution.  And lots of stuff about loving pagans.  But I don’t recall ANYTHING about where we are supposed to preach “YOU ARE GOING TO HELL!”  You know, “Turn or Burn” or "You Murdered Your Baby!"

As a matter of fact, I’m fairly certain that the fear of hell is NOT how Jesus wants us to invite people to heaven.

He wants us to love people so profoundly that they desire to be WITH us.  That they feel the love dripping off of us like sweet honey—and they want even just a lick of it, it tastes so good.
 

But we are leaving bitter fecal droppings for the world. 

I recall sermons at my former church against the abomination that is the homosexual community.  The groups that were gathered to picket or to “walk” against certain “homosexual agendas”.  Or, for that matter, the picketing against the abortion clinics.  Or the leaflets left on our windshields during church, letting us know all the respectable Republican candidates we should vote for in the upcoming election, because it was the “moral” thing to do to save us from the pagan Democrats.  It almost seemed like we piled so many things we were AGAINST, that we didn’t have the time or the energy to be FOR a single thing.  We were against gay marriage, abortion, divorce, the liberal agenda, taking prayer out of schools, democrats (I was a closet democrat—I got tired of people saying, “How can you possibly be a DEMOCRAT and a CHRISTIAN?”  The answer is simply, “Go read the actual definitions of the parties.  The definition of Democrat is not actually “Gay baby killer who watches porn while on public assistance.”)

I'm scared to ask if this is satire or not...

It is tiring, quite frankly, to muster up enough righteous indignation all the time.

When I began to think about it, really think about it, I realized all this righteous indignation IS an attitude found in the bible.  It’s what the Pharisees looked like.  And that’s THE ONLY TIME WHEN JESUS GOT ANGRY AND SPOKE HARSHLY TO OTHER PEOPLE.  That’s right, Jesus never spoke hateful words to anyone except those conservative religious people who were so certain that they were right. 

That should give us all pause.

I know it makes me think, and it makes me question myself every time I go to judge another person.  It makes me very, very glad that it’s not my job to judge them.  Not my job at all.  I am called to do two things, and two things only:              

I must love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, strength, and mind, AND
I must love my neighbor as myself.

Our job is to see them as carriers of God's spirit, first and foremost.  Would we yell spiteful words at Jesus if He was standing right before us?  But every human is a unique creation of God, designed to carry a specific quality of Him into the world, something NO OTHER HUMAN could do.  We ALL carry within us a certain "je ne sais quoi".

So before I give some twisted, rationalized version of what “loving” a person truly is, I must back up and place myself in their shoes (it’s called empathy), and make sure that if I was in such a situation, I would actually be loved by that action.  It’s taking down the barriers, and not self righteously saying, “Well, I would NEVER  be in that situation—I would NEVER do THAT!”  Perhaps.  But, as Jesus said, “If you have even harbored  hate in your heart, you have committed murder.  And if you have lusted, you have committed adultery.”  Those are not empty words.  How many people have you killed?  I’m guilty.

I have learned every human has a back story.  Even those who abuse others; those people harbor unresolved pain in their lives.  And if I had experienced their life up to that point, I may have committed that sin too.  The truth is, no one knows.  I can be thankful for the past I have had which prohibits me from desiring certain behaviors, but I can't limit my thinking to believe that ANYTHING SINFUL is beyond my capabilities, given the "right" (or wrong) past and present circumstances and stressors.

And God created EVERY. HUMAN.  For the same reason.  Because He was inspired, and loved the idea which turned into that unique soul.

Forgive the profanity, but many times I believe this is true for Christians.  We WANT TO BELIEVE that God loves us more because of our piety.  But it's not true.  The "prodigal son" parable blows that misconception totally out of the water.

I admit it, I've been the jerk.

Jesus and the early church members willingly gave up everything, even their lives, for their faith.  They never yelled words of hate against other people while they were suffering, either.  It’s quite a contrast. They lost their jobs, and they rejoiced.  They didn’t shout about their rights being revoked.  Oh, for the joy of being able to suffer for the cause of Christ!  I would much rather lose my “rights”, and do it in a way that causes people to wonder what wonderful peace is within my heart than to keep my “rights” or even fight for them and lose the true battle of showing people how to find Jesus.

Have we forgotten what the true battle is? 

                For we are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places.

Nothing in this world matters but the souls of God’s precious children.  And He is not exclusionary.  He created each human for a reason; each human is loved and precious and holds a piece of eternity within themselves. 

Namaste, to each and every one of you.