Identity

An important aspect of experience is that adults tend to find their identity in their experiences.

Is this you? On what do you base your identity? Your roles (parent, friend, profession, etc)? Your circumstances (income, housing, job, etc.)? Personality or preferences?

I encountered this thought about identity in a curriculum training caregivers of trafficking survivors. This context makes a simple sentence shocking. If your primary experiences are extreme trauma, abuse, and exploitation--what will be your identity?

This is another example of why the Biblical perspective is crucial to abolitionism. You are not the product of your experiences. You are who God says you are. 

Who do you think God says you are?

Friends, feline, and freak

Friends, feline, and freak--
I leave it to you to deduce which is which (Who is what? Who is which? Why is how?).

Cat Therapy

To quote my estimable progenitor, "Katie is goo-goo about her cat." True enough. She is adorable and soft and refreshingly uncomplicated. It takes so little to make her happy: food and my presence. (Petting is a bonus.) 

Most days I am pretty tired. Work absorbs the lion's share of my energy, then friends, then errands and projects. Sometimes I drag myself to yoga or up and down a few hills for the sake of my circulation. By the time I trudge through the door at night, I am spent. My cat doesn't care that I am a wimp. She doesn't care if I am grumpy or sad or caustic. She simply wants to be near me, pressed against my side or curled up by my calves. Her small body is a balm. When I am grieving the human condition or over-complicating my circumstances yet again, her simple affection reminds me of the triumph of goodness and the rest that is available in my Father's presence. One little animal scampering around the house helps quiet my mind--a strange goo-goo gift.

Choices

Source

Modern-Day Slavery

The news of the three women rescued in Cleveland has been plastered over the internet this week. For those of you unfamiliar with the story, let me warn you that is tragic and sickening. It is not an easy story to forget, and I repeat it here not because we need another example of the extreme depravity of man, but because I want to share a viewpoint that has been missing from the extensive media coverage.

A man heard a woman yelling for help from behind the locked door of his neighbor's home. Thinking that there was a domestic dispute, he tried to help her break through the door. The police were called and immediately came to free the woman, her six-year-old daughter, and two other women locked in upstairs bedrooms. The three women were revealed to be local girls who had been missing for a decade. The same middle-aged man kidnapped them one at a time as teenagers, chained them in his basement, brutalized them, and kept them prisoners in his house for nine, ten, and eleven years. It is believed that he acted alone and was the only person who knew of their captivity. His family and neighbors have expressed extreme shock, dismay, and disgust not only for his incomprehensible actions but also for their ignorance. The women and the girl (fathered by the captor) were initially taken to a hospital and have since been reunited with their families.

This story is gruesome, and the pain and torment of these women has been graphically described (though not detailed) by the media. I found myself uncharacteristically following the story because I noticed two terms curiously absent from the coverage: "slavery" and "human trafficking". No article mentioned what immediately came to my mind: This man enslaved these women. Why isn't the media talking about this as an example of slavery? Because it was not forced prostitution in a massage parlor or twenty-hour days in a sweatshop? Because it's too grim of a word--worse than rape and imprisonment and beating and brutalization? Even our justice system is currently silent on this crucial aspect of the crimes. The perpetrator is facing four counts of kidnapping and three counts of rape. He may also face charges of murder for the multiple miscarriages he forced on at least one of the women. Yet, he is not facing charges for enslavement. 

The neighbor who heard the first woman pleading for help told camera crews: "You know something ain't right when a pretty, white girl runs into a black man's arms." Less than two hundred years ago in the American South, a white man could have enslaved three black women under the same conditions as the three women from Cleveland without fear of repercussion. There would have been no secrecy necessary. This slave owner would have boldly described his "slaves." Why can't we?

My disappointment with the lack of mentioning "slavery" or "human trafficking" is not due to my fondness for semantics. It's not the term that is important. What's vitally important is that we recognize the gravity of this man's crime: he imprisoned other human beings and violently robbed them of their human rights. He denied them freedom in every respect. We need to recognize and verbalize the "unspeakable" crime for what it is so that we can stand against the atrocity of human trafficking that happens to thousands upon thousands of people in the United States and around the world. We need to be willing at the very least to admit the horror of modern day slavery, to speak of it when we see it. We need to move on from admission to description, until the depth of what we hear and know moves us to action.

This current story is sadly not a rare crime considering the scope of human trafficking. However, it is indeed unusual because there was only one perpetrator involved and the women were rescued! Generally, in both labor and sex trafficking there is an organized, determined, smart, insidious group of perpetrators kidnapping and enslaving other human beings who remain slaves for the rest of their lives. If the slaves birth children, the children are slaves too. Labor slaves sleep perhaps five hours a night. Children and women who are sex slaves have to service dozens of clients a week, if not a day. Their lives aren't like "Moulin Rouge"; sex slavery is essentially rape for sale. Unfortunately, these stories are the norm for trafficking. Slavery still exists. What are you going to do about it?

Here are some starting points:

• Pray!
• For freedom and restoration for the captives
• For the perpetrators to be caught and punished
• For wisdom, resources, and stamina for abolitionists
• For strengthened legislation in support of the victims
• Report any suspicious behavior to the Human Trafficking Hotline: 1-888-373-7888 or text BeFree (233733).
• Support a nonprofit working in prevention, rescue, or restoration (aftercare). Give money. Sign up for their emails. 
• International Justice Mission
• Not for Sale
• Love 146
• (List of other organizations)
• Contact your elected officials to let them know this is an issue that concerns you.
• Buy fair trade and direct trade products (or go thrifting!--my favorite).

Change is possible--and sometimes inevitable.

Dedicated to the people having a tadpole week.

What do you see?

The grass on the hills guiding my commute has suddenly shifted brown. I noted the turn with dismay but in a feeble Pollyanna attempt pondered: Not so pretty, but how would Annie Dillard describe this scene? What beauty or universal theory would she garner from these hills? Do these poets truly view their surroundings with greater perception or are they just better at describing what they see? It is their perspective or their talent that impels their written re-creations of reality? I wish I could write!

(Clearly, I am not cut out to be a Pollyanna any more than an Annie Dillard!) While reflecting further on my recent intake of creative nonfiction (Garrison Keillor, Marilynne Robinson, Susanne Antonetta--anyone?), this thought flashed: I like creative nonfiction for the same reason I like paintings; they both help me to see reality differently. The most skilled artists manage to focus attention, tell a story, and invite us to view a shared reality in a new way. 

Susanne Antonetta
A Mind Apart: Travels in a Neurodiverse World

Dorothea Lange
"Migratory Mother-Texas"

Vincent Van Gogh
"The Good Samaritan"

How will I know?

While chopping sweet mini-peppers last Sunday, I found myself humming snippets from showtunes. Somewhere after "My Fair Lady" and a couple bars from "Rent", Glee covers* starting popping. Whitney Houston rose to the surface (a subconscious streak of diva?). 

How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat...something something...how will I knooooooooooow?

And then it hit me right about the time I decided I simply did not possess enough patience to decapitate a single additional pepper: there is no need for insecurity or anxiety with God's love. How could you ever sing this song to Him? How do we know He "really" loves us? He settled the question once and for all:

And this is love: not that we loved Him, but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. 1 John 4:10



*Necessary disclaimer: the show is beyond insipid, but they sure can sing, right? I only watch the covers. 

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Advice from my yoga teacher

"Stop for a moment. Breathe. Feel the wonder. Let yourself experience the excitement of not knowing what will happen next."

In table position with my right leg precariously hovering (semi) aligned with my spine, I reflected, Hmm, when is the last time I took time to wonder at what the Lord has done? And when is the last time I actually enjoyed not knowing what will happen next? I like surprises, but I'm wary of His because they can be hard! I used to like His surprises. I used to anticipate good things. I need to trust that even if what He brings is hard, it is good. I need to trust that change will come, even when every day looks and feels suspiciously like innumerable ones before it. Excitement is asking a lot at the moment, but maybe I can start with anticipation.

Praise the LORD!

For it is good to sing praises to our God;

for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.

The LORD builds up Jerusalem;

he gathers the outcasts of Israel.

He heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their wounds.

He determines the number of the stars;

he gives all of them their names.

Great is our Lord, and abundant in power;

his understanding is beyond measure.

The LORD lifts up the humble;

he casts the wicked to the ground.

Sing to the LORD with thanksgiving;

make melody to our God on the lyre!

He covers the heavens with clouds;

He prepares rain for the earth;

He makes grass grow on the hills.

He gives to the beasts their food

and to the young ravens that cry.

His delight is not in the strength of the horse,

nor his pleasure in the legs of a man

but the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him,

in those who hope in his steadfast love.

Psalm 147: 1-11