Earlier this month, I blogged about Randall Margraves lunging at Larry Nassar, who’d pled guilty to sexually assaulting hundreds of young women and girls, including three of Margraves’ daughters. No one, not even the judge, had the heart to criticize his actions.
Most parents could feel the distraught father’s pain. Early on in my recovery from PTSD, I shared with my counselor about how angry I was feeling about being unprotected as a child. “If someone did that to one of my girls, they’d be in mortal danger.”
“I believe you,” he replied. (Good thing counselors aren’t obliged to report hypothetical threats. I might be writing this from a jail cell.)
Unfortunately, there aren’t any foolproof ways of preventing the horrible, yet all-too-common abuse that affects 1 out of 5 girls and 1 out of 20 boys before they turn 18.
I planned to post the next installment in my Fruit of the Spirit series today, but after reading about Josh Duggar’s lawsuit against In Touch Weekly, I can’t be silent. For the sake of all those who shut up and acted like everything was okay after enduring the crime of sexual predators, I’m going to throw my tiny voice out there and join a growing chorus of advocates.
If you’re not familiar with the story, Josh Duggar is requesting to join his sisters’ lawsuit against the magazine, which originally reported his molestation of them in 2015. They’re also suing the police department that released the reports, claiming that the police department and the magazine violated minors’ privacy rights, despite the fact that all minors’ names were redacted and never published.
I’m just beginning to understand the connection between the anxiety I’ve felt my whole life and childhood trauma. Until recently, I wasn’t even aware that I lived with anxiety—it’s just always been a normal part of who I am. But it’s affected my relationships negatively, especially in parenting.
This week, our little town is reeling. A teenage young man was killed when he and another guy fell off the back of the car. Another teen was driving. Three families will never be the same. My heart goes out to the families, especially the moms.
That was my worst nightmare as a mom of teenagers—they’d do irreparable harm and ruin their lives somehow. I didn’t have any rational reason to fear this—my girls were sensible and responsible.
It’s not often that I come out of a movie theater with deeper spiritual insight. This weekend I viewed War Room; the Holy Spirit spoke to me.
Some critics implied that War Room addresses a straw man issue. Of course prayer changes things, they say. Reviewers claim no one would argue that God doesn’t want us to pray more fervently or that American Christians as a whole haven’t become apathetic. They may be right, but I needed to see the movie anyway.
I spent last weekend with fifteen wonderful ladies to train for our upcoming Community Bible Study year. As a children’s ministry worker, I learned what my curriculum will look like and scoped out classrooms. I got to know many of the people I’d be working with as we planned ways to love on our little lambs. Our leaders poured encouragement into us and reminded us of the high calling to shepherd children.
These precious little ones don’t know it yet, but we have an enemy who’d like to convince them that they are evolutionary accidents with little or no value. The sooner he can beat them down with shame and feelings of low worth, the easier it will be to prevent them from living an abundant life.
What’s the saddest story in the Bible?
Different people all have their own opinions, but for me it’s the story of Tamar.
2 Samuel tells her sad tale. She’s Absalom’s sister, and the half-sister of Amnon.
Amnon, under the advice of his cousin, tricked Tamar into cooking food for him at his house. When they were alone, he raped her.
If that weren’t enough, he had his servant toss her out of his house and bolt the door. In that culture, she was finished—no longer a virgin, she would never marry or have a family. Never have a respectable profession. In her shame, still wearing the ornate robe fit for a young virgin princess, Tamar put ashes on her head and wept.