Friday, September 28, 2018

Always Believe the Woman

I came across a familiar quote from MLK. These convicting words are ones I hear quoted every January, February, and April - months when it seems acceptable to allow the weighty words of this justice giant to interrupt our comfortable world.


Dr. King’s up in my business again. Speaking from across the decades, his words are ringing in my ears during a week of turmoil and upheaval on The Hill. 

Allegations. Denials. Judgements. Accusations. 

There are things that matter happening here and I’m not ready for my life to begin to end. So, I will not remain silent.

Sixteen years ago was my first exposure to training and instruction on domestic violence. I ended up in a classroom “by accident”, not prepared for an hour that would change my trajectory of thought on abuse forever.

In the front of the room, a tall man talked to pastors and laity about the reality of abuse and assault. Rev. Al Miles made abuse personal. He made it uncomfortable. He was the first person I recall hearing talk about victim blaming. The first to stare Jesus people in the eye and challenge us with the fact that the church is one of the hardest places for women to find safety. 

He told us, in no uncertain terms, to always believe the woman*. 

Always.

Always.

FULL STOP.

I spent several years working with Al Miles - contributing in small ways to books he wrote and in conferences he taught. Over and again, it was the clergy of the church who gave heated resistance to his words. Al never wavered. He showed up every time, stared the pastors down, and pushed back on every flimsy excuse, chauvinistic assumption, and outright ungodly attitude that leads us to create further trauma for the victim.








“Always believe the woman.”

I’ve spent my pastoral ministry attempting to live by these words. I’ve spent hours listening to the stories of women who have suffered abuse or assault. I’ve watched them shaking as they recall the details. I’ve seen their shifting glance as they wonder if they’ve said too much. I’ve held their hand as they bravely own what has happened to them - none of which is their fault. Ever. And I’ve looked them in the eye and said, “I believe you.”

I believe the woman.

Al Miles was right, and he still is, about so many things. 



And here we are again, with headlines splashed across our news feed. A woman (actually three women) have dared to tell their story. And we’d rather talk about the timing of the allegations. As if there is too much at stake to believe the woman.

And that’s just it, isn’t it. The stakes feel too high to give any credence to the claims, so we shut it down and shut them up and victimize people all over again. 

“Always believe the woman.”

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

Today, the voices of two men (of all people) are spurring me to assert that the stakes are never too high to believe the woman. 

Never. 

There’s never too much at risk to slow down, hear the victim, believe the victim, and practice due diligence in response to the allegations.

No matter how long it takes.


A Facebook friend was taking a survey today asking “Who do you believe - Kavanaugh or Ford?” After all my domestic violence training, I have to admit I find it an asinine question to ask. 

My answer is emphatic. "I believe the woman.”

*Woman is used as victim's gender because in the vast majority of domestic violence cases, the victim is female.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

Face Beauty Auto (a poem)


Face Beauty Auto
Autobiography

beauty, they say, is only skin deep
a decorated package wrapping up the soul and heart.
motorola makes beauty effortless
available at the touch of a button.
face beauty auto.

blending away the lines
smoothing out the blemishes
perfection erasing evidence of life lived,
covering the freckles that testify to sun-kissed summer.

even complexion, airbrushed ideal
denying the hard-earned lines grooved by
laughter and tears
and memories made
and battles waged
in the invisible depths.

hyper-reality,
youth regained
but only temporarily
on a hand-held device.

better to embrace visible pores
than to pour over elusive perfection.
better a face worn by life and love
than loving my face more than living.

round off the edges, smooth out the roughness
but never obstruct the evidence I wear
that declares I’ve lived full
in all the wonder and mess.

luminescence, not from concealing,
but evoked from being alive
for years enough
to gain wisdom
and experience
and to soften the edges
of my heart
and words
and critique.

my honest face
behind the screen
is more rugged
 less softened
more weathered.
that face
is my autobiography.