A big thanks to all of you for your good wishes and advice. I am feeling lots better, although I don’t want to give up all the sweet loving attention and pampering that had been coming my way, yet I fear I must for they are predicting snow and even possibly an ice storm, for which I should get our cozy nest ready, and the pantry stocked up.

I’ve been thinking of writing something Christmassy because I have a collection of magical Christmas memories all waiting to be dusted off and brought into the spotlight. Shiny, glittery, and bright. Just like Christmas itself. My thoughts, however, linger on one of the local news stories, and try as I might, I cannot shake off the need to write a bit about it. Added on to all that, is a comment made by a friend yesterday morning about all the horrible things done in the name of religion, and it got me to thinking.

Is there one thing which causes more damage to a group of people than religious indoctrination? I doubt it. History is witness enough. Yet it seems that we don’t learn and allow ourselves to fall prey to it again and again. For those who come from one culture into another, it is only natural to seek out those who share the same traditions and speak the same language. Something familiar in the vast sea of unfamiliarity. Something that smells like home. And even if one doesn’t share the same ideals and wishes to be more socially liberal, there are all sorts of cultural barriers which must first be understood in order to be overcome. So one gravitates to what’s familiar.

Playing guilt like a violin, such churches were and are dictatorships really, imposing tyranny in the name of Christianity, while demanding blind faith and calling it, trust in God.  I know this to be true.  For a brief period in time it had been part of my reality.

I was watching yesterday how these parents of seven children were standing before the judge, defending their actions of whipping the backs of their teenage children until they were a bloody mess, asserting that the Bible demanded that the rod not be spared. And for what? Because their daughters had dared cut their hair when the church demanded that the hair stay long. I felt like crying for their children, and I felt like crying for them. Because while I know that monsters exist, I also know that these two adults have been so brainwashed that there was no reasoning with them. An intervention is needed. Perhaps prison will do the trick. Perhaps the complete separation from the claws of their cult is needed to bring them out of their stupor. Because they actually believe that God wants them to act thus.  Which reminds me of this great quote from Donald Miller:

The scary thing about religion is that people actually believe God is who they think He is. They have Him all figured out, mapped out. A bunch of Catholics think of him in one way, and a bunch of Baptists in another. The list goes on and on; and it makes me wonder if God created us in His image or if we created Him in ours.

Listening to the judge and watching his face, I knew that he felt the same thing. How does one reason with the unreasonable? I do not know. But it is worth a thought, for it is truly frightening to be prey to someone’s fanaticism.

Years ago when I was in college, I worked as an on-call interpreter for a local immigration center. One night well past midnight my pager went off. I considered not calling back, as the number was not one I recognized and I didn’t really feel like getting dressed and going into some cold hospital room where I’d sit and wait, and try not to doze of.

But a few minutes later, it went off again. So I called. A nurse from one of the nearby emergency rooms picked up and asked if I could be make it as soon as possible, as the mother and daughter there did not speak any English, and an interpreter was needed. The situation was grave, she stressed over and over, and so I agreed and left.

I suppose that up until this point I had a pretty naïve view of the world. Sure, crime happened everywhere; it was all over the news. Yet, I had been disengaged from it, and so far removed, that it barely registered as an actual occurrence.

The nurse tried to prepare me for what I was about to see. I will not give any specifics, other than to say that an at home abortion had been attempted. The girl was in a stable condition though. Thankfully the mother had had the presence of mind to call the emergency services and they had done a wonderful job in their response.

I did not know where to look, it was so revolting, and the stench of it turned my stomach. But, a doctor and a social worker were already there, and they were firing away with questions that needed answering. And so I began to interpret the most horrifying and traumatic four-month period in that girl’s life. Her father had been raping her.

As I reflect upon that night, I ask myself the same questions I did then. Why does this happen? Why are there men who hurt their daughters? A father’s role is that of a protector. He is the refuge his children run to when they seek shelter from the storms of life. I will never understand this form of cruelty.

I ran into her a few years later at a restaurant. Gone was the frightened teenager. In her place stood a beautiful, yet too serious young woman. Outwardly, her life had turned around. She was in medical school. Her future bright. However, inside she was still running away. The nightmare continued to torment her. She had no serious boyfriend. She had lost her faith in men. She had decided that she would never marry. And she wanted no children. She couldn’t get past what had happened, and she couldn’t stop regretting what had never been. The innocence, the love, and the trust. Both of the past and of the future.