Healing is not the lack of some good, righteous anger. In fact, it very much is the start of it.
What do I mean?
Anger that leads to malice, harm and revenge is not the anger I’m talking about. The anger that stirs in a human heart when it to sees the atrocities of injustice against its fellow man, to watch the war that darkness has waged against innocent children — if these things don’t make you upset, you’re not truly seeing them.
The more I heal, the more I see the inhumane treatment of millions. Everywhere there are bodies that lay victim to oppression and the weight of this illness consumes them in so many ways.
Who is going to stand up and say this is wrong?
I found this picture of the motel where the murder occurred right before I went to sleep last night. Not something I meant to do but it was on a social media site about growing up in Vancouver, Washington.
You can be sure the room in the top right corner brought nightmares to me last night. Minus the rocking chair the room is so incredibly familiar. As I woke up in the night hours literally crying after being thrown back into that room, I cried out to God asking when does my story end? When will my body stop bringing the remembrance of it to me?
I don’t have the answer to that question. Maybe never in some ways.
What it reminds me of is the battle each little girl and boy face as they leave the homes of these tortuous creatures often called our parents.
I woke up and just wanted to be held. It would have helped so much in 1968. Actually, any year of my fucked up existence in their house.
Of this I am sure, I will carry on. Anymore, it is the only choice before me. I battle not just for myself, but for you, for all of us that went through these childhood crimes.
For now, I must carry the flag for this woman who has no voice. I’ll carry it until there is no evidence of justice.