Kids forum

Today, the kids of our school, and two others (P.o.P Lutheran and Paddy's Street - where my stepson Josh goes) held their annual "Kids Forum": a forum where grade 6 and 7 students could discuss world issues that concerned them for local notables - politicians, activists, chaplains.

They talked about global warming, underage drinking, childhood obesity and the spread of malaria, as well as an informal discussion about how KFC treats its chickens.

You have to admire their spirit, if not their racial sensitivity.......





Ask not for whom the taco bell tolls.....

An open letter to a professor I had in seminary....

The Heartbreak Kid, part infinity....

Hello Dave, and thank you so much for your concerned response. God has moved powerfully in the situation I approached you about already, so I think I can give you the gist – and ask my questions – in writing, and see where we go from there, if that is OK.

I will try to be succinct, but it is a bit involved:

Six weeks ago, we had a ten-year old boy dropped on our school from DOCS (Department of Child Safety). His natural Aunt, Ingrid, who had been awarded emergency custody, was in the office in tears, telling us the most horrific tales of abuse that this boy had suffered: sexual, emotional and physical. She said he had been neglected, dangerously over-medicated, abused emotionally, beaten and “rented out” to a family friend overnight, and was “the most unloved boy” we had ever met. Naturally, we were aghast, and incredibly moved to help this child.

Well, Joe proved to be the most difficult child most of us had ever met. Joe came from a family that was quite candid about the fact that they had a long and involved history of mental illness. He could not read, could not write and had no numeracy skills to speak of. He was completely unsocialized, unable to function in a classroom setting, disruptive, violent, self-harming, overly-sexualized and hyper active. He was disobedient and disorderly and put himself and other children in danger. At times, he would run away, or had to be physically restrained. We suspected that he not only had ASD (Autistic Spectrum Disorder), but was intellectually impaired and had short-term memory problems. He also had a fetish for knives and guns. Yet when he was good, he was as sweet as cherry pie. In fact, the only thing he really seemed to relate to and focus on was the bible I gave him (a GREAT kid’s version of the Gospel of Mark put out by the Bible Society) (his whole family are Jehovah’s Witnesses).

Joe spent some time with his foster-family (his natural aunt and uncle) who shortly after obtaining custody of him filed abuse charges against Leilani, Joe's natural mother. We were told by Ingrid that Leilani was “making trouble” by preventing Joe from receiving medical and psychiatric care, and that Leilani herself was dangerously unstable, and disrupting their lives “because she could”. Joe had some good days when he was almost normally behaved – and he was indeed learning to read and write - but whenever there was contact with his mother, Leilani, Joe’s behaviour deteriorated to the point where he was uncontrollable, and last week we had to remove him from the premises. We were told that the family had wanted to remove Joe from Leilani’s care since he was 2 weeks old.

Joe was unfortunately sent to live with his aging grandparents (after it came to light that he might have been molesting his younger female cousins – Ingrid’s daughters), who absolutely could not control him, and who – with deep regret – refer to him as “a nightmare”. The communication between the two sisters that have care of Joe– his natural mother, Leilani, and his foster mother, Ingrid – had broken down to the point where each felt the other hated them and was deliberately withholding information about Joe from the other out of spite (it turned out that DOCS was preventing the free exchange of information). At the school, we had reached the point of sending Joe away, as we simply were not equipped to deal with a child like that.

When I contacted you, the situation was tragic, and I will admit I had no idea how to pray for this child and his family.

Spiritual Warfare is a concept I have only recently been introduced to – and through deeply disturbing circumstances involving my own family. To an Anglican, it’s theoretically theological, but we really don’t go in for that sort of thing, do we? But as a practicing Baptist now, and one with many friends in AOG circles, I have come to rethink that.

I know that praying for healing for the family is a big part of the prayer support we want to offer them; but there is so much going on there I don’t know how to pray for them. I have so many questions: what if this is some sort of spiritual battleground and there is more here that meets the eye? How do you pray when you don’t even know what to pray for? Who do you involve? How do you involve your prayer team and still respect confidentiality?

This situation has raised so many challenging questions about prayer and prayer support; and though Bruce, my husband – a man with a real gift for prayer – and I talked about it at length; as I say, I was deeply moved to contact you and seek your experience and understanding of specialized prayer (if there is such a thing).

CAVEAT:

We were told last Thursday that Joe’s natural mother was coming to visit the school to see Joe compete in the Cross-country races we hold each year. There had been an incident the previous Saturday where Joe spent the day with his mother, and then had to be forcibly removed by DOCS as he would not get out of his mother’s car.

We, at the school, were on high alert, and even considered having DOCS or the police standing by in case the mother tried to manipulate Joe as we were all told was her “sick” way of treating him.

Well, Leilani showed up as planned, and we were in for a real surprise. Far from being the manipulative witch we’d all imagined, she was a quiet, soft-spoken gentle woman who was very candid about herself: that she herself was struggling with bi-polar disorder, that they were in government housing, that she really was at her wits end with Joe (he had broken one of her ribs, pulled a knife on her and attacked his younger brother with a knife), that she was heartbroken at what had become of her family, that she felt deeply disrespected by her sister and that she was frightened of what might happen to Joe, yet thrilled that he was learning to read and write. She was quite “on board” with everything we explained about Joe, and when she related her side of the story, much that had been tragic became more so.

For example: Ingrid and her husband had based their accusation of Joe’s abuse on sudden changes of mood and attitude; night terrors, repetitive behaviours and fixations (such as washing his backside), and sudden inexplicable violence and tantrums. Those were all things that could be explained by molestation, true – but they are also things common to ASD sufferers. There had never been a single allegation of abuse before that, but now Joe’s mother must stand trial next month for abuse; and Ingrid, by her own admission, has no experience with ASD.

We began to realize that Joe’s behaviour deteriorated each time he spoke to his mother because he missed her so much and wanted to go home, not because she was manipulating him. We saw that Joe quite liked the attention that he got when people thought he was being victimized, and so we believe he began to play it out for his own advantage – hence the allegations of sexual abuse. We have since heard that neither the police nor DOCS has any credible evidence to back up the allegations, and in talking candidly to Joe– well, he’s hasn’t got any details either. Just a smug and disturbing smile….

Many other allegations took on a different light when Leilani weighed in with her side, and we began to see just how utterly tragic this situation was. We saw a Leilani’s side: low-income family with a history of mental illness, struggling with a child they couldn’t cope with; who were forced to involve DOCS because they could not afford the treatment and intervention Joe would need, to their enormous detriment.

We saw the well-off (but also bi-polar) sister try to do what was right by her family, and apparently mis-interpret Joe’s situation to the point where she filed child-abuse charges against her own, struggling, sister.

We saw the parents of the two daughters, torn between them, trying to do right by both and at once cope with a child that no-one could control.

We saw a child protection agency make an already bad situation worse.

And we saw a child with an untreated mental illness play both sides against the middle.

How do you pray into that situation??

Anyway, I thank you so much for getting this far. I would be deeply appreciative of any suggestions and insights that you might have in terms of how you care pastorally for an pray for a family in this kind of crisis, and how – if it is possible – you discern if there is more going on spiritually than meets the eye….

Thank you and God bless

A

The Bicycle

This is something Bruce wrote last night after our church's homegroup meeting. He was kind enough to let me share it..... I think its so beautiful, and so true.


The Bicycle

There was a small village, in a distant and remote part of the world. This village consisted primarily of simple village folk, most of them honest, but poor. Living in that village was a young man. He lived in a run down dwelling with his mother and younger brothers and sisters. Every day he would ride his bicycle to the local town, where he would do whatever manual work he could find for a little pay, so he could buy some modest amount of supplies to take back to his family that evening. He was not especially clever, but he didn't mind. He was honest, and a good worker, and he loved his family dearly. His clothes were not expensive, but his mother kept them clean and presentable. His bicycle was old and worn, but it was necessary for him to take the long journey into town every day.

One day, as he was about to leave, he noticed he had a flat tyre. He had heard of a man in town, who owned the bicycle shop, and decided that he needed to visit him to get his tyre fixed. That day, before work, he went to the shop to see how much the new tyre would cost. He couldn't afford to get it fixed at the shop, but perhaps he could buy the tyre and the man would tell him how to fix it himself. The shop owner could see the young man was not wealthy, and agreed. After working in town that day, the young man went back to the bicycle shop, and bought the tyre. He realised that he did not have as much money left to buy food for his family afterwards, but reasoned that he needed his bicycle to get to and from his home, and to get work at all. He tried to repair the tyre himself, and it worked, in a fashion, although he noticed a few days later that it kept going flat, and he needed to keep pumping it up. And so he did exactly that. Every day he would ride a few miles, stop to pump up the tyre, and then carry on. It took a little longer to get to the town, and that left him with less time he could work before he had to begin his journey home, but he reasoned that he could not afford to have the bicycle shop owner fix the tyre properly, so this would have to do.

The roads he had to travel every day were rocky and rough, and a few days later, the young man noticed the other tyre on the bicycle was also in need of replacement. Again, he decided he could not afford to have the man at the shop fix it properly, especially now that he was not earning quite as much money as he used to, and so he would again buy the tyre and try to fix it himself. This time something went wrong when he was fitting the tyre, and the wheel on the bicycle wound up a little bent. This made the journey into town slower again, as he struggled with the handlebars that kept pulling one way, and then the other. And of course, every few miles he had to stop to pump up the other tyre.

Soon, with all the wobbling of the bent wheel, the handlebars became loose. The young man was becoming frustrated with the ride into town every day, but he knew that he must do it if he was to earn any money. He needed the bicycle. He had no idea how to fix the handlebars, but again went to visit the shop owner to ask for instruction on how he might try. The shop owner suggested that the young man might want to leave his bicycle at the shop, but the young man felt it would cost him more than he could afford, and besides, he could not be without the bicycle as he needed it for the long journey into town every day.

Well, with the roughness of the roads, and poor condition of the bicycle, other things started to wear out or break. The condition of the bicycle became so bad, that when the young man went to the shop owner to ask for instruction on how to fix it, the shop owner would just shake his head, and say, "Please, leave it here."

"No," the young man would argue."I need this bicycle to ride every day, or how can I do what I must do?" Soon the condition of the bicycle was so bad, that the young man was too embarrassed to even go by the bicycle shop. He knew the shop owner had helped him so much, and he had no money to repay his kindness, so he would just carry on as best as he could.

One day, the chain on the bicycle broke, and with it, the heart of the young man. He knew that the bicycle was not in any state to be fixed any more, and without it, the journey into town would take so long, that he would not be able to work enough to support his family. The young man sat down in the dust, and wept. He decided he would go to the shop owner, and plead with him to help him fix it. When he arrived at the bicycle shop, the owner shook his head, and said again, "Please, leave it with me." The young man thought, "I have no money to pay this man, and I feel like I already owe him so much. I will give him the bicycle. Perhaps he can use it for parts, or for scrap. I will not be able to support my family, and we shall all perish."

It took him hours to walk home that evening, and he arrived tired, thirsty, hungry, and exhausted.

The next morning, the shop owner was waiting outside the young man's dwelling. The young man sheepishly walked up to the the shop owner. "Have you come to tell me how to fix my bicycle now?", he asked. "No son," the shop owner replied, smiling. "It's not yours any more. The truth is that I never wanted to tell you how to fix it. I wanted to give you this for it, instead."

There, standing a few metres away, was a brand new bicycle.

Our lives, and the things in our lives, are much like the young man's bicycle. We become so attached to them. We can't be without them. We need them. When things start to break and go wrong, we want to fix them ourselves. We're afraid of what God might ask of us to make things right. Sometimes, we ask him to help us fix it, and we ask, and we ask, and we feel like we're doing the right thing. And sometimes we're successful in making small improvements that we feel we can live with. Meanwhile, other things keep breaking and going wrong with our lives. And so the cycle continues. But when we finally decide to dump our broken and incomplete lives at his feet, we find what he wanted to do all along, was to give us a brand new life instead. A life he has crafted, especially for us.

B.C.
07/05/08

Required Accoutrements for the "Now" Chappy

Are these not THE most fly glasses you've ever seen?

Heartbreak 2: Electric Boogaloo

Joe’s done a runner and I don’t think I have the strength to deal with him for another day. The deputy principal’s out chasing him, and so is his poor grandfather, who spends most days with him at school too.

*sigh* And things had seemed to be on the upswing. I had introduced Joe to the Bible, and he ate up the copy I gave him. We talked about his having been rescued from his terrible circumstances by God, and he seemed to get it. He even had great questions about it, and toted his bible around for days.

He was more polite, and spent almost entire days in class, slowly becoming socialized and learning to sit attentively and even learn a bit in class. He was doing fine in his special reading and math classes. He was playing with other kids, and no fights broke out; and yesterday he even taught me to play handball.

That in itself is quite miraculous.

But Joe has been spending the week with his elderly grandparents. Why? Because his 7 year old sister has gone “crazy”. She’s begun exhibiting sudden mood swings, unexplained bouts of rage, and had begun destroying Joe’s things in her hysteria. For those of us familiar with the symptoms of sexual molestation – that’s set alarm bells ringing right left and center. And the cruel tragedy is that she won’t be the first little girl he’s hurt in this way.

Joe’s begun to tell me about his drug use – both the forced overdoses of his prescription medication at his biological mother’s hands; and his own illegal use of inhalants. He’s still on about knives, and how he misses his flick knife. He waxes rhapsodic about his bio-father’s immense hunting knife, and the really cool fish paring knife his Uncle Wayne has. He tells me that he hopes that someone will give him a knife as a present.

Joe’s begun to make disturbing comments about wanting to go back into his natural mother’s care, and even asking if he can phone her from school. He tells me that she’s “changed” since his bio-father has taken a job up north as a trucker; and that her voice is now ‘nice’ where it always used to be ‘nasty’ to him. He tells me that she’s promised him a PSP if he comes home; and she’s already given his 8-year old brother his own phone. To Joe, that’s the coolest thing in the world. His foster-mother tells me that when he talks to his bio-mum on the phone, he tells her that he’ll be home ‘soon’, when ‘all this is over’.

But Joe’s really made me think about love and God’s love, especially. I’ll admit there are times I have walked away from Joe in complete anger and frustration. There have been times I have been unable to love him – not even as God loves him – because he is so difficult, obnoxious and incredibly time-consuming. And I realize that as a spiritual failing that I need God’s help to close.

And Joe highlights something for me I have always struggled with: it’s so easy to love the children that have been truly victimized, that are helpless in their pain and want to be helped out of their darkness by the kindness and love of those around them.

But what happens when that little victim isn’t so innocent? When he too becomes the monster? When you can see the poison and darkness in him, mingled with the rage and the shame of what was done to him?

Well, I will admit I am not finding that so easy. I find the smugness with which he talks about “kissing” girls, and getting into fights, reprehensible. I find his descriptions of his bio-mother video taping him wearing her underwear repulsive. I find his unwillingness to participate in his own salvation to be baffling; and I find the pain and shame that he is putting his family through to be appalling.

And yet, he’s not even 11. What ever did this to him was not of his choosing, and the monster in him was something that was forced on him, I believe.

But how do you love the monster?

See, this is why I never went into prison ministry – although there are aspects of children’s ministry that aren’t very different.

Drewsome stories from the Crypt...

Drew is not one of my charges at School. Actually, he’s the delicious and incredibly intelligent three-year-old son of dear friends of ours. I have the pleasure of babysitting Drew occasionally, and a pleasure it truly is. He’s about the funniest, most entertaining kid I’ve ever met, and I am so glad he’s not mine!  I’d never keep up.

But there’s never an evening I spend with him that I am not blessed with a side-splittingly funny incident to share with his parents and with Bruce. I’d like to share a couple with you.

Drew’s only recently been potty trained. That in itself has been an exercise in hilarity, I am told by his awesomely patient mum. But I had my own “Drewsome potty adventure” too.

As his parents were leaving one evening (Drew is fond of telling them to “go away” when the babysitter shows up, even telling his mum once to “go talk to daddy”) I noticed a rather… erm… funky smell emanating from our little Drewie.

“Drewie” I asked, “Did you make a poo, honey? Do you need a new nappie?”

Drew, intent on playing with his cars by the living room couch, shook his head.

“No. No poos now.”

The smell continued, and even intensified as he stood up to fetch a truck from the love seat. I waved my hand in front of my face to clear the smell.

“Drewie, sweetheart,” I persisted, “Are you sure you didn’t make a poo?”

Drewie looked peeved and shook his head again, wafting yet more of that pong in my direction.

“No poo Annie. Not yet. I not make poos yet”. He turned his attention back to the cars.

“Ok, Drewie. You didn’t make a poo yet? That’s good. Will you tell me when you need to make poos?”

He nodded his head, but I wanted to be sure.

“Drewie, will you tell me when you are going to make poos?”

“OK, ok Annie!” he said, clearly annoyed at my badgering. And with that, he dropped into a squat and his face contorted. He grunted and strained as the blood drained from my face. Then he turned that angelic smile on me.

“Ok, Annie! I made a poos!!”

I should have been more specific….