Our Happily Ever Aftermath

Hope was a thing with feathers Perched deep within my heart  She sang a tune a bit off-key  A mine canary’s art  Her brave  porcelain composure Wafted down amid the gloom Her voice shoving out the darkness  Like a lantern in a tomb But the years advanced with violence  And her fragile body broke When the darkness grew in size Cutting air off like thick smoke But she never perished, no Just reduced down to an ember That would not give up or go out Growing cold in deep December  As she started to recover  She grew keratinous scales And her bones became less brittle And her song was more like wails  She eventually found her perch again Swinging gently in the soul But the treatment poor hope had received Made obvious its toll Instead of buoyant flutters Trilling chirps and happy song She was trembling and whimpering Too afraid to sing for long No more cheerful blue adornment Just dark eyes now filled with fear She could only now imagine The next ...

I'm not sure if you've noticed it. In the past few years, there is a surge of women between the ages of 30 and 40 walking away from Christianity. Seemingly legions of religious leaders are suddenly struck down from their pedestals and outed as rapists, molesters, abusers, and liars. Now people are finding the very foundations on which they rested their faith crumbling to dust.  After decades of being admonished to not build our faiths on the sand, but on solid rock, we are collectively looking around in disbelief. Horrified we are just now realizing the rock we chose was fragile soapstone. The second a crack developed the whole thing fell into a pile of debris.  Now, traumatized, horrified, and in disbelief, we are having to, as an entire generation, sift through the mess and find the pieces that remain intact.  Some of us are finding that nothing at all is left worth saving. They are using heavy equipment to move away the detritus of their past. Now the place their faith...

I get it. It's a weird, kind of long name, and also apparently the name of an episode of a TV show I don't watch. Regardless,  it fits. The aftermath is the part after the storm.  Where you survey the damage and assess what to do next. You are joyful to have survived and frightened about what you may find.  In 2008 Tim and I spent a few months in Mississippi doing post-hurricane Katrina clean up. I remember hearing a story about a house that got absolutely destroyed by the storm surge and hurricane winds. When people were cleaning up they found one perfect China teacup that looked like it had been gently picked up and deposited on  a pile of rubbish. They continued to find odd things. Pictures undamaged in one place but utterly ruined in another. It was all the same storm but it affected every home and every person in different ways.  Adoption is a lot like that. A family had to be broken for my children to be mine.  Their lives were tur...