The words of the world...

Another day where I cannot escape the words of the world.  Another day where I cannot escape my own weakness.  Another day bathed in shame.

Hours and hours passed as I tried to do the English and Finnish PDF versions of the latest eBlast from Lutherans in Africa.  Hours and hours passed and all that happened was the creation of an InDesign file and a single photo set in place.  Fatigue pulling at me and thoughts confusing me, I could not gather the scattered pieces of my mind together enough to do the work.  Hours and hours later, frustrated and seeking some sort of accomplishment, I set out to take Amos on another walk.

W.A.L.K is Amos' four-letter word.  No matter how excited I try to sound, no matter how positive I try to be about the leash and walking, Amos wants no part of it.  Being that I was also rather discouraged, I simply carried him out of the house, rather than tried to drag him outside and down the steps.  It is my new goal that we walk twice a week.  For if we only go here and there, with as much time as I can manage without feeling too guilty in between attempts, neither one of us will ever learn to go for walks again.

Only, just a single block into our walk, the words of the world crushed me, frightened me, and seared my mind in a way I find difficult to forget.

After passing the first intersection, a little red sport car pulled to the opposite side of the street.  For the briefest of moments, I rejoiced that neither Amos or I startled at that event.  Then the driver rolled down his window and began speaking.

Given that the Spring weather has decided to revisit the Winter weather that was primarily skipped, I was dressed from head to toe in warm, shapeless clothing.  Well, everything I wear these days hides the form of my body in some fashion, but since I was in my one true outdoor sporting outfit, there was little indication of my gender from neck down.  And having battled a migraine much of the early morning...after daring to broadcast that it had been 15 days since the last one...I had no make-up on and had not even pulled a comb through my hair after getting out of the shower the night before.  No part of me was comely.  No part of me was compelling.

Yet the driver began to speak the words of the world in rather vulgar, vile form, telling me just how he might satisfy the needs of my body...in detail that I cannot even speak...and wish fervently not to remember.  But I do.

He followed me for three blocks, rather relentless and inventive about just how we could be together.  For three blocks, I ignored him, trying to move forward instead of turning back in his direction to race back to the haven of my home.  I wanted to try and finish the walk.  And I wished not to give any indication that I heard him, other than the tears rolling down my cheeks and my quivering body.

I called every single person I knew.  But no one was home.  No one answered the phone.  Finally, though her wedding is just around the corner and she is working full time and sewing her own dress, I called Sunshine.  Thankfully she answered and I asked her to keep me company.  She did.  Amos and I finished the walk.  The driver gave up his...pursuit.

All ended well, then, right?  For me, it did not.

The shame of his words still fills me.  The shame of my fear still fills me.  The shame of my weakness that his words would remain fills me.  All I have right now are the words of the world.

I did try reading aloud my beloved Psalter. I even tried reading the first part of John that has become so dear to me.  However, I only became more anguished and more despairing.  For should not my own reading be enough?  Why should it make such a profound difference when the Living Word is being read to me, given to me, than when I read it myself, when I take it myself?

Earlier in the day, I had posted on Facebook the same article and thoughts I posted here, regarding the law officials forcing a young rape survivor to testify against her attacker.  Part of that force includes essentially jailing her in a juvenile facility.  Such thoughtless, cruel treatment of a young woman brave enough to admit what happened to her.  The attackers DNA was found on her body.  Physical evidence should be enough.  NEVER should someone who has been sexually assaulted be forced to do anything against her will, even if his testimony might help others.  Her duty is not to help others in this moment.  His is merely to rest and heal, to find peace and forgiveness.

Of course, given the topic, it was another post ignored.  Another time when I dare raise this issue in public and receive back silence.  I talked to Sunshine about that and she logged on to Facebook to link to the article.  Her post was greeted with silence, too.  Is it any wonder sexual abuse survivors oft prefer to remain hidden, to keep what happened secret?

I was a bloody fool to ever think that the Lutheran church would be a safe place to speak of such things.  I will stand on a mountain top and proclaim with every ounce of my being that Lutheran doctrine is where those so deeply wounded can find peace and rest, refuge and healing.  But I would not say the same of the church.  For it is comprised of the same people in society who prefer to remain silent...who find the topic too distressing.  Imagine, for a single moment, how distressing living the topic is.

So, my mind was discouraged both from the cognitive failure to get work done and the silence with which my post was greeted when I set out to try and have the smallest of successes by at least finishing a walk with Amos.  To have those words fill my mind then, to have them written upon my heart, was devastating.

I admit I was a poor listener to Sunshine as I asked her about her wedding plans and how she was doing.  I did try to think of her, but mostly I could not set aside the specificity with which the driver described what we could do together.  Those words clung to me.  And the shame engendered by the silence on Facebook.

They are the ones clinging to me now.

Why do men do such things?  Why do they call out such vile words to a stranger, a rather unattractive one at that?  Why do they feel the freedom to objectify women that way?  Why do they see no harm in their words?

Sticks and stones will break your bones,
but words will never hurt you.

One of the greatest lies of childhood.

Words can wound.  Words can bind.  Words can kill.  Oh, how hurtful words can be.  Why is it then that I could not grasp, could not take hold of any bit of Living Word tonight?

I am just that weak.  I am just that broken.  So fragile am I that the only things that speak to me, that break through the darkness, are things that are outside of me.  The Living Word...the Lord's Supper...The cross on my forehead.  Would that it were I were stronger and in no need of such external things.  Would that it were just speaking I am baptized! would be enough for this mess of creation.

I can hear the lecture now:  You are giving the driver all the power.  You are giving him the victory.  You are not looking in the right place.

His words are the ones that filled my evening, my late night, and now my early morn.  I can still hear him...his suggestions...his observations...his invitation...his proclamation of who I am.

I wish that I could not.  I wish the words of the world were not ringing so loudly in my ears, reverberating throughout my entire being.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!