An Eye for an Eye, Life for a Life

I read the Yahoo! news story earlier about Dr. George Tiller, one of the only late-term abortion providers in the country, being shot down at church this morning where he was serving as an usher.

My first response was, “What in the world was an abortion provider doing serving as an usher at church!?! What kind of church is this, and who is this guy’s god? How did he sleep at night!?”

My second response was, “What in the world was the shooter thinking? Did he believe he was serving justice? Doing the work of God? In what, exactly, is this kind of belief system – the kind that compels a man to kill another man in a vigilante act of ‘justice’ – fostered? I pray, not the Church.”

My cousin posted in her status update, “So a man by the name of George Tiller was shot and killed in his church this morning. His means of a paycheck was providing late term abortions to women looking for a way out. He murdered many times a day every day for over twenty years. Don’t blame me if I say do unto others as you would want others to do unto you. He got what he was giving out.”

And I can’t say I disagree: He got exactly what he deserved. Whether we call it karma or cosmic justice or the will of God, Tiller was served his due. Part of me wants to rejoice that a man who spent much dealing death to the unborn – and in what is arguably the most violent way imaginable – is no longer available to “serve” women.

But in the end, I can’t reconcile those feelings with what I believe to be true of God. To rejoice in a man’s murder, no matter what he has done to deserve it, doesn’t fit. I don’t know that man’s heart. I have no means of judging him or his actions or his place in his church. I don’t know his motives. And while I vehemently loathe his life’s work and am at least glad to know it is finished, I firmly believe there were better ways to address the problem.

There are always better ways to address the problem, right? Better than killing?

Here’s what I said to my cousin, and it’s what my heart and my head both scream in situations like this: “…Is that justice? [This story] broke my heart. Why? Because violence begets violence: this much is proved. But…is that what Jesus would have us do? Is that how He would have reacted? Is that how He treated criminals? Or did He offer them redemption? If God is the God of redemption…how was redemption served? Dr. Tiller did indeed get what he deserved, in all fairness. I’m grateful God doesn’t serve us what we’re due, but rather what He’s offered. We’re all murderers, in our hearts or in our actions.”

A few weeks ago, my sister told me how she responds to my two little nieces when they argue that something “just isn’t fair.” She says, “What’s fair?” And the truth, which both nieces know well (but still hate to say out loud – because really, who wants to acknowledge the truth when it’s not fair?), is simply, “Death and Hell.”

Indeed: I am grateful we don’t get what we deserve, but in exchange get what we most decidedly do NOT deserve. And as such, ought not our response be to extend the same grace and mercy, the favor of possible redemption, to everyone else?

I know I’m a bleeding heart and am probably only seeing one very tilted side to the story. So I’d love to hear more (your) thoughts on this.

Five Gazillion Points to Apple, Inc.

So. Last week while I was away in North Carolina, Husband accidentally sent our little blue iPod shuffle through the washer and dryer. Rookie mistake. He’d been listening to it all day, carrying it conveniently around in his shirt pocket, and totally forgot it was there when he threw the shirt in the washer with the rest of the laundry. And so the shuffle was washed and dried.

He told me I’d kill him when he told me what he did, but I said “meh, it was $50. Replaceable enough, though frustrating…and actually kind of hilarious.” 

Anyway, so we kept on turning it on to see if it’d work again but the little light never came on. We even put it in a bag of rice overnight, after hearing that one should do so with any electronic device that has been immersed in water, as the rice serves to absorb all moisture, sucking it from the device and thereby drying it out. But that didn’t work either. No light. We figured it was dead. 

But then, last night, as I nearly purchased another shuffle on ebay which was listed as “under warranty until 2010,” I thought “maybe this thing has a warranty?” So I did some research, found the troubleshooting page, followed the directions and reset everything, then plugged it back into the power source (the MacBook you all know I love so much), and waited. 

Lo and behold, the little orange light came on, iTunes recognized the shuffle, pulled up the playlist, and asked me (yet again, and oh-so annoyingly) to register the iPod. So I did. 

But that’s not the point. The point is that after 10 minutes of letting the iPod recharge it’s washed-and-dried battery, IT PLAYED SONGS!!!!! 

No. Let me say that again: IT PLAYED SONGS!!!!

Yes. 

So let me recap:
1) The iPod shuffle was washed and dried. In high water and heavy heat.
2) The iPod came back to life after simply recharging the battery.

Yep, that’s about it. 

So Apple, Inc. – and, more specifically, the genius who designed the iPod shuffle – just earned five gazillion points (and a rather exuberant, if utterly unread blog) from me for creating a piece of technology that can actually survive extended immersion in water. 

Kudos, Apple. Big kudos. 

And hey, PC: Try that!

 
***Disclaimer: In no way and by no means do we recommend that you conduct your own deliberate research to learn whether your iPod or otherly-branded mp3 player can sustain extended immersion in water or any other stupid-human-damage.***

My Anthem

I decided to go ahead and make a little home video of it. Not sure why, since that’s not something I typically do. Usually, I just say “Catch it at a live show.” But this song is special. Not just because it’s been waiting to be written for over a year, but because of where it comes from in my own heart. 

So I’m going to break my own rules and tell you the story behind it. It begins with the simple fact that , for reasons totally beyond me, God has chosen to graciously (and I mean that) surround me lately with women who have suffered abuse that I can’t fathom. Two of them are particularly close to me; close enough to get under my skin and break my heart in a very personal way. Abuse has always been something I’ve know about. But now I think I’m truly aware. Not just of what happens, but the aftermath. The shame and fear and perfectionism and fear of rejection so many of them live their lives with. This song is as much about them as it is about the two girls I’ve named.

And these two girls are real. Though separated by thousands of miles and twenty years, their stories are the same, and have both changed me.

The first girl is one a friend, Mark, blogged about after returning from a trip to Africa. Hers is actually the story by which God initially broke my heart for those people. She was a five year old who attended the Compassion school in her community. But, as Mark told it, she was unlike any of the other kids in that she rarely smiled and almost never spoke. He learned that it was most likely because, at her young age, she’d already been raped many times, often multiple times each day, on her way to and from school. Five years old. 

So, during his week there, Mark took it upon himself to try and earn her trust enough to tell him her name. He spent the week holding her, loving her, smiling and playing with her, and showing her the kind of righteous love Christ meant…the kind that defeats the darkness. And at the end of the week, just before he left, Mark picked her up and asked her once more if she’d tell him her name.

She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Mercy.” 

The second girl is Dusty, a neighbor of mine who was the first to ever earn the title “Amy’s Best Friend.” We played around the neighborhood all the time. From everything I can remember – though, granted, I was five when we moved away, so my memories of her are only so clear – she was one of my only friends. She was always nice. And she always came over to my house. After we moved away, I didn’t see her again until 7th grade. And even then, our reunion only lasted a few months, until she unexpectedly left. 

Anyway, I learned a couple weeks ago that she was repeatedly and violently abused by her father. As it turns out, the reason she left school in 7th grade was because she was pregnant. With his child. 

When I heard that not two weeks ago, I fell apart. I was angry. At myself for not knowing better (though, at five years old, I couldn’t – and shouldn’t – have known better). At my parents for not kidnapping and then adopting her, and letting her live with good parents. At the system, whose cracks she fell through. 

And I started wondering where she is today. Is she still a victim? Has she ever known her true value? Or is shame the only thing she’s ever been able to own? I don’t know. 

Stories like these make me want to throw away my guitar, go back to school, and become a human rights activist or a lawyer for Amnesty International or simply a full-time social worker in the States or missionary in Africa.

But God has made abundantly clear that I am most effective operating within the gifts He’s given me. Using the stage and my voice to speak for those who have no stage and won’t be heard. 

And so I sing.

“I Wanna Know”
(c)&(p) 2009 Amy Courts (amalia musica, SESAC)

Dusty lived right down the street
With her brother and a dad who beat him blue
And I know he hurt her too

But I couldn’t see the haunting in her eyes
I was too young to recognize
And much too young to do anything
And so I sing

I wanna know where she lays her head tonight
Does she sleep in peace beside
Someone who knows to love her right
I wanna know can the damage be undone
Given freedom would she run
Can the past be overcome
I wanna know

Mercy won’t tell you anything she knows
She keeps her secrets close beneath her skin
I know it’s crawling from within

She’s just a child, but carries sordid memories
Of things that I cannot conceive
Or in my darkest nightmares dream

And so I sing, I sing.

I wanna know where she lays her head tonight
Does she sleep in peace beside
Someone who knows to love her right
I wanna know can the damage be undone
Given freedom would she run
Can the past be overcome
I wanna know

And now it burns beneath my skin
And I don’t want to let it in
I wish I’d been a better friend
I wish I could go back again
Cause I would fight
I would carry her away
Or I would find the means to stay
Help bear the burden and the shame

It wouldn’t end this way
I wouldn’t let it end this way

For some the sun shines,
We’re the lucky ones
For them the rain fall
Seems like an endless flood

I wanna know where she lays her head tonight
Does she sleep in peace beside
Someone who knows to love her right
I wanna know can the damage be undone
Given freedom would she run
Can the past be overcome
I wanna know

**please forgive the homemade and new-out-of-the-box-utterly-unpolished nature of this song. it’s still becoming. just like me.**