I intend to blog more than I do. I feel that when I sit and open up the computer I am in a war with myself if what it is that I am wanting to say is actually worth saying. I know this little blog may or may not ever get read. I know that it’s primary purpose is a sounding ground, thus leading to a landing for my thoughts. Yet, I sit and stare. Wondering what I want to write.
I suppose hard times to do that to you. They make you wonder and wish words, feelings, and emotions just flowed easily. It seems they now have a bit more weight. Understanding the power of words when you are already hurting is a miraculous gift. To understand the damage they can do- as well as the healing they may bring.
So I sit with something to say. This time it is different. I know these words are important. I know that they come from a place of raw emotion, laced with righteous anger, and a foundation full of great purpose. So please sweet reader, hear my tone. I long to talk to you as a dear friend. A mother. A sister. A wife. A victim.
This week/month draws near several hard anniversaries for our family. I can honestly say that they evoke emotions I would rather swallow up and hold on to. Others I prefer to just spit out.
With anniversaries comes appropriate reflection. I sat at my computer to scroll through my news feed to distract myself from such reflection. Then my phone was the next band aide of choice. Certain photos made me uneasy. I felt sadden. A heaviness that only comes from living out a reality that changes you.
In some cases I was jealous. I wished I had the innocence to post certain photos or sitations thinking nothing but the purest of entertainment. I mean let’s get real.. can it be any cuter than a dimply baby butt in the tub? I vote no.
But here’s the deal. I am not sick. I pray you are not either. But there is a person in your circle, in your friends group, or twitter/instagram who is. The statistics prove it. I won’t bother you with numbers.
Because of Jesus I can say I forgive the sicko.. I want nothing more than for them to receive the intense help that they need to heal and not hurt the children they lust over. Chances are your sicko friend has never acted out. It’s a quiet battle that torments he or she. All they need is a photo. That photo of your little sweetie to ignite a flame that fuels an aftermath or pain and destruction.
I hate to think that my innocence could trip up those around me. But I would be a fool to not believe that it could.
That is why schools have security, churches ask for background checks, and divisions of the FBI are solely devoted to children sex crimes and minors subjected to pornography. I would break into a million pieces to know that when the sicko is discovered that my child’s naked instragram photo was in the loot of arousal for that sicko.
In a world where everything is online, and we chat with our peers and family online as if they were curled up on our sofa, we have grown comfortable sharing ALL our lives with each other, the same way we would in our living rooms. Some of us can’t avoid the sicko that lives, walks, teaches, and interacts with our children. Some of us will learn the hard way. But some of you can take that control. You can delete that hilariously darling photo of your wee one going wee wee on the potty. You can just text that embarrassing moment your toddler started stripping in the park fountain. You can help the sicko. You can save your child from a nightmare.
I know what you are thinking “I am not responsible for someone else’s sin.” I agree. That sin is between them and God. But when the tornadoes of OK ripped through the plains I bet you felt it was your responsibility to help, although you were not responsible for the F5. This is no different. The same humanity in you then can be the same humanity in you now. If I walk away from social media at anytime, I want to hold my head up high knowing my children were protected from the right click “save as,” at least the semi/nude ones.
Please share this post if you feel lead. The more the awareness is spread the more children we protect- hence the more sickos we can help, even if we would rather them burn in hell. God is asking us to do something bigger than our pain.
Share on your blog, on your Facebook, twitter, I don’t care. Just repost and say “I helped the sicko.” Our babysitters need to know this, our parents, our friends. I can’t think of better way to spend this anniversary than to see no bare kiddo bums online.