The post where I say butt too many times, and talk about Ender's Game

As in, put your money where your mouth is, but this relates to a movie, so I'll say put your money where your butt is. Where I paid a lot of money to put my butt in a seat. Oops, I said it again. And I will, because I like to say butt. I wasn't allowed to when my mom was alive...see, she died when I was 10, but there are still so many things every day that make me think of her. Somehow, saying butt instead of bottom makes me feel just the slightest bit naughty.

We went to the movies tonight, my teenaged son and I. This we had planned since the day he started reading Ender's Game. He came home and asked if I had read it. Of course I had, being a science fiction fan. But it was years ago, so he asked me to reread it so we could talk about it each night. It was a pleasure, and I enjoyed it more the second time round, probably because I could now critique it with one of the most important people in the world to me.

I had to stop and think about the movie visit. I know many will not go to see it, because of the strong views of its outspoken author, Orson Scott Card. Put your money where your mouth is. Live your beliefs with your wallet. I've heard a few more of these, though more don't quickly come to mind. Would I see this movie knowing how much hatred this man holds and inspires? Would I refuse to see the film to prevent him from making any more money than he already has from the book?

I chose to see it tonight with my 13-year-old son. We talked about the things that Mr. Card has said. We talked about the fact that there are people we love and care about that are the targets of some of his hatred, though I think some of that still went over my son's head.

Because I thought about other things, too. About Jesus' call to love. About my own faith and beliefs. How would I feel if an atheist chose not to visit the business I work in, because he didn't believe what I do?

Ultimately, Mr. Card wrote a tremendous story. And if he makes money from the movie and uses that to advance his own agenda, then so be it...because that's what I do with money I earn. We live in a country where we can believe things that others find absurd and even offensive. The fact that his book made it to film has got people talking. Do I judge him as he judges other? Probably. After all, part of the definition of judgment is to form an opinion, to discern.

So ultimately I am glad I got off my butt and put it in a movie seat tonight.


Have you seen Ender's Game? Will you? Let me know in the comments below.




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Motherless Daughter

Motherloss is at the top of my thoughts the last couple days. My friend Heide just passed away, leaving motherless daughters. Yes, they have a wonderful family to adopt them now, and they have a new mom, but the loss they've suffered will be forever a part of them.

My mother died when I was 10.

When my son Jacob was small, a family came to visit. A wonderful family, expectantly waiting to adopt the young boy we were fostering. He wasn't meant for us, he was meant just for them. Lisa gave me a book before she left. Motherless Daughters, the Legacy of Loss, by Hope Edelman. I began reading, and couldn't put the book down until it was done. I think I went through an entire box of tissues. How could this woman, this stranger, know me? Know the feelings of loss and abandonment that followed me through my days, tormented me through my nights.

Hope outlines the issues that women face after the loss of their mothers....entirely dependent on the age at which the loss occurred, certain traits make themselves apparent. I fit perfectly into her description. The stories moved me to my very core.

I'd spent my life running. Running from the prospect of being hurt again. I'd already suffered the greatest hurt a child can face. I didn't want it to happen again.

Children are resilient. You hear it all the time. I heard it today at the bank.

Children are confused. They can't spill their guts, tell you what they're feeling. I was so afraid to talk to anyone. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to explain what was going on inside my head, and that if I did manage to find the words to explain the feelings, that no one would understand. So I smiled, and got good grades, and followed the rules.

You see, I didn't even believe my mother was dead. I wasn't allowed to attend her funeral....funerals aren't for children, don't you know? I hadn't even seen her in days, as the hospital she was in didn't allow children to visit. Not even her own child....a kind nurse let me in once. Just once, in two weeks. And then my mother just didn't come home. The adults told me that she'd gone "home." She was in "a better place." Even though my mother had taught me about God, about Jesus, about the resurrection, the thought still remained.....

How could a mother be in a better place than with her own child?

I'd misbehaved once (according to the adults) while she was in the hospital. Perhaps my mother had simply decided that she was tired of being my mother...maybe she'd just packed a suitcase and left. How could God take my mother from me?

I did eventually get a pseudo-mother. A foster mother, trying to mother 19 other kids...yes, you read that right. We averaged 20 kids in that foster home. My foster parents had 12 kids before opening their home to others. My foster dad had 8 kids from his first marriage, and my foster mom 3 from her first. They had one together. And then they fostered a sibling group of 5. There were a couple other "permanents" like me. And always one or two temporaries. She tried, bless her, but I needed more mothering than she could possibly give.

I spent my 20s and most of my 30s keeping people at bay. After all, if there's no close connection, how can abandonment occur? I honestly didn't think I could survive another great loss. How many nice men I hurt because I'd inexplicably turn cold and push them away when they showed signs of getting too close to my heart.

But I did survive. In 1991, I lost my brother Tony to bone cancer. In 1994, my sister died from complications of Crohn's Disease. And so I finally let someone in, someone who seemed so kind and steadfast that he'd never leave me.

And at 46, with two young adopted children, I lost my husband to divorce. The one person I'd shared so much of my life with. He abandoned me, too.

There's not much point to this post. Except for this: if you know a child who has suffered a loss, please, please, don't just assume that things are okay because she is smiling. Because she doesn't let you know how deeply hurt she is, because he won't cry for days on end, please don't think that nothing is wrong. Get some counseling...read some books...draw them out. Don't pretend that just because "children are resilient" that life is easy for them.

I wish someone had been there for me.