Leavin' On A Jet Plane

My bags aren't packed yet, but my anticipation is building. One week from today I plan to be in New Orleans doing something I've never done before: attending The National Conference on Preventing Childhood Sexual Abuse and Child Sex Trafficking. Think Forest Gump goes to Washington and you've got the idea of how I'm feeling about this venture.

So I'm asking you to pray for me as I battle all the lies that creep up in my head. The lies whisper, "What can one mom do to make a difference in the horrific world of sexual abuse and sex trafficking?", "This is just a waste of time.", and "What if your heart acts up on the plane (I have a heart that beats to its own rhythm at random times.)?" The lies can go on and on. And honestly, the lies can get my attention sometimes and if I'm not diligent in replacing them with truth, they will begin to consume my thinking. That's when I act like a crazy woman, hair standing on end, who's got one foot nailed to the floor and keeps running in circles. (Not a pretty picture. Just ask my husband. He's seen me this way.)

But pushing the fears and lies aside, I'm committed to boarding that plane next Tuesday. Why? Because the doors have opened for me to go and because in my heart I know I'm supposed to be there.

The truth is, childhood sexual abuse isn't going to go away. Yet, if I can learn one thing I can share with one parent or survivor that can make a difference in one child's or survivor's life, it will all be worth it.

The Hardest Word

"I don't know what else to say." She said. The confusion in her aging gray eyes surrendered. "I'm sorry."

"That's all I ever wanted to hear...all I ever wanted from you." She responded as she brushed away her tears and the final traces of mascara from her eyes. Her fingers, once clenched, began to relax. Emotions that had once held her captive began to loosen their grip. And she was another step closer to becoming the woman she was meant to be, empowered by a five letter word spoken in love.

I think Elton John made a valid observation of human nature in his song hit song entitled: "Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word."

I've made an observation as I've listened to the hearts of survivors of childhood sexual abuse. The word sorry, spoken by those who were in a position to protect the victim (mother, father, older sibling, grandparent, etc...), seems to be a healing word, even if the one in position to protect had no idea the abuse had occurred until years later in the survivor's life. I'm sorry, offered in complete sincerity, can say more than any excuse given.

I'm sorry says: I regret that I wasn't there to protect you. You deserved to be protected. I mourn with you. What happened was wrong. I believe you.


We may not always be there for the ones we love when they need us. In fact, we won't. We can't; it's not humanly possible. But we can sit with them, look into their eyes with tears in our own, and help them take another step toward healing. Sorry doesn't have to be the hardest word.