In the Quiet Heart

The intersection I was waiting to turn left at this morning was filling up with police cars blocking traffic. I had no choice but to sit and wait and watch. Minutes later, a steady stream of leather-clad B.A.C.A. members rumbled past, escorted by the West Jordan city police bikers, and some dirt bikes. Having a motorcycle (and riding it along the old Columbia River Gorge highway) is on my Bucket List, and I have a soft spot in my heart for B.A.C.A., so naturally I turned into the park behind city hall to attend their event. I was glad I did.

Did you know there were 38 children murdered by child abuse in Utah last year? Each child was represented by a new flag with their name affixed, and carried by a somber loved one to be added to the Healing Field--where over 1,000 American flags solemnly wave today, each representing a child in our country killed by abuse. The impact is stunning when one takes the time to stand by a flag and think of what it means.

I remembered the day I was drawn to the courtyard at UVSC, in which was hung many lines of what was seemingly laundry. I came to find out that each of the t-shirts represented a fellow student at UVSC who had experienced abuse in their life, and the shirt's color represented the type of abuse. On each shirt, the person could write whatever they chose. Some wrote about healing. Most wrote about hurt. Each one brought me to tears when I just stopped trying to hold it back and let myself cry for them. The shirt that I will never forget had been cut--just the frame of the shirt hung from the line--a whole as large as possible cut from the center. 'How many of the people I walk by today are feeling empty?' I wondered. I had surprisingly learned of two young men's experiences with abuse as I edited their papers for an English class--who else was walking around with a hole in their heart? A gong sounded, as it had every 5 seconds since I stepped in the courtyard. Another person had been abused.

I stood at each shirt, as much as I could until I couldn't possibly read another word. I went inside the nearest door and just cried. "Are you okay? What can I do for you?" a kind man asked. "I'm fine. They're not." I pointed out to the courtyard. "It's sad, isn't it?" he replied.

What can an average person like me do to stop or prevent such heinous and uncivilized atrocity in someone's life?

I can try to radiate God's love to each person I meet today. I can treat every person with kindness and give them the benefit of the doubt rather than criticize, because I can believe they're doing the best they can with the circumstances they've got (which I couldn't know the depths of). I can stand up for the weak when I know or suspect anything disrespectful going on. I can report any forms of abuse I am aware of or suspect. I can equip the children I teach with skills for refusal, escape, and safety. I can turn them to their parents in communication. I can give them a safe place to learn, grow, and be listened to. I can model love for and acceptance of others, rather than anger, intolerance and judgments of criticism. I can keep my baptismal covenant, to 'mourn with those that mourn' and 'lift up the hands that hang down'. I can pray. (I can get a motorcycle and go join B.A.C.A....)

"In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see," I thought. "Who am I to judge another?" "Because I have been given much, I too must give." "Behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all rely upon the same being, even Christ, for our sustenance?"

Our Savior is the Master Healer. He can fill any hole in our heart and soul. He will fill our lives with His goodness. He Atoned for the abused and felt their pain. He Atoned for the abuser, and paid for their sins. I don't know why we need to experience some of the things we do while here on the earth. But whatever the reason, I do believe that we can lighten each other's burdens and strengthen the feeble knees by following the 2 greatest (and beautiful) commandments: Love God with all our heart, might, mind and strength, and love our neighbor as we do ourselves.