A few years ago, my wife and I, along with two of our daughters, visited the American Cemetery on the beaches of Normandy. I was struck with somber reverence. Row after row of rectangular headstones representing the sacrifice of one life after another.
It was December. The sky was gray. The weather cold and blustery. The tour guide walked us through the gravestones recounting stories of the fallen. I teared up frequently as I pondered what happened so long ago. It was an honor to walk among the noble.
These are sacred stories.
Today, there’s another location that’s scattered with sacred stories. Row after row of white rectangles recounting the lost innocence of one child after another. Childhoods sacrificed by shame and self-loathing. Their worth was demolished behind closed and lonely chapel doors.
At first blush, these children’s stories don’t sound noble. Oh…but they are. They are so noble. Their innocence crushed by inappropriate shame. Now as adults, they’ve had the courage to share their hurt and pain on a white rectangle in a computer pane.
These children’s somber stories will help other victims heal. Others now know they are not alone. Others now know as a child they were wronged. The authors of these stories should also know that they are heroes. It’s they who will stop these wrongs in the future.
I’ve read every last word of every last story. I’ve shed many a tear as I’ve pondered what happened so long ago. It is an honor to walk among these noble.
These are sacred stories.
Gently I now ask, if you have a sacred story of childhood shame inflicted behind the closed doors of the bishops walls, I invite you to share….but only if you are ready.
P.S. To the 202 of you who have shared your tender and vulnerable stories, thank you my friends. I see you. I hear you. I love you.
Tocubit Is Invisible's Cubit 