Looking deeper into the issue...

The first newborn was discovered swaddled in a blanket on a park bench, an umbilical cord still hanging from his tiny body. Then, at neat 11-month intervals, two more abandoned babies were found in parked pickup trucks in the same neighborhood.

This week, DNA tests established all three babies were almost certainly born to the same mother.

This was taken from a disturbing article I read in The Examiner yesterday.

I understand that there are circumstances in which people give birth to children they cannot care for, but when is abandonment ever an option?

To me, one of the greatest forms of evil existing in this world is the mistreatment of children. I literally cringe when I see people emotionally degrading or abusing their kids in public; thinking about what they do to them behind closed doors saddens me even more. The reason why there are so many emotionally unstable adults is precisely because they were exposed to horrible things as children. It's as simple and complicated as that. It's easy to recognize the problem and much harder to fix it.

Sure, in cases like these, the government can step-in, which is what happened in California. Apparently, a law went into effect a few years ago allowing parents to "safely surrender" their children at certain locations, like hospitals. I'm glad to hear that as a result of that law, at least 182 lives have been saved. But this is just the beginning. What happens to the child after they fall into government hands? They probably form insecure attachments with their care takers, since it's likely they wander from one foster home to another, at least until they're adopted. Sometimes they're lucky and they actually get adopted. Sometimes not, then what?

And what about the other kids; the ones who were apparently "wanted", though they were born into dysfunctional families with parents so emotionally incompetent, they probably wouldn't even be qualified enough to take care of an animal, much less a child, if they had to pass a test. How do these children learn to trust when the very people they're supposed to be able to trust the most are unsafe human beings? Who teaches them how to love, can the government do that? Don't get me wrong, I applaud the government when it finally decides to step-in and implement laws that are there to give a voice to the voiceless, particularly children. The government isn't the only responsible party here, though. Even if the child's own parents are incapable of providing the emotional care they need, there are others out there who can. The "others" coming to mind right now are teachers, the child advocates.

I know there are some teachers that made me hate school like crazy, but I remember my awesome Kindergarten teacher. She made me want to come to school even though I was paranoid about knocking more teeth out as a result of one of those mean girls rudely pushing me off the monkey bars (true story, this is how I lost my first tooth!). Why was she so wonderful? Because she genuinely cared about her students. It's teachers like these that have inspired me to follow in their footsteps (ever so slowly, though, I have yet to get certified). However, I've also been inspired by the honest faces of children that are desperate for love. Even my brother is a great inspiration; he's 12 years younger than I am, and the most creative kid I know. (He was named the best artist in class! As his sister, I definitely have bragging rights. So brag I must.)

I love children, I admire their ability to be so candid and carefree. I know they can be a handful, I've had to babysit plenty, so I know. But in my 22 short years on this planet, I've never met such fascinating creatures, and I'm not expecting that to change. They have what most of us have lost, and I'm not about to start quoting one of the many I-believe-in-Santa-Claus movies that my Christmas-obsession has led me to watch, but it's easy to see. Kids can walk out the door wearing two different colored socks and they're still having a good day, maybe it's even better now, to them at least. The worst thing the kids at school will do is get a kick out of it, but you'll never see it in the tabloids, never hear anyone gossip about it (this does not apply to that mean girl I mentioned earlier! Though I am convinced her behavior was definitely a product of her upbringing!). This is why I get upset when I see parents, or anyone for that matter, mistreating kiddos. They pick-up things so fast, and even though it's easy to correct their bad behavior when they're young, it's really difficult for them to do it on their own when they're adults.

So, I guess it's ok if I criticize that mother for abandoning her three babies, as many others have? Why would I be wrong for doing it when her actions obviously failed to demonstrate love for her children? I've said it, it does hurt me to see children wronged. The truth is, though, this lady is probably operating off of the hurt she experienced as a child. My cousin once told me that hurt people, hurt people, and I agree. Even if I don't agree with what this lady did, I am left to feel sadness for her too, I can only imagine how big her need for love was and probably still is. All I have to say is that, really, there isn't much left to say regarding this issue, but there is plenty more to do, and I'm not just referring to myself. We're all responsible for each other.

There is no greater sickness in this world than the lack of love.
Mother Teresa

my scented and musical memories.

Sometimes I walk into a room and a scent catches my attention; one that reminds me of some other time, some other place, or even someone. The weird thing is, despite the fact that I associate certain scents with particular people or events, I couldn't describe or much less remember those scents at just any time; only in the fleeting moments they exist to wake up my olfactory glands.

My grandma's house has a smell, it's a mix of beans and onions. It isn't unpleasant at all, even though the description sounds like it should be :). My grandma is always cooking, and I think the various aromas from the different foods she's made throughout the years have embedded themselves into the fabrics and cushions. In fact, after chopping garlic and onions, my hands smell similar to hers.

...But then I come across the more indistinguishable scents; their smell is usually weak, almost like the faint smell of detergent that lingers on a jacket long after its been washed. I have a collection of those hidden away somewhere, and I can't always connect them with the people I've attached them to, but they belong to them like a fingerprint. I know psychology can offer an explanation, and I've heard that some doctors even suggest that their patients burn certain oils in order to lessen the severity of their ailments, as silly as it sounds. Still, I think it's peculiar and fascinating how a simple scent can so easily elicit an emotional response.

There is another device that my mind uses to remember people, places, and things. I know I'm not the only one that has this experience: A certain song comes on the radio, then I'm somewhere else, or talking to someone else, or even 19 years younger. 80s music does this to me the most! I know I was only able to experience 5 years of the slap-bracelet-obsessed 80s, but still, how can I forget learning to dance on my mom's feet as she led the way? I even remember riding in the car with her once late at night as we drove home from In-N-Out Burger listening to "Don't You Forget About Me" by Simple Minds. I don't have much in common with her (or my dad, for that matter, who she happened to marry at 18, when he was still a partyin-breakdancin-skateboardin-also-music lovin' kiddo!), our lives are almost the complete opposite, but my mom taught me how to love music (and even poetry, but that's another topic :). I think I picked-up my mom's music obsession at such a young age because she had me when she was pretty young; right out of high school, when she couldn't love music more. I miss that wonderful age, when blasting the music didn't bother her because David Bowie, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Psychedelic Furs, Madonna, and Depeche Mode, among others, would take turns making our world a better place in just 3 minutes and 44 seconds...It doesn't end there, though. My entire family is obsessed with it; I think it's genetic, my grandpa was a musician back in the day, so I think he's responsible. Music and dancing go hand and hand with us; I think it's what helps us connect the most. My cousins and I are all pretty different too, but if you see us when the music comes on, it's obvious that we're related. Even my rosary-praying grandma has her moves :)!

Anyway, these days, my mother is partly to blame for my childhood crush on Dave Gahan's voice :) (aka lead singer of Depeche Mode). Strange crush aside, I'm thankful that she not only taught me how to "put on [my] red shoes and dance the blues", but also how to really love music. I can go on and on about how much I love it...but I think you understand how much and why.

Visual DNA

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Nature is the best medicine :)

Well, it looks like I finally have a diagnosis! Apparently, it's my gallbladder that's causing all the stomach pain, forcing me to stay home. Still, I can't help but be kind of fascinated at how this one little greenish looking organ can have such a great impact on how I spend my days. Anyway, today I decided to get out of the house with my lover. We had a great time at this new spot we found, it's called Mayfield Park. Sometimes all someone needs to feel a tad bit better is a good dose of sunshine, it usually works for me. It was such a pretty day today! The weather was definitely what I'd consider perfect. I love just walking around outside, but here in Texas, it's usually too hot or even too cold, at least in my opinion. I guess I am somewhat spoiled, considering I spent most of my childhood/teen years in California. But then there are spots like these scattered throughout Texas that temporarily cure my homesickness after just one visit. Of course, I brought my camera, and I'm glad I did, because I noticed this one leaf that I had to take a picture of. I'm sure that sounds ridiculous, and I don't think it would've been right for me to take it out of its element. Funny thing is, the reason why I noticed it is precisely because it stood out like a sore thumb! It looked like it really didn't belong with all those other leaves that were randomly scattered around it...I could relate. Yes, sometimes I feel like this little leaf.

Making it!

Oh man! These past few weeks have been some of the hardest. EVER. Not only has my stomach been painfully annoying, but I have become a terribly annoying person too -- and I don't have anyone or anything to blame; it's not a side-effect from the medications, it's just the ugly side of Sophie. Even though I'm sick, it's hard for me to not let this illness get the best of me and contaminate my persona/soul. Sometimes I do feel like I'm losing sight of who I really am. But the hardest part is that sometimes I let myself get so blind, that I start thinking I'm alone in this, that there isn't anyone who could possibly understand, or even care enough to try. Isn't that an awful thing to think, especially when thoughts like that can make a person ill even if they are generally healthy? This is the truth, though. I don't want to make myself out to be some courageous, ever strong-in-faith woman, when I am, really, a weak little girl who's still trying to figure it out, even though I've already had 22 years to do it.

During times like these, that old cliche definitely applies "Just take it one day at a time." I think that's the only piece of advice that an outsider could easily offer anyone in a stressful position. Even if it feels like you're in hell, at least it only comes one day at a time (Yeah, I'm saying that in a sarcastic tone, but that's me)! The up-side of this truth: It really isn't hell! Imagine being completely isolated from anything remotely good, I'm definitely not anywhere close to that, even though my gut begs to differ when it feels like it's on fire.

One thing I hate is when people offer their words of wisdom or pieces of advice without offering their listener the ugly side of their story, because, the truth is, we're all humans that struggle. There's no escaping our flawed state of existence. We all get down, we all lose hope; even the happiest person you know makes mistakes and has trouble finding the silver lining sometimes. And guess what? I am human and I fall under that "flawed" category. I'm not completely pessimistic, though. I know that every coin has a shinier side, even though it also has one that's tarnished. But the side you see depends on how it lands after life's obstacles toss it around.
Right now I'm trying to polish that tarnished side. Every day I decide who I'm going to be in spite of when or how often I get tossed around. I'm trying to make better decisions before I let the things I can't control get the best of me.

Just the other night, or morning, depending on whether or not you're on "college time" :), I found myself staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep thanks to my gut, and I was wasting time NOT giving thanks for the good things. The all-too-familiar "why me?" lyrics started whirling around in my head as the stereotypical, cheesy violin music began to play...but then I finally decided that song sucked, so I chucked it like a really bad Fray album that I would throw-out if I actually owned (but I never have because I think my guinea pig's squeaks sound better than their lead singer's voice, though many would kill me for having that opinion). So, digressive music analogy aside, I wanted to move away from the negativity. I got up outta bed, and hopped on over to my bookshelf, hoping something would catch my eye...and there it was, A Path Through Suffering by Elisabeth Elliot. From the first book of hers I read a few years back til now, I have been an ardent fan of this awesome woman. She has never let anything get her permanently down, despite the fact that two of her husbands died, and one of them was a missionary who was murdered on the field. Elisabeth Elliot is someone who knows the worst of pain, the kind inflicted on her by other people (murder! she was able to forgive a murderer!), and the pain of losing a loved one. This has been a lady who writes books I thoroughly enjoy reading because she knows what I'm talking about, and she's candid about her struggles too. I've enjoyed what I've read so far; I recommend this book to anyone who has faith that God allows goodness to prevail in the end, those who are losing that kind of faith, and those who never had it to begin with; really, anyone can get something from her book(s).

She quotes many different authors in her book, one of them being the well-known C.S. Lewis, in my opinion, one of the most intelligent people. Even though I mostly admire him for his ability to spark a child's imagination, thanks to the Narnia books, I also love how he weaves wisdom into his words so that, in the end, it's almost like he's created a quilt we can all use. This is what I'm talking about (keep the game of chess in mind when reading the following lines):

You can deprive yourself of a castle, or allow the other man sometimes to take back a move made inadvertently. But if you concede everything that at any moment happened to suit him--if all his moves were revocable and if all your pieces disappeared whenever their position on the board was not to his liking--then you could not have a game at all. So it is with the life of souls in a world: fixed laws, consequences unfolding by casual necessity, the whole natural order, are at once the limits within which their common life is confined and also the sole condition under which any such life is possible. Try to exclude the possibility of suffering which the order of nature and the existence of free-will involves, and you find that you have excluded life itself.

Ah, so much power in one paragraph! That's what I love about words. So, in all truth, suffering is inevitable because it's a part of what makes life, life! But what Elizabeth Elliot does (who is so cool, I need to continue using her first and last name when referring to her :) is point out the positive aspects of suffering. What? Am I crazy, the positive aspects? Sounds like an oxymoron, but, yes, the positive aspects. I'll explain a little of what she says, and I'll leave the rest a mystery so you can enjoy the book when you read it. Anyway, suffering is what Elizabeth Elliot calls "a blessed inconvenience". It's what happens when you don't want it to, but it also provides you an opportunity to become someone you didn't know you could be. Think about it, it's easy to be a loving person when life's going your way and you're feeling great, but it's so tough to stay upbeat when a bird poops on your head right after walking out on your job and shortly before discovering your mother is dying! I bet you'd want to cut-off every car that gets in your way on the road so that you can hurry home and throw a pillow against the wall, at least I would. But that's not loving, is it? Of course not, but it is easy to do because it's a part of the human condition that includes anger...and after anger usually follows unpleasant venting that tends to involve someone getting hurt. Where the heck is the "blessed inconvenience"?! That's what I'd say, and I have. Here it is: life bites you in the butt, and instead of cussing out the next stranger you see who spits their gum out in a fury of rage (and you happen to step on it)...ask them why they did it, but don't just ask, CARE. Someone is pissed off, there's obviously something wrong, and even though you've been wronged, you've also been given the opportunity to help someone who might be stuck in a deeper whole than you've ever been. The hard times don't stop at your door, they're like the energizer bunny, they keep going and going and...so why not try to take their batteries out for once?

Elizabeth Elliot also includes a quote by Ugo Bassi, and I'll end on this because it pretty much sums up what I've said so far, but with fancier lingo:

Measure thy life by loss and not by gain:
Not by the wine drunk but by the wine poured forth,
For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice
And he that suffereth most hath most to give.