Lifting People Out of Poverty
with thanks to Molly Dunbar

Over the years Nicaragua has seen its share of disasters including an earthquake that levelled the capital city, years of civil war, and most recently the devastating floods brought on by Hurricane Mitch. One group that has been a positive force throughout all of this destruction, promoting microenterprise in artist communities, is Potters For Peace.

Potters for Peace supports potters at all levels of their development including initial training and organizing, technical assistance, product development, and marketing assistance. In a country that has very few job opportunities, pottery-making has not only allowed Nicaraguans to keep their traditions alive but more importantly offered them a way to provide for their families.

For more than 700 years, artisans in Thailand have been using the bark of the mulberry tree to make paper products. In a country where forests are dwindling, using this tree bark is a sustainable way to use the forest without harming it.

Grassroots HQ, an alternative trade organization employing 150 people, is committed to making a difference in their local community. Grassroots HQ provides village women with viable income, raises their awareness of their rights, increases their confidence and self respect and encourages them to unite as a cooperative and to stand up against exploitation, particularly by the sex industry."

In the Godavari Delta Women Lace Artisans Cooperative in India, women from poor communities are eking out their livelihood by lace making. The cooperative hopes to implement sorely needed women's development and education programs, anti-dowry advocacy, and medical care.

The Association of Craft Producers in Nepal works with nearly 800 women, many of whom have been widowed or abandoned. The women involved with ACP create a wide variety of quality handcrafts including table linens, felted slippers, handpainted wood trays, dolls, ceramics, and more. ACP provides a much needed earning opportunity for women and this work has effectively raised the women's confidence, self esteem, and communication skills.

Coffee farmers near Oaxaca, Mexico, barely eked out a living before Equal Exchange, a Fair Trade Organization, stepped in. Today, the villagers run a rural bus line, send their children to the only secondary school in the region and use a computer to track crop information and sales.

In Guatemala, Association Maya provides jobs for 300 women who have no other opportunity for work in their villages. This organization also keeps alive the traditional art form of backstrap weaving. Members of Association Maya create fine hand-woven clothing and accessories in modern designs. More importantly, these weavers have improved their lives by strengthening their skills and competency in literacy, bookkeeping and sewing.

Bhaktapur Craft Printers (BCP) was founded by UNICEF to revive paper making and to improve the living standards of low-income families, especially women and children in urban ghettos and remote rural areas in Nepal. In 1993, BCP provided employment to over 1,000 people. From 1987 to 1993, BCP contributed more than 10 million rupees (US $200,000) to fund community projects, including education, irrigation, forestry and environmental programs. BCP's method of gathering the lokta bark used for the paper preserves the fragile ecology of Nepali forests. BCP also promotes ecological techniques to reduce firewood use during the papermaking process.

In Kenya, physically disabled people have few job opportunities because of the high unemployment rate and prejudice against them. At Bombolulu Workshop in Mombassa, Kenya, over 250 handicapped artisans design and create beautiful fabrics, wooden carvings and innovative jewellery. Bombolulu Workshop protects the environment by maintaining Kenya's forest resources. They plant ten trees to replace every one used for carving.

Following many years of war, Cambodia now has an overwhelming number of households headed by women. In the outskirts of Phnom Penh, such households make up 40% of the families. These families have little access to resources and are the poorest segment of society. Outside Phnom Penh, a Fair Trade Organization called Khemara gives these unskilled women access to credit and training. The women form small groups and start successful businesses such as orchid growing and animal husbandry. Khemara also supports the revival of traditional crafts, such as silk weaving. This not only enables a tradition to survive, but also provides a skill that can generate income.

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A Young Californian
with thanks to A Sampson

Our son suffered a stroke at birth. Most people don't associate strokes with children but in fact 1 out of every 4,000 live births result in a stroke victim. Our son has hemiplegia and cerebral palsy. Every little movement and every little gesture requires a tremendous amount of energy and thought as his body is not symmetrical and is essentially paralyzed on one side. He suffers significant speech & language delays, visual impairments, developmental delays and a seizure disorder because of the extent of the damage to his brain.

His life has been forever changed as has ours as parents. Not a day goes by that we don't think about what might have been and not a day goes by that we don't count our blessings. He is a shining star that is charismatic, loving and naughty. But life is a HUGE challenge. Medicine, hospitals, tests and hours of therapy are now the norm for our family. We belong to a network of other special needs families, some of which could also benefit from this research.

We work hard locally and as a part of a national organization, to increase awareness and funding for paediatric strokes. There you would find a huge group of families whose lives could forever be changed by continued stem cell research and eventually a treatment for our children.

Our family will strongly support this initiative and we will encourage others to do so as well. Our son deserves every opportunity and there is now light at the end of the tunnel - stem cell treatment.

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Cancer survivor celebrates miracle of life
with thanks to Lisa Bell

Diagnosed with cancer at age 16, LisaB. suddenly had a lot more on her mind than homework and school dances. But one thing she didn't give much thought to during her 18 months of treatment for rhabdomyosarcoma (a malignant soft-tissue tumour often found in the extremities) was that the chemotherapy that destroyed her cancer might also affect her ability to have a child.

"I remember my doctor saying that I might have a low egg count as a result of the chemotherapy," says Lisa. "My mother was worried about it, but I was more concerned about losing my hair before the prom and being too sick to continue cheerleading. It was difficult to even think about problems that might occur in the future."

Now 29 and cancer-free for nearly 13 years, Lisa is a patient at a Cancer Institute Clinic. The clinic provides medical, educational, and psychosocial services to help survivors of childhood cancers cope with the long-term side effects of their treatments.

Infertility is often a concern for both men and women with a history of cancer. Chemotherapy and radiation may cause a woman's ovaries to shut down so they no longer release eggs, leading to infertility and early menopause. Most women undergo menopause at around age 50, but women who have had cancer therapy may start the process in their 20s or 30s.

Cancer treatments may also diminish the amount and quality of a man's sperm, making natural conception more difficult.

Survivors with concerns like these may come to the Perini Clinic and discuss their options with a reproductive specialist.

Lisa kept her own concerns about infertility at bay until she started a graduate school internship at a clinic near her hometown.

"As a social work intern, I was constantly working with cancer survivors who were having difficulty conceiving," she says. "That's when it really hit me. I knew I wanted children, so it was scary to think that I might not be able to have one of my own." In 1997, Lisa and her college sweetheart, K, got married and immediately began trying to start a family. Already in her mid-20s, she was worried that her window of opportunity to get pregnant was closing. Specialists at the Perini Clinic told Lisa that her chances of conceiving were better if she started right away.

"We were very focused," says Lisa. "So I was using an ovulation kit to determine when I would be most fertile. The staff at the Perini Clinic told me that if I wasn't pregnant within a year, they would refer us to a fertility specialist."

After 6 months without success, the couple had grown frustrated and tense from the pressure of trying to conceive. They decided to relax their efforts and let nature take its course. A month later, Lisa discovered she was pregnant, and her son, C, arrived nine months later on August 17, 1999.

Since Lisa could still experience early menopause, plans for another baby are already under consideration.

"My family refers to C. as the 'Miracle Baby,'" says Lisa with a laugh. "It's enough that I survived, never mind that I could actually have a baby. Now I'm hoping for another miracle."

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Ed's Story
Anon

For Ed C. and his family, dystonia came out of left field. In high school, he loved girls, sports and computers, but then something terrible started happening to his body. By the time he was 17, his life as a normal teenager was over.

"He could get up and walk but he'd be falling all over the place," said his mother, Emily C. The ailment got worse. Ed's muscles twisted and contorted his body into bizarre postures, crippling him with painful spasms and uncontrollable movements. Baser was the first to diagnose him with dystonia. The disorder usually targets only one specific part of the body, but Ed has a rare form that affected his entire body ( DYT1 generalized dystonia ).No one knew how he got it and there is no cure. When the spasms got out of control, his family decided it was time for drastic measures.

Dr. Donald Whiting, a neurosurgeon, proposed one last option: deep brain stimulation, or DBS. The odds were only 50-50 that the procedure would work, Dr Whiting warned. But in the spring of 2000, Ed had the brain surgery. In the operation, Dr Whiting screwed a metal halo into the teen's head to help him navigate safely deep into the brain. He believed that Ed's muscles were clenching so tightly and constantly because the nerve cells in his brain that control muscle movements were firing too fast.

But there are millions of nerve cells in the brain and finding which ones were causing the teen's symptoms was like finding a needle in a haystack. The surgical team tried to find the abnormal nerve cells by listening to them with a thin wire that was fitted with a tiny microphone and pushed deep into the patient's brain. Nerve cells produce sounds each time they give off an electrical impulse. Those sounds from different parts of the brain are like fingerprints.

Baser was at Ed's side during the entire surgery. She waited anxiously as Dr Whiting sent tiny volts of electricity to the young man's brain. When she flexed his wrist, amazingly, it moved normally for the first time in nearly two years. DBS had worked when all else failed.

"Oh my gosh, it was dramatic," Baser said. "I mean it's hard to keep from choking up about it because he's such a nice kid."

The doctors implanted two electrodes in the part of Ed's brain that causes his dystonia. The wires constantly emit a steady stream of electrical pulses that allow his muscles to move freely. If the electrical pulses stop, the symptoms will return. These electrodes are powered by two small batteries that are implanted in Ed's chest. DBS works like a pacemaker for the brain. It doesn't cure dystonia, but it controls it without destroying any brain tissue. The turnaround is remarkable, the patient and his family say.

"It was wonderful," Ed said. "I just thanked God for giving this to me."

Today Ed has fulfilled some of his dreams.

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Making Others Aware
Author Kelly A. Feevey

with thanks to Patricia Nesbitt for sending us this article.

Wanting to share my "preemie" experience with the world, I looked to the Internet. I found a lot of people who share the same experiences as my family went through...twice. After the birth of my first child I felt scared, alone and wasn't sure if we were even going to be able to bring a baby home from the hospital. The second time, with support from friends and family I did not feel alone. My support, aside from my family came from other parents of preemies.

Upon searching the Internet I have found that my views are common and are shared by many from all over the world. But one issue divides us as discussed in an online e-mail community, Gawkers.

The question was posed, "How do you deal with gawkers?" You know who they are, the well-meaning people who think that your four-month-old is a newborn. The dear grandmotherly types who feel the need to "touch that cute TINY baby." And, last but not least, those who just cannot pass up the need to feed curiosity by asking, "What are those?" while referring to oxygen tubes, apnoea monitor leads, traches, or other medically necessary shreds of a preemie's daily routine.

There are some who are embarrassed to discuss the circumstances around their baby's birth. It's as though we have to make excuses for small stature, or medical imperfections. When asked how old their baby is, they have admittedly given the adjusted age as opposed to the actual age to prevent questions or comments on the baby's size, or developmental delays. How are we going to promote preemie awareness like this? I urge you to take this opportunity and educate.

And then, there are those people who like myself insert the preemie topic at any given moment. At my three-year-old son's ice skating lessons, one mom got more than she bargained for; she simply stated, "He is skating so well, and is so big. He looks like a hockey player." With that I answered, "Thanks, we are sure proud of him, he was born 10 weeks early..."

I am so very proud of both my "Early Blessings". I am proud that they are here. I am proud that through the tough obstacles of prematurity, they have emerged as healthy and developmentally on-target kids. I am proud to admit that they have taught me a lot about life, as near as we have come to losing it.

I feel that I was blessed with my little men to help teach others about prematurity, the United State's second leading cause of infant mortality.

To read more of Kelly's articles and for further information please click here Preemie Parenting.com

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I am here to tell you our story
Fia R.
with thanks to Bill McDonald

I am here to tell you our story – to talk about children who suffer from brain injuries or central nervous system abnormalities and to let you know that now, more than ever, we have a tremendous opportunity to give these children and their families a renewed chance at life.

Julius was a healthy, full-term baby in utero, but became trapped during his birth and suffered prolonged birth asphyxiation.

Already a strong swimmer at the age of seven, Martin suffered an incapacitating brain injury while jumping from the diving board into the family’s swimming pool.

Born with a neuromuscular disorder, Natalie, now three, is unable to walk, talk, or sit up. She remains undiagnosed.

Our son Palmer is seven years old and he can not walk, talk, sit up or feed himself independently. He remains undiagnosed but clearly has a brain injury.

The desire to have a child, like most, was to experience the love for our own child. Typical of many mothers, I envisioned breast feeding, walks in the park, family outings and gatherings around the dinner table. Part of the bigger dream was in becoming part of the parent community and taking on the responsibilities of teaching our son life skills and values as well as giving him every break possible for a life filled with potential and opportunities for him to become a valuable citizen of the world.

Unfortunately Palmer’s brain injury has robbed us of these inherent experiences and possibilities; the American dream that so many of us take for granted.

When Palmer was born, like so many other parents, we were told he was a normal, healthy child. Within a few days of Palmer’s birth, I had to say goodbye to the dream of parenthood, at least the one we all imagine. Although we were told Palmer was a normal healthy baby immediately after birth, within two days he started having seizures and complications resulting in emergency surgeries. From that time forward, Palmer has faced countless medical challenges and he has never met any of his developmental milestones. He will require life long care. My husband and I do not think about Palmer’s graduation from elementary school, high school or college; instead we revel in the simpler things, like a smile or a new sound.

Since Palmer’s birth I have lived in a parallel world, facing the daily struggles and loss while also envisioning Palmer as a healthy normal child running and playing with his peers. My ability to imagine is what has allowed me to survive emotionally and continue to have hope. It is also been instrumental in my quest to understand today’s medicine and technologies, and tomorrow’s possibilities.

Currently there are 14 million children in the United States who struggle with some form of neurological dysfunction, including cerebral palsy, autism, traumatic brain injury and degenerative diseases. Some of these conditions are genetic, others are acquired. All are heart-wrenching and currently without cure.

Stem cell research holds the key to unlocking so many of the medical mysteries that plague society. It offers hope for therapies and cures that, until now, could not even be imaged. Having watched the evolution of neuroscience over this past decade and seeing its promise, my husband and I founded Children's Neurobiological Solutions Foundation, (CNS), to accelerate research and engage top scientists in finding biomedical solutions for our children. CNS's world-renowned scientists strongly believe that their research, while dramatically improving the lives of these children will also contribute greatly to the knowledge and treatment of adult neurological disorders, such as Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and stroke.

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Patsy’s story - Mothers Against Violence

"Three years ago my life changed dramatically when my son was shot and killed.

Dorrie was a vibrant lad with a caring heart and an undying loyalty to his friends. In fact, his death really opened my eyes to how much he was loved by the people around him. A comment by one of his friends may say it all: "He cared more for me than my dad ever did".

Until his death, my life - work, church, family - was ticking over nicely. I had raised six beautiful kids who were doing well in university, sport and other careers. When Dorrie was growing up, he was a much-appreciated pupil at school, with good reports that specifically commented on his character and his helpful attitude towards the younger children. But in his third year of college a change occurred. Life became serious. The brother of one of his friends who belonged to a gang was shot in the leg. Some time later, one of Dorrie’s friends was shot in the chest and arm over a silly issue about a bike – silly, but with grave consequences on the streets. A year later three fatal gang shootings occurred in one week, one of which took away my son. Dorrie, who had never been in trouble with the police in his life, became the centre of a police enquiry through his death.

You do not raise kids without purpose, and I am convinced that you do not lose one of your kids without purpose either. For me, my pain and my faith became a window into society. After Dorrie’s death my house was filled with young people, parents and elderly people who lived in the neighbourhood. Some time later I met with a group of around fifteen mothers who were fearful for the lives of their children and who knew either a family member or a friend who had been a victim of gang shootings or other violent acts. Out of this, Mothers Against Violence was born.

The deepest desire of Mothers Against Violence is to put something back into the community. Young people learn from adults. I want to know why, when they grow up, the gangs have such an attraction despite all the violence. I have learned a lot from listening. A gang is their family. There is oneness, acceptance, agreement, and togetherness in a gang, and often it is the only format of being listened to and being heard.

The ‘Gangstop’ march that took place in June 2002 was the result of a rising up within the community to aim for change. This was not an isolated event; it was the beginning of something new. When Gandhi marched in India for independence, when the mothers of Argentina marched for their missing sons, something happened in the course of history - suddenly, the world sat up. My involvement with Mothers Against Violence has brought me before a number of great men. Tony Lloyd, MP, arranged a meeting with Prime Minister Tony Blair. We were listened to. We talked about moral values, about the social exclusion of young black men and children, about family matters.

In Mothers Against Violence we come alongside grieving parents and parents who are concerned that their children will be caught up in gangs. We aim to go into schools and break the taboo about gangs and violence. We need to talk, and, much more importantly, we need to listen.

I am still not really used to the idea that my son is not here. He is still so much part of our lives. But the loss we feel in our family has given me a great compassion for young men. I am interested in what moves them and what they think.

Nelson Mandela commented on the struggle in South African society, saying "When women begin to take an active part, no power on earth can stop us from achieving freedom in our lifetime". There is an enormous strength when people come together and join their vision, talent and energy in their aim to transform a part of the hurting society in which we live. Heaven help us if we become apathetic to the violence, numb to the pain and deaf to the cry of the youth around us! Mothers have become an active part of this struggle with a steadfast commitment to see change come into our family and community life.

There is a verse in the Bible from Malachi 4:6, which is key to the resolution of the problem: "He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers". There is wisdom in such age-old truths, the basis for our hope. It points to the need for Dads to also become a spearhead in this movement for change. It calls upon the Church to take on its parenting role towards a group in society who feel practically orphaned. We owe it to our children and ourselves to build a more gracious world than this.

Patsy McKie

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Support

Marsha G,
Diagnosed in 1998 in her 40s
Bronchoalveolar nonsmall cell lung cancer

Marsha's story:
"You're very young to have lung cancer. It usually doesn't strike someone in their 40s!"

Diagnosed in 1998 with bronchoalveolar nonsmall cell lung cancer (BAC), I had my first lobectomy that April. In January 1999, a nodule on my left lung grew, along with a "satellite" tumour. May 2000 saw my second lobectomy.

Operations were the easy part--painful but easy. The toughest challenge was picking a surgeon, an oncologist, and treatment.

Some of the choices that demanded that I be an active partner in my medical care included researching the disease and the prospective doctors, and asking the hard questions of them before making a well-informed decision. After my second lobectomy my oncologist gave me his opinion. Again, before making a decision on my next steps, I consulted three other oncologists. Their opinions ranged from, "You're Stage IV" to "You're Stage I. It's a second primary."

I did not rush my decision, but once it was made I knew my most difficult moment had become my most cherished accomplishment.

I now have multiple nodules in both lungs. We are in a watchful waiting mode. Another decision awaits me.

In a way cancer has been a blessing. I now cherish those dear to me more than I might have otherwise. I embrace every day for the miracle it is. That is surely a change for the better. M, my partner in life's adventures, has been more than the rock of Gibraltar through all the trials and tribulations. We no longer put anything off. Trips that once were postponed to the future are now part of our now. We celebrate us and we celebrate the now of life. And that's one heaven of a blessing!

Here are excerpts from notes I shared with my surgeon:

You took time to educate us, to answer our questions so that we could make an informed decision. And you cared about the patient as a person, not just as the next surgical procedure on your calendar. You treated the patient and the patient's caregiver, not just the disease. We both felt good after having spoken to you. We felt that I had been treated well, as a partner in my own healthcare.

The other factor in this is how the emotional life and spiritual life change for the patient and the patient's loved ones. The blessing part of this is when you make up your mind to fight the good fight and win. Win on a day-to-day basis. Embrace the philosophy to be here now. Don't put anything off. Whatever you do it is you, the individual, who does win in the end, if you have the right attitude, discipline and strength of character with a large dose of Divine Grace added in! And plan for the inevitable journey Home. Agree to talk about it when that chapter comes and in the meantime, just live your life and, if you can, be of service to those who may find themselves in the same or similar circumstance.

I sometimes think after all the searches M. & I have been through that I'm not the only one who is using my best guess to decide upon a course of treatment. I think that oncology is a lot of educated guesswork for the oncologists, pathologists & radiologists. Hopefully, the more clinical research that is done, the more hard facts will come out of it and the more uniform an approach will be presented to a patient for any one particular kind of cancer.

June 15, 2001 Update:

Today I had my quarterly check-up with my thoracic medical oncologist at my hospital. It's now over a year since my second lobectomy. I still have lots of very small nodules in both lungs but it's still "watchful waiting" for me at this point.

In the meantime I continue working full-time, as I always have. Some people at work know I have cancer. Most do not.

Many women ask me how I stay in such great shape. Well, I continue to do my exercise every morning which consists of weight training and aerobics, which I do at home for about 45 minutes and then I walk (25 minutes) to work. In the evening before I make dinner, I do 30 minutes of meditation/visualization to de-stress from the day and to visualize my cancer as going away. And I eat healthy food, not junk food.

And just as importantly I try always to keep a positive "can do" attitude. Thoughts affect the body and I want to send my body all the good loving thoughts I can. I also feel great that I've made the commitment to take care of myself and keep myself strong. As Denise Austin, a wonderfully motivating TV exercise guru for the over-40 set says, "Strong body, strong mind. Because you are worth it." I believe it. I think it's a great motto. And, by the way, when I was recovering from each operation I watched her morning program, even though I couldn't participate in the exercises for eight weeks, because she's such a good motivator.

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Mother of an Adolescent with Sexual Behaviour Problems

Kay's Story

Everyone knows that parenting a teenager is going to be difficult. But thank goodness few parents know the kind of awful night I had when my son was 14 and my neighbour called to tell me that "Jon" had sexually abused her child.

I was outraged and in shock. It felt like my whole world had shattered into small pieces around my feet. I dragged Jon out of bed and peppered him with accusing questions. Of course he didn’t answer, couldn’t have given me the answers I wanted in my wild state. It would have made such a difference in our lives and in how soon we were able to get help if STOP IT NOW! had existed then. They would have guided me more gently into the hard decision I eventually made to report my own son for sexually abusing another child. It was the only way to get real help for him so he wouldn’t grow up into an adult child molester . It was also a step towards getting help for the child he sexually abused.

Even though that was one of the worst days of my life, I feel lucky. We searched and found a good therapist experienced in working with adolescents who have sexually molested other kids. Jon completed his 3-year treatment program and has learned the tools needed to control his sexual offending behaviours. We work together and let him know he is not alone in this. We are watchful with him and we can talk together about whether a situation is "safe" for him or not. We communicate as a family, and he can always talk to his therapist about what’s going on when he can’t talk to me. I feel lucky that we’ve come through this and that my son took responsibility for changing his behaviours. But I had to show the way. I’m the parent, I’m the adult. If I won’t take responsibility and set limits of right and wrong for my family, who will?

After that initial crazy night, I learned quickly that I needed to talk with my son from my heart. It was the best thing I could have done. I told him how much I loved him. I told him that what he had done with the neighbour child was sexual abuse and it was wrong. I told him that I didn’t want him to grow up to be a child molester, and that we couldn’t solve this problem by ourselves. I wanted the best help we could find for him and we would not stop until we found that help.

It was not an easy path. We had been seeing a general therapist at the time, but he did not help us much. I looked around for additional help and was lucky to have found a specialized treatment program for children with sexual behaviour problems. But the only way he could enter this program was if an official report was made. The neighbours did not want to say anything, so I took the matter into my own hands and reported the sexual abuse. It was a terribly hard decision to make. But I am glad to be able to say now that this was the right thing to do for my son and for everyone involved.

The three year treatment program had just the right combination of toughness and caring. They set clear limits. Sexual abuse, they told him, is a crime. They kept hope alive by letting him know that he and his therapists were working together to make sure it would never happen again. It was his responsibility to participate and learn the skills he needed: how to recognize when he was in a negative mood and the things he could do, the people he could talk to to change it before he was tempted to reoffend.

Even with all the love and luck in the world, there are still some questions, some frustrating things I feel angry about in this whole process.

Jon had been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder when he was two and a half. But we worked hard within our family and with his teachers to help him learn how to learn. It was working – he was bringing home A’s and B’s on his report card. Then in the fourth grade, his grades began to slip and it felt as though Jon himself was slipping away from us. We’ll never know whether he was sexually abused or what happened to cause the change. All we know is that he suddenly didn’t want to go to school and was more and more isolated. So we tried therapy. But neither of the two therapists at two different medical centres ever asked him (or me) about possible child sexual abuse or identified any sexual problem when we took him for evaluations.

So many of the professionals I spoke with didn’t know how to recognize what was going on with my son. Why? Even his therapist at the time did not want to report what happened. And when I was so alone in dealing with this situation, why wasn’t there a place for me and other parents to go to learn about what to look for and how to talk about sexual abuse with each other and with our children?

The most important thing for parents is to be able to talk with each other about child sexual abuse. But if you know what to look for and sense something is wrong, the most loving thing you can do for your children, whether they are victims or abusers, is to talk about what may be going on. And if you suspect sexual abuse, the most loving thing to do is to get them help before this becomes a fixed pattern as an adult. Treatment, especially if it is specialized treatment can and does work. We know so much more now, and there is wonderful help out there when you reach out for it. STOP IT NOW! is a wonderful program for help and support.

Breaking the silence around child sexual abuse will help our children talk about their concerns and give all of us the support we need to deal with this hidden problem. It’s my hope for the future that we will be able to stop child sexual abuse.

It’s up to us as parents, as adults, to lead the way.

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A Couple's Journey
Cancer sent Beth and David to the brink of divorce

"Her cancer was a challenge that had to be met; the stakes were her life. We had to beat it for her and for our two-year-old son, William. But, because I kept things in, she thought it didn’t affect me."

David S.

He’s a go-with-the-flow numbers guy who sees problems as challenges to be conquered. She wears her emotions on her sleeve and processes each step of the journey. Individually, they possess the resources necessary to make it in life. But their five-year marriage almost didn’t survive her breast cancer diagnosis at age 29.

“My relationship with my husband was OK before the diagnosis,” said Beth. “But afterward, I felt he put up some walls that were hard to leap over. I couldn’t deal with that; I didn’t want to leap over them. I couldn’t concentrate on his problems because I needed to concentrate on my own. It became very strained."

Beth talks about the near-destruction of her marriage now with the hope that her story may help others. Many couples confronting cancer are blindsided by intense emotions that have bled over into their relationships.

Savard describes her own diagnosis as a "double shock." She'd found a lump in her left breast and was told not to worry, it was just an infection. Minor surgery was scheduled, but when she returned to have the stitches removed, she learned the lab had found cancer. "We'd let our guard down. It was like being hit by a two by four," she recalled.

A month earlier, they had started work on a sibling for their two-year-old son and put a deposit on a house. Those plans were scrapped and Beth had a mastectomy for stage II breast cancer, then chemotherapy. And, although David moved to the third shift at his field engineering job so that he could be with Beth during the day, within three months he lost his job.

'Love me or leave me. That's the way I am.'

Gradually Beth became angry that her husband didn't show more emotion. "I expected more sharing or to see that he was sad or afraid," she explained. "I took that as being cold. I shut myself off from him and it went from there." She added, "Love me or leave me. That's the way I am.

"I was diagnosed in September 1994. On Mother’s Day 1995, we said that we were going to get through this and then separate.”

“I am very pragmatic,” explained David. “My father and brothers are the same. When things happen to someone, I’m less apt to talk, more apt to act. I look at a problem and try to identify the options. Her cancer was a challenge that had to be met; the stakes were her life. We had to beat it for her and for our two-year-old son, William. But, because I kept things in, she thought it didn’t affect me. When she mentioned separation, I didn’t take it seriously. I saw her anger and disappointment.”

During treatment, a hospital counsellor suggested they sign up for a Cancer Society-We Can Weekend—a retreat for cancer survivors and their families. Beth was enthusiastic; David a little leery. “I went knowing it was going to be a huggy, touchy, feely weekend,” he confessed. “It wasn’t as bad as I expected. I saw others were having fights over their inability to vocalize what’s going on.”

Warming Relations and the Two Second Hug

"It gave him permission to share and to talk and to feel,” Beth related. "He had to make an 'I'm afraid' statement before the group, and he had tears in his eyes. He said, "I'm afraid of raising our child alone."

"Driving home from the weekend, we knew we could make it. He pulled over at one point and cried. He had never cried in front of me before.” And now, almost nine years later? “Neither one of us is afraid of saying something to the other, or of sharing our emotions, because they’re our emotions, wrong or right,” said Beth.

“We talk more,” agreed David. “I learned I needed to say what she needs to hear, to express my fears and other feelings. But even if I’m silent about something, she now knows it doesn’t mean I’m not affected by it.” Beth saw a distinct change after the weekend. "I thought, 'Wow, I'm getting some emotion back. Before, he was just flatlining me."

Beth and David's married life has changed in other ways too. "We appreciate the small things now. We stop and enjoy the moments," Beth explained. "I have to be stopped to enjoy the moments more than he does. He'll stop me for a hug and I'll say, "No, I have to do this or that and he'll say, 'Two seconds.' It took me longer to argue with him than to share a hug."

Over Christmas 2002, the Savards experienced a death in the family. “My husband and son cried together. They’re learning how to share and to talk about how angry or upset or hurt they are,” Beth said. “The cycle has been broken.”

---

God’s Merciful Irony

Only God could choose a killer to lead others into new life, and turn prison from a place of punishment into a place of promise

Young Danny Croce was always “attracted to trouble,” he reminisces—gangs, gambling, booze, cocaine: high-risk activities to jolt him out of the numbing pointlessness of life. Before succumbing to that “inevitable grey tombstone,” he craved some thrills.

But in his mid-twenties he played a perilous game: After downing a six-pack of beer for lunch, he would return to his job of “hanging iron, ” laying steel girders atop some of Boston’s tallest skyscrapers.

Danny managed to avoid calamity on the job. But in February 1984, a cold rainstorm forced the crew to quit early—so they launched into a bar-hopping spree to warm themselves up. Later, “drunk out of my tree,” Danny was heading home when he rammed his car through a wooden barricade and struck a police officer directing traffic. A few days later, the officer died. Danny was charged with vehicular homicide.

A sobered Danny couldn’t escape the python of guilt coiled around his heart. “I’d replay the accident in my mind,” he explains. “I tried hard to change the ending, but I couldn’t.”

He wanted to go to the officer’s family to tell them he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to rip away their father and husband. But Danny’s lawyer immediately nixed that plan, afraid he might say something that would jeopardize his case.

A year later, when Danny decided to plead guilty to the charges, he met the officer’s widow for the first time—in court. Her distressing comments “cut me like a knife,” he recalls. “In all this time,” she told the judge, “he’s never said he was sorry.”

Danny wept as the bailiff handcuffed him and led him from the courtroom. He strained to turn and face the woman. “Mrs. ______, I swear to God, I am so sorry.” But the bailiff pushed him on.

Days later, confined in a five- by seven-foot cell in the County jail, Danny still wrestled with haunting memories of the deadly crime. “At 3 A.M.,” he says, “I’d turn my pillow over, trying to find a dry spot; I’d been crying so hard.”

One day Danny recounted his tormenting story at an inmate support group—who mostly fed him useless platitudes. But one “hippie-type,” an inmate named Wayne, ventured a subtle witness: “Have you ever tried to pray to God?”

Spurred by that simple question, in bed that night Danny repeated a one-line prayer—the only thing he could think of: “Please, God, please.” Next thing he knew, the stirrings of morning had roused him from his first restful slumber in a long time. For several nights following, his unpolished but pure prayers led to peaceful sleep. Then Wayne gave Danny a New Testament, a book he had never read.

As Danny read the Gospels, Jesus’ power both amazed and frightened him. He touches blind people and they see, Danny marvelled. He makes deaf people hear. Who is this guy?

Then he got to the part where Jesus talked about the consequences of sin, “about weeping and the gnashing of teeth,” Danny recalls. “I knew that I was in big trouble. Guilty.”

Danny turned to jail chaplain Bob Hanson, and under his gentle guidance, the repentant inmate yielded his past, present, and future to Christ, gratefully receiving His forgiveness and promise of new life. Danny renounced his reckless high-wire act for a stable walk of faith grounded in God’s Word.

“It was such an eye-opening experience for me to meet God in jail and have all this time to immerse myself in the Word,” says Danny. “I really grew in the Lord.” During Bible studies and chapel services, Chaplain Hanson would encourage the inmates, “If you have a question, write it down.”

“So I’d come in with two pages!” says Danny. “He taught me so many things because I was so hungry.” As God satisfied that hunger with Himself, old counterfeit lures lost their appeal: cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, gambling. “It wasn’t like, ‘You’re a Christian now; you’d better stop doing those things,’ ” Danny says. “I just didn’t want to do them anymore.”

Acting Like a Dad

During one of his personal Bible studies, Danny came across 1 Timothy 5:8: “But if anyone does not provide for his own, and especially for those of his household, he has denied the faith, and is worse than an unbeliever.”

“That hit me right between the eyes,” he remembers, because there was a little girl out there who was most likely his daughter.

Seven years earlier, Danny had longed to marry his lover, “but I just couldn’t tie her down,” he says. When they finally broke up, “I was crushed. I was a professional boxer at the time, and it was the hardest hit I’d ever taken.”

So three weeks later, when his ex called to say she was pregnant, “I didn’t want to have anything to do with her. She’d been seeing all these other guys behind my back; it could be my child, or it could be someone else’s.”

And once a year, that’s the answer he gave the Department of Social Services when they questioned him about being the father of little Melissa. No one ever suggested a paternity test.

But there in his jail cell, reading 1 Timothy 5:8, Danny felt the racing heartbeat of conviction: If Melissa is my daughter and I’m not providing for her, I’m in big trouble! But what could he do from jail?

“It was such an eye-opening experience for me to meet God in jail and have all this time to immerse myself in the Word,”

Then, as Christmas approached, Danny “was absolutely blown away” when Myles Fish, then a Prison Fellowship staff member, came to tell the inmates about PF’s Angel Tree® program—a way for them to give Christmas gifts to their children from prison. Danny couldn’t believe it when Myles said people from churches would buy and deliver the gifts. “Brand new?” he asked. “Brand new,” Myles assured him. And volunteers would provide not only the gifts, but also the Good News of Jesus Christ, in a written form that a seven-year-old like Melissa could easily understand. Danny was thrilled: “That’s the thing I wanted most for her.”

After Christmas, Melissa visited Danny and thanked him for the gifts. He’d stepped out to build a bridge . . . and she’d walked across.

And for the rest of his sentence, Danny prayed he’d be able to minister to others as Angel Tree had ministered to him and Melissa.

Released in 1986, Danny again went to the Department of Social Services, this time with a different answer to their query. “I’m a Christian now,” he said, “and I need to know for sure if this is my daughter or not.” He asked for the blood test. The result: A 99-percent certainty he was the dad. Now taking full responsibility, Danny began paying child support, including several years’ worth of penalties and interest for missed payments.

During one of his visits with Melissa, dad and daughter took a walk around the block. As they neared a Baptist Church, Danny noted the sign advertising Vacation Bible School. “I really wanted her to learn about Jesus,” he says—so he went in and asked the pastor if Melissa could attend. From there, both dad and daughter regularly attended church services, and Melissa accepted Christ as her Savoir and Lord.

Settled into a new relationship with his daughter, a new church home, and a new job in construction, Danny set out to serve others as he had promised God in jail. He worked with the handicapped, taught Sunday school at Boston Children’s Hospital, started a basketball league for teens, and visited prison inmates. Through his ministry he met his wife, Kim.

Together they worried about Melissa, living with a mother who still dabbled in drugs and promiscuous sex. Then one evening, a couple years out of jail, Danny got a call from the mom. “I can’t handle her,” she said of their 10-year-old daughter, whose distressing home life had spilled over into trouble at school. “Do you want her?”

“Of course!” Danny and Kim immediately agreed, and soon welcomed Melissa into a safe, loving, and healthy family. They enrolled her in a Christian school, “where her straight F’s turned into straight A’s” boasts Danny. She also gained a new baby brother.

Hitting the Books

In 1991 Danny experienced still another dramatic life change: the opportunity, at age 35, to go to college. “You need to finish your education,” challenged a Prison Fellowship staff member, explaining that a College had a scholarship fund, set up specifically to help ex-prisoners.

“Prison Fellowship blew me away again,” says Danny—who juggled painting jobs and academic studies for four years to earn a degree in Bible and theology.

In 1996, a year after his graduation, Danny became a chaplain with the Good News Jail and Prison Ministry, assigned—at the invitation of his jail mentor Chaplain Hanson—to the County Correctional Facility! “The inmates are younger now; they’re gang-bangers,” Hanson told him. “We need somebody younger here.” And Danny could speak their language.

Like its former inmate, the facility had gone through a striking transformation. “When I was there, it was dirty, scummy, had cockroaches,” Danny describes. The new buildings, housing 1,500 county, state, and federal inmates, provide clean, state-of-the-art secure accommodations. “Best of all, I can go anywhere I want in it, and can get out the same day!” he jokes.

Now serving as senior chaplain with three assistants (Hanson retired in 2002), Danny pours his heart and energies into ministering not only to the inmates but also to the officers and their families. He teaches Bible studies, counsels, visits the sick, comforts the grieving. “I bring not only the good news, but sometimes the bad news,” he says—like word of a death in the family. “The phone’s always ringing or another e-mail’s popping up”: distraught spouses and parents imploring him to visit or put in a good word for their imprisoned loved one. As head chaplain, he juggles numerous administrative details, screening clergy and lay volunteers, scheduling services and other events, making sure that inmates from a variety of religious backgrounds have the means to express their faith.

And yes, every Christmas he makes sure that inmate fathers have the same chance he had to sign up for Angel Tree.

“I love being back where I found God, or where God found me,” he corrects himself. “I was the one that was lost.”

He knows that countless others now stumble through that same engulfing darkness, groping for a way out of their confusion, guilt, and shame. In his nearly eight years at the jail, Danny estimates that “thousands have come to Christ.” Many are now back on the outside, “working hard, being good fathers, serving as deacons and elders in their church.” He still gets calls from a lot of them: sometimes asking guidance for a problem; sometimes telling him how much they appreciated his care and counsel, and how it set them on a stable path, illumined by the light of Christ. He tells of one former inmate, “a bad dude” named Ed, whose construction business is booming because “everybody saw the change in him.” He describes another inmate, Bob, whose hard work and upbeat disposition prompted a corrections officer to plead, “Tell me about this Christ.” The inmate led the officer in a prayer of surrender to the Lord.

“I love seeing God work in these bad boys’ hearts to give them hope and meaning and a reason to live,” says Danny.

His own life is a prime illustration: a former nihilistic “bad boy” transformed into a respected minister, loving husband, father of five, and grandfather of three—thanks to oldest daughter Melissa, now in her twenties and happily married.

Looking back, “I hate what I did,” he says soberly, referring to the deadly car crash. “I wish to God it had never happened. But God still takes bad situations and turns them over for good.”

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