Oh my God, Dru?

Those words were on every one's mind.

"Oh my God!"

Those words, reportedly the last spoken by Dru Sjodin in her interrupted cell phone conversation, now rest on the lips of everyone who has been touched by her abduction.

We utter them in shocked disbelief when replaying the crime's parameters. "Oh my God! At the Mall?" Is there anywhere in America more pedestrian than a shopping mall?

We whisper them in horror when contemplating the unimaginable last moments. "Oh my God! How horrible." How truly horrifying when images we don't want to consider come to us anyway and bring the tragedy home.

We mouth them in breathless sorrow when thinking of her family. "Can you imagine what her family went through?" We can't imagine. It's too painful to imagine. Instead we pull our own daughters and sons protectively into our arms, and hold them a little more securely. We have always feared for them with an irrational fear that overtakes us when the night is deep and we cannot sleep. We are keenly aware of our limitations and bargain with the darkness for their safety.

"Oh my God!"

And those words are lifted in our mourning. It is no longer only Rachel who weeps for her children, who are no more. We all do. We weep for Dru, Russell, Erika, Alexis, Kristi, Julie and so many others.

Then we shout them in rage. Threats bellowing through bared teeth and flared nostrils. Powerless still, we shake our fist for fierce justice. "Give me five minutes alone with that SOB."

"When criminals no longer fear justice the innocent will suffer."

"Society will reap the terrible rewards of its heartless social spending."

Each has their agenda.

And we offer those words in prayer, early and late, in the morning, at noon, and at day's end. Petitions to our God, our Goddess, YHWH, Allah, and the Higher Power that keeps us sober. They rise like incense into the frozen North Dakota sky, "Will it ever end? How long, Oh Lord? How long?" And we wait for God to answer.

How long?

Until the cycle of violence is stopped and social policy is aimed at rescue rather than retribution.

Until our Lost Boys are found and given dignity, meaning, and respect for something other than their brutish strength and reptilian cunning. Until our beautiful Ophelia's are revived and given hope in something other than their stunning appearance and available sexuality.

Until little boys and girls are protected by those who love them and those who should love them instead of finding abuse at the hands of their benefactors and neglect at the hands of their neighbors. Until we see our role in society's continued viability. Until we recognize our individual place in creating change.

Until no child left behind is a priority and means something other than school standards. Until fathers are valued, mothers honored, and single parents are no longer condemned to poverty. Until people of every belief system, every economic faith, every social character and sexual charter are given the respect due one made in the image of God. Even should they deny such an image exists.

Until actions are taken that are not solely in our own economic self-interest. Until we spend our interests rather than save them. Until we lose a manner of living to gain a better life.

Years later, I remember Dru. Years later and more names have been added to our sad litany. The latest, Kelsey Smith, in Kansas City.