At the March for Life in Olympia last month, I signed a petition to allow for the creation of a "Choose Life" license plate for automobiles, the extra proceeds from which would go to support crisis pregnancy centers and health care for pregnant women in our state. I support both crisis pregnancy centers and health care for pregnant women (especially when funded voluntarily), so it was only natural for me to add my name to the list. It was only later when I started to rethink this idea.
Choosing between life and death is an imperative decision. In Deuteronomy 30:19, Moses said to the children of Israel: I call heaven and earth as witnesses today against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing; therefore, choose life, that both you and your descendants may live. This statement only refers to spiritual life, humanity's relationship with God. The life that one is called to choose is one of obedience to God's plan - the laws of the Old Testament and the grace of the New Testament. One of my most constant prayers is that those still walking the razor's edge between spiritual fulfillment and spiritual bankruptcy will choose life, for in Him was life and the life was the light of men; and the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not comprehend it (John 1:4-5).
This, of course, is not the choice that the license plate supporters are thinking of. These kind and well-intentioned people are stating "choose life" to women who might otherwise abort their children. Their hope is that, by seeing this plate on the back of someone's car, a pregnant woman might have a call to conscience, and the funds provided by the sale of the plates will help give the woman options to continue her pregnancy. I really, really like this idea, and I will certainly buy one of these plates if they make it past the pro-abortion legislature in this state. I'm just a little uneasy about the terminology. It seems as though we are conceding an important point to the other side. The point being that allowing a life that has already begun to continue growing is a legitimate "choice" for the woman in whom the life happens to reside. This almost feeds into the big lie of the pro-aborts - that one can be "pro-life" and "pro-choice." When we ask a woman to "choose life," we are subliminally telling her that she does have some kind of choice about whether another human being lives or dies.
What if, in the pre-Civil War era, abolitionists had made little buttons that said, "Choose Liberty!" and had sold them and used the proceeds to fund the Underground Railroad and schools for African-American children? Certainly choosing freedom is better than choosing slavery. But, is this a legitimate statement, or does it simply validate slave-holders' idea that slavery was a debatable choice? That slavery was never a legitimate concept, had no place in a free society, and abolitionists were not circumspect in laying those ideas out without compromise are the foundations upon which slavery was abolished in this country. When we talk about rights that are self-evident (life, liberty and property - thanks Locke!), there should be no wiggle-room for saying that someone has any sort of "choice" to initiate force to remove those rights from another.
Pro-lifers are today's abolitionists, fighting the greatest battle for an oppressed group since the horrific days of slavery. We must also be without compromise, not ceding one inch to the death-mongers, whether semantically, ethically, or philosophically. We needn't worry too much - we're on the right side - but we must be ever-vigilant. The pro-aborts like nothing better than to twist our ideas and statements into their own warped anti-life agenda. I hope things like the "Choose Life" license plate help save babies' lives, because that's really what it's all about, but I would prefer if we took the idea of "choice" out of this good intention. Maybe "Protect Life" would be a better slogan or "Respect Life" or some similar idea. I personally would like my favorite mottos on some license plates:
Abortion: Destroys Humans, Destroys Our Humanity
Your right to abort ends where your baby's DNA code begins.
The Non-Initiation of Force Begins in the Womb (stolen in part from Feminists For Life)
Abortion is not a right, it is a grievous wrong.
Without Life, There Are No Choices.
Peace to you, and may God forgive our country.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
O Brother John, Where Art Thou?
But Peter, seeing [John], said to Jesus, "But, Lord, what about this man?"
Jesus said to him, "If I will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me."
Then this saying went out among the brethren that this disciple would not die. Yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but, "If I will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?" John 21:21-23 (NKJV)
Church history tells us that the Apostle John was an old man when he wrote those lines in his gospel account. Church records show evidence of his living at least until the turn of the first century. John certainly must have been looking at his aging self, having seen the other apostles die martyrs' deaths, and written those lines with a good dose of irony - surely the fountain of youth had not been given to him. And yet...and yet...
It is a tradition in the Eastern Orthodox Church that John did not die in 98 A.D. (the common date of death accepted by the Western Church); rather, he has never died. An account of this tradition is found in the Slavonic edition of the book, The Great Collection of the Lives of the Saints, published in 1914 by the Christian Print Shop of the Transfiguration Alms House in Moscow (translated in English by the Chrysostom Press, House Springs, MO in 1994). According to the legend, John returned to Ephesus and stayed in the house of Domnus. He converted many and performed miracles. One morning, before dawn, he took some of his followers to a place to pray. Then he ordered them to dig a grave as deep as his height in the form of a cross. He had them cover him with earth to the neck. They kissed him for the last time and placed a cloth over his face, wept bitterly and then covered him entirely. Others soon after, on hearing about this, dug up his grave and found nothing. (All this information is from www.lastday.net/apostle.htm, posted by Mel Miller in 1999.)
I first heard about this legend a few years ago, and it has intrigued me ever since. I'm not sure if this tradition means that he is still in this world, or whether he was taken up to heaven in the manner of Elijah, but I prefer to think of the former. I mean, what a cool idea - the Beloved Disciple out there wandering around, waiting for Jesus to return. I can imagine him sitting there in Ephesus before his exile to Patmos, writing these last few lines of his gospel account, thinking that old age was going to claim him soon, perhaps regretting that he could not have died a martyr's death like so many of his brethren, but taking comfort in the fact that he would soon join the Lord and his friends. How the Son of Thunder must chafe under the burden of patience if Jesus has really made him live and wait these past two thousand years!
Of course, this brings me to my main frustration with John. First of all, whether he is still alive or not, everyone agrees that he lived to an extremely old age (most Christian sources last report him close to his nineties). Secondly, his ministry ended up being a lot more stable and stationary than those of the other disciples and Paul. Taking these two facts into account, why oh why did John leave us with this tantalizing end to his gospel account?
And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.
John 21:25
Granted that John could not have written everything that Jesus did, why didn't he at least write a few more things that Jesus did? I love The Gospel According to John. It is so unique. It took me a little time to get used to the style and substance of the writing, since it is a much more poetic and spiritual account than the synoptics, but now I love it just as much as the others, maybe more. Whenever I read straight through the New Testament, though, I am always left just wanting more of Jesus - more of what He did, what He said, how He looked, how He acted. I get so jealous of the people who lived at that time, especially the disciples. They got to live and talk and eat and sleep and travel and generally hang out with God. And then, most of them didn't even record anything about Jesus, except Matthew, Peter (through his interpreter Mark), and John. Luke seems to have collected his gospel account material from a variety of sources, so he probably got some information from the other disciples and followers of Jesus. Now, I know most of these men and women went forth to do great things for God and His kingdom, and they didn't have a lot of time to sit around and dictate or write historical documents. And, I also realize that many expected Jesus's return to be imminent, so they probably did not think that many historical documents were needed for a posterity that was not to be. That is why I finger John in my frustration. I just think that, out of all the likely candidates for recording the earthly ministry of Jesus, he's the one who could have written more.
I'm very grateful to have the Word. I certainly do not want to seem without gratitude for the richness of Biblical writings than have been passed down to us. It always humbles me to know that God still cares so much about fallen humanity that He makes certain His word is available to seekers, even in this late age. I guess I just wish that I could read more about what it was like actually to be in the presence of Jesus. I know we have the gift of the Holy Spirit, but I want to know what it's like to look in His eyes. My greatest hope is that someday I will know. Then, all the things of this world will melt away, all my questions will be answered, and I'll be left with an eternity to worship Him. Amen to that!
Jesus said to him, "If I will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me."
Then this saying went out among the brethren that this disciple would not die. Yet Jesus did not say to him that he would not die, but, "If I will that he remain until I come, what is that to you?" John 21:21-23 (NKJV)
Church history tells us that the Apostle John was an old man when he wrote those lines in his gospel account. Church records show evidence of his living at least until the turn of the first century. John certainly must have been looking at his aging self, having seen the other apostles die martyrs' deaths, and written those lines with a good dose of irony - surely the fountain of youth had not been given to him. And yet...and yet...
It is a tradition in the Eastern Orthodox Church that John did not die in 98 A.D. (the common date of death accepted by the Western Church); rather, he has never died. An account of this tradition is found in the Slavonic edition of the book, The Great Collection of the Lives of the Saints, published in 1914 by the Christian Print Shop of the Transfiguration Alms House in Moscow (translated in English by the Chrysostom Press, House Springs, MO in 1994). According to the legend, John returned to Ephesus and stayed in the house of Domnus. He converted many and performed miracles. One morning, before dawn, he took some of his followers to a place to pray. Then he ordered them to dig a grave as deep as his height in the form of a cross. He had them cover him with earth to the neck. They kissed him for the last time and placed a cloth over his face, wept bitterly and then covered him entirely. Others soon after, on hearing about this, dug up his grave and found nothing. (All this information is from www.lastday.net/apostle.htm, posted by Mel Miller in 1999.)
I first heard about this legend a few years ago, and it has intrigued me ever since. I'm not sure if this tradition means that he is still in this world, or whether he was taken up to heaven in the manner of Elijah, but I prefer to think of the former. I mean, what a cool idea - the Beloved Disciple out there wandering around, waiting for Jesus to return. I can imagine him sitting there in Ephesus before his exile to Patmos, writing these last few lines of his gospel account, thinking that old age was going to claim him soon, perhaps regretting that he could not have died a martyr's death like so many of his brethren, but taking comfort in the fact that he would soon join the Lord and his friends. How the Son of Thunder must chafe under the burden of patience if Jesus has really made him live and wait these past two thousand years!
Of course, this brings me to my main frustration with John. First of all, whether he is still alive or not, everyone agrees that he lived to an extremely old age (most Christian sources last report him close to his nineties). Secondly, his ministry ended up being a lot more stable and stationary than those of the other disciples and Paul. Taking these two facts into account, why oh why did John leave us with this tantalizing end to his gospel account?
And there are also many other things that Jesus did, which if they were written one by one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written. Amen.
John 21:25
Granted that John could not have written everything that Jesus did, why didn't he at least write a few more things that Jesus did? I love The Gospel According to John. It is so unique. It took me a little time to get used to the style and substance of the writing, since it is a much more poetic and spiritual account than the synoptics, but now I love it just as much as the others, maybe more. Whenever I read straight through the New Testament, though, I am always left just wanting more of Jesus - more of what He did, what He said, how He looked, how He acted. I get so jealous of the people who lived at that time, especially the disciples. They got to live and talk and eat and sleep and travel and generally hang out with God. And then, most of them didn't even record anything about Jesus, except Matthew, Peter (through his interpreter Mark), and John. Luke seems to have collected his gospel account material from a variety of sources, so he probably got some information from the other disciples and followers of Jesus. Now, I know most of these men and women went forth to do great things for God and His kingdom, and they didn't have a lot of time to sit around and dictate or write historical documents. And, I also realize that many expected Jesus's return to be imminent, so they probably did not think that many historical documents were needed for a posterity that was not to be. That is why I finger John in my frustration. I just think that, out of all the likely candidates for recording the earthly ministry of Jesus, he's the one who could have written more.
I'm very grateful to have the Word. I certainly do not want to seem without gratitude for the richness of Biblical writings than have been passed down to us. It always humbles me to know that God still cares so much about fallen humanity that He makes certain His word is available to seekers, even in this late age. I guess I just wish that I could read more about what it was like actually to be in the presence of Jesus. I know we have the gift of the Holy Spirit, but I want to know what it's like to look in His eyes. My greatest hope is that someday I will know. Then, all the things of this world will melt away, all my questions will be answered, and I'll be left with an eternity to worship Him. Amen to that!
Friday, February 18, 2005
Hey W.E.R.G.-Y Gergy, Hey Kalamazoo!
Okay, I have been listening to The Wiggles waaaay too much, but that title's the one that's sticking...
I got a newsletter/flyer yesterday from a group called Washington Evangelicals for Responsible Government (W.E.R.G.). They want me to take part in a "Mayday for Marriage" rally in Olympia on Tuesday, March 8. I must say that when I first looked over this newsletter, I thought, "Where was W.E.R.G. on January 19?"
Faithful blog readers will recall that that was this year's date for the annual March for Life in Olympia, WA. These readers may even recall my indignation that once again evangelical, Protestant Christians were noticeably absent from the pro-life crowd. Why weren't the W.E.R.G. banners and signs right next to those of the Knights of Columbus, Sacred Heart Academy, and other Catholic organizations and congregations? What the heck is the matter with non-Catholic Christians that we'll ignore infanticide and expend our energies on fighting gay marriage? What is more important to God: fighting for the lives of the smallest and most innocent among us or fighting against a civil institution's being changed?
For someone with heartfelt, strong opinions on almost every controversial topic, I am strangely apathetic to gay marriage. I'll allow a moment for the collective gasp from those who know me to echo and die out... I mean, here's the deal: gay marriage will never be acceptable in God's eyes, but neither will pagan marriage or atheistic marriage or second marriages after divorce or countless other aberrations of God's law. Marriage in God's eyes is a sacred and holy institution, akin to the relationship Jesus has with His church. This fact, of course, doesn't seem to stop non-Catholic Christians from divorcing at a rate that keeps up with and sometimes exceeds secular unions. Marriage in the United States is a civil institution, and, as long as government is involved in marriage, I don't see how we will be able to justify excluding committed homosexual couples from participating. Change marriage law to what you will, you will never change God's law. So, I'm neither in favor of it or against it. If it happens...whatever.
Homosexuality doesn't really get my goat too much, as it is does not involve the initiation of force or any victims other than the participants. Abortion is a far greater crime, innocent children being dismembered, suctioned, burned to death by saline, all with the consent and collusion of their mothers. Even divorce is a greater crime, as it is an emotional abortion of children, robbing them of their innocence, searing their souls with a loss of stability and security that children need and deserve. Abortion and divorce are flip sides of the same coin - self-absorption and malignant selfishness, refusing to do the right thing if it's at all inconvenient or the tiniest bit difficult for you. You'd never know that by looking at the Christian (non-Catholic) church. We're too busy fighting the speck of gay marriage to see the plank of our own shortcomings.
Unless something can be condemned or condoned on other than religious arguments, I have a difficult time mixing civil law with God's law. See, abortion can be condemned on wholly secular grounds, i.e. scientific and philosophical grounds. You needn't have any religious convictions at all to want to ban this heinous crime, but if you have religious convictions, especially those of the Judeo-Christian variety, I fail to see how you can support this vile deed. In other words, you don't have to believe in God to be pro-life, but you cannot be a Christian (in anything other than name only) and be pro-choice. I suppose there are non-religious people out there who are against gay marriage, but I have yet to hear any good arguments against it that don't boil down to "God created them man and woman." So, as long as gay couples do not interfere with freedom of religion by demanding that their unions be sanctified in a church service or that churches allow them use of church facilities, I just can't see how they will be stopped. Yep, I find it a bit creepy and unsettling to think of children being taught in schools that marriage can be any old hodgepodge of gender choices, but I find a lot of what goes on in schools creepy and unsettling - that's why I'm planning to homeschool.
So, anyway, W.E.R.G.-Y Gergy, I think I'll sit this one out. Hope to see you next January in Olympia, though. I'll be the one there with the good-looking husband, the pretty daughter and the absent rosary.
I got a newsletter/flyer yesterday from a group called Washington Evangelicals for Responsible Government (W.E.R.G.). They want me to take part in a "Mayday for Marriage" rally in Olympia on Tuesday, March 8. I must say that when I first looked over this newsletter, I thought, "Where was W.E.R.G. on January 19?"
Faithful blog readers will recall that that was this year's date for the annual March for Life in Olympia, WA. These readers may even recall my indignation that once again evangelical, Protestant Christians were noticeably absent from the pro-life crowd. Why weren't the W.E.R.G. banners and signs right next to those of the Knights of Columbus, Sacred Heart Academy, and other Catholic organizations and congregations? What the heck is the matter with non-Catholic Christians that we'll ignore infanticide and expend our energies on fighting gay marriage? What is more important to God: fighting for the lives of the smallest and most innocent among us or fighting against a civil institution's being changed?
For someone with heartfelt, strong opinions on almost every controversial topic, I am strangely apathetic to gay marriage. I'll allow a moment for the collective gasp from those who know me to echo and die out... I mean, here's the deal: gay marriage will never be acceptable in God's eyes, but neither will pagan marriage or atheistic marriage or second marriages after divorce or countless other aberrations of God's law. Marriage in God's eyes is a sacred and holy institution, akin to the relationship Jesus has with His church. This fact, of course, doesn't seem to stop non-Catholic Christians from divorcing at a rate that keeps up with and sometimes exceeds secular unions. Marriage in the United States is a civil institution, and, as long as government is involved in marriage, I don't see how we will be able to justify excluding committed homosexual couples from participating. Change marriage law to what you will, you will never change God's law. So, I'm neither in favor of it or against it. If it happens...whatever.
Homosexuality doesn't really get my goat too much, as it is does not involve the initiation of force or any victims other than the participants. Abortion is a far greater crime, innocent children being dismembered, suctioned, burned to death by saline, all with the consent and collusion of their mothers. Even divorce is a greater crime, as it is an emotional abortion of children, robbing them of their innocence, searing their souls with a loss of stability and security that children need and deserve. Abortion and divorce are flip sides of the same coin - self-absorption and malignant selfishness, refusing to do the right thing if it's at all inconvenient or the tiniest bit difficult for you. You'd never know that by looking at the Christian (non-Catholic) church. We're too busy fighting the speck of gay marriage to see the plank of our own shortcomings.
Unless something can be condemned or condoned on other than religious arguments, I have a difficult time mixing civil law with God's law. See, abortion can be condemned on wholly secular grounds, i.e. scientific and philosophical grounds. You needn't have any religious convictions at all to want to ban this heinous crime, but if you have religious convictions, especially those of the Judeo-Christian variety, I fail to see how you can support this vile deed. In other words, you don't have to believe in God to be pro-life, but you cannot be a Christian (in anything other than name only) and be pro-choice. I suppose there are non-religious people out there who are against gay marriage, but I have yet to hear any good arguments against it that don't boil down to "God created them man and woman." So, as long as gay couples do not interfere with freedom of religion by demanding that their unions be sanctified in a church service or that churches allow them use of church facilities, I just can't see how they will be stopped. Yep, I find it a bit creepy and unsettling to think of children being taught in schools that marriage can be any old hodgepodge of gender choices, but I find a lot of what goes on in schools creepy and unsettling - that's why I'm planning to homeschool.
So, anyway, W.E.R.G.-Y Gergy, I think I'll sit this one out. Hope to see you next January in Olympia, though. I'll be the one there with the good-looking husband, the pretty daughter and the absent rosary.
A Matter of Perspective
Today, Sadie and I got the baby backpack out, as has become our habit on sunny days, and went for a walk. Usually we go to the shopping center about a mile away or the library about 1.5 miles away, or, if there have been three sunny days in a row, we go to the neighborhood park. Since the sun has been shining all week, it was bound to be a park day. We set off merrily, sweet Sadie perched koala-like upon my back, singing songs, saying "hi" to people, dogs, birds and flowers. I decided to take a bit of a long route to the park, so I went about 1/2 mile out of the way and approached the park from an opposite entrance of our usual one. Sadie, who almost always starts yelling, "Park! Park!" when we turn down the usual street, remained completely unaware of our destination. Even when we could see the slides and swings, she still seemed rather confused as to where we were. Eventually, when we settled the backpack on the ground near our favorite park bench, Sadie got excited and ran off toward the swings.
This experience made me remember how different perspective is when you are a little one. The only time I ever recall being sent to bed without dinner was the time I got myself lost by crossing the street. I think I was punished for crossing the street alone, because I was never lost to my parents, as I was always within sight of the house. I'll never forget that day, though. I can't remember my exact age - probably between four and five. I wasn't trying to run away, or even go anywhere if I recall correctly. Somehow, I ended up crossing the quiet residential street where we lived and promptly became hopelessly lost. I remember looking around, not knowing where I was. I probably saw our house right across the street where I had left it, but failed to recognize it. I had never seen it from that angle before, so it was a foreign entity to me. I stared down the seemingly endless sidewalk, bordered by strange and now slightly threatening houses and lawns and trees and more and more houses. I made up my mind that I would walk to the grocery store where we shopped (probably 4 miles away) and tell them my parents' names and have them call my parents to come pick me up. How I ever thought I'd find my way to the store, I'll never know. That was my drastic, yet apparently rational, plan of action. Now, keep in mind that this was in the late 1970s, when a few Californians, my parents included, actually knew and interacted with their neighbors. You would think that I could have just gone to a neighbor's house and asked for help. Except, in losing my house, I lost my perspective of where any familiar house was. Crying and bewildered, I started stumbling down the street. Then, my dad bounded across the street and grabbed me and carried me back to our house (25 steps away). My mighty and perilous adventure had probably lasted less than 5 minutes. Oh boy - my parents yelled and hollered and spanked and sent me to bed without supper. The only reason I can imagine for this exaggerated response was their wishing to instill upon me that crossing streets alone was a big no-no. The funny thing is, and I can remember thinking this at the time, I had never even wanted to cross the street. I hadn't even known that I was across the street. I just became somehow so wrapped up in my child's imagination that I was simply oblivious.
This memory is one of the scariest things about being a parent. The wonderful world of children just captivates them so completely that it leaves them terribly vulnerable. The price of the immeasurable joys of parenthood is eternal vigilance.
Jason will read this and knowingly nod his head, experienced as he is with my formidable sense of direction and my comprehensive geographical expertise. He will know now that the woman who gets lost coming home from the post office was once a little girl who got lost crossing the street. Heck, I've gotten lost (sort of) a few times in our own neighborhood. I've always managed to find my way back, and at least the grocery store is a lot closer now if I need to call for a pick-up. Maybe I am still too wrapped up in my imagination, the richness of my interior world. I would have made a lousy pioneer wife (although I make darn good cornbread).
I got my mom and dad to show me later where they found me when I was lost. Even at that young age, I remember being a little embarassed when we crossed the street (holding hands, looking both ways) and stood just a few feet south of directly, smack-dab across from our house. I felt so foolish to look at our yellow house, with its distinctive front hedges and think that I missed it. I totally missed it. I don't know if they ever believed me when I said I was lost - it must have seemed incredible to them. I'm glad I remember it, though. Now, when Sadie doesn't know where we are, I know how it appears to her, and I can help her with perspective.
Sometimes, I just get down and spend some time at her height. It's a different world down there - chairs are huge! Trying to see the world from her point of view is eye-opening, to say the least. They see so much that we miss from 5 1/2+ feet off the ground, and they miss so much that we see. Their perspective is unique, their scope is narrow. Our perspective is universal, our scope is broad. There is beauty in both, and my hope is that, as Sadie grows, she will be able to integrate these visions to appreciate still the details of this world while, at the same time, not missing the big picture (or the house right across the street!).
This experience made me remember how different perspective is when you are a little one. The only time I ever recall being sent to bed without dinner was the time I got myself lost by crossing the street. I think I was punished for crossing the street alone, because I was never lost to my parents, as I was always within sight of the house. I'll never forget that day, though. I can't remember my exact age - probably between four and five. I wasn't trying to run away, or even go anywhere if I recall correctly. Somehow, I ended up crossing the quiet residential street where we lived and promptly became hopelessly lost. I remember looking around, not knowing where I was. I probably saw our house right across the street where I had left it, but failed to recognize it. I had never seen it from that angle before, so it was a foreign entity to me. I stared down the seemingly endless sidewalk, bordered by strange and now slightly threatening houses and lawns and trees and more and more houses. I made up my mind that I would walk to the grocery store where we shopped (probably 4 miles away) and tell them my parents' names and have them call my parents to come pick me up. How I ever thought I'd find my way to the store, I'll never know. That was my drastic, yet apparently rational, plan of action. Now, keep in mind that this was in the late 1970s, when a few Californians, my parents included, actually knew and interacted with their neighbors. You would think that I could have just gone to a neighbor's house and asked for help. Except, in losing my house, I lost my perspective of where any familiar house was. Crying and bewildered, I started stumbling down the street. Then, my dad bounded across the street and grabbed me and carried me back to our house (25 steps away). My mighty and perilous adventure had probably lasted less than 5 minutes. Oh boy - my parents yelled and hollered and spanked and sent me to bed without supper. The only reason I can imagine for this exaggerated response was their wishing to instill upon me that crossing streets alone was a big no-no. The funny thing is, and I can remember thinking this at the time, I had never even wanted to cross the street. I hadn't even known that I was across the street. I just became somehow so wrapped up in my child's imagination that I was simply oblivious.
This memory is one of the scariest things about being a parent. The wonderful world of children just captivates them so completely that it leaves them terribly vulnerable. The price of the immeasurable joys of parenthood is eternal vigilance.
Jason will read this and knowingly nod his head, experienced as he is with my formidable sense of direction and my comprehensive geographical expertise. He will know now that the woman who gets lost coming home from the post office was once a little girl who got lost crossing the street. Heck, I've gotten lost (sort of) a few times in our own neighborhood. I've always managed to find my way back, and at least the grocery store is a lot closer now if I need to call for a pick-up. Maybe I am still too wrapped up in my imagination, the richness of my interior world. I would have made a lousy pioneer wife (although I make darn good cornbread).
I got my mom and dad to show me later where they found me when I was lost. Even at that young age, I remember being a little embarassed when we crossed the street (holding hands, looking both ways) and stood just a few feet south of directly, smack-dab across from our house. I felt so foolish to look at our yellow house, with its distinctive front hedges and think that I missed it. I totally missed it. I don't know if they ever believed me when I said I was lost - it must have seemed incredible to them. I'm glad I remember it, though. Now, when Sadie doesn't know where we are, I know how it appears to her, and I can help her with perspective.
Sometimes, I just get down and spend some time at her height. It's a different world down there - chairs are huge! Trying to see the world from her point of view is eye-opening, to say the least. They see so much that we miss from 5 1/2+ feet off the ground, and they miss so much that we see. Their perspective is unique, their scope is narrow. Our perspective is universal, our scope is broad. There is beauty in both, and my hope is that, as Sadie grows, she will be able to integrate these visions to appreciate still the details of this world while, at the same time, not missing the big picture (or the house right across the street!).
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Friday, February 11, 2005
The Non-Initiation of Force
"Behold," the Risen Christ said in His revelation to John, "I stand at the door and knock."
(Revelation 3:20)
Jesus is the ultimate example of one of the primary libertarian philosophies, the non-initiation of force. He doesn't say: Behold, I'm coming in, ready or not! or Behold, I'm dragging you out of there! He knocks, He waits, He knocks again. Sometimes He says, "Knock, and the door will be opened! (Matthew 7:7)" In any event, no matter who is knocking, no one is kicking the door in; He is not about coercion. (A sidenote: When was the last time the BATF knocked?) He changes our hearts by His steadfast love, and we bend our wills to His out of gratitude and devotion. He persuades, He never pressures.
Those of both liberal and conservative bents tend to like force. Oh, they never want to say it's force, it's just democracy or security or some other euphemistic expression. They never trust people at large, but they certainly trust themselves to direct the lives of people at large. God knows that the human heart is sinful and deceitful, but He gives us free will and choices and grace. God's plan involves changing individual hearts, not collective societies.
Compulsion is anti-life, anti-Jesus. God built us to be free, He designed us to seek liberty, He loves us and holds us responsible as individuals. Amy Grant's mother once told her, "God doesn't have grandchildren." Each and every one of us will have to give a personal account of our lives on this earth, and God won't find finger-pointing and whining and excuses acceptable on that Judgement Day. Even Ayn Rand found Christianity less loathsome than other religions (although still loathsome, stalwart atheist that she was) because of its emphasis on the individual's soul, the individual's redemption.
This strong belief I have in the non-initiation of force is why I value so highly capitalism and free markets. People's transactions should be voluntary, whether spiritual, economic, physical or emotional. There is no more moral economic system in the world than that of laissez-faire, free-market capitalism, because it is the only system not based upon compulsion. It is a beautiful thing to see the Invisible Hand of the marketplace in action.
Economic liberty combined with Christian love and charity added to a good dose of self-responsibility is the recipe for peace and fulfillment on all levels, whether of nations or individuals.
(Revelation 3:20)
Jesus is the ultimate example of one of the primary libertarian philosophies, the non-initiation of force. He doesn't say: Behold, I'm coming in, ready or not! or Behold, I'm dragging you out of there! He knocks, He waits, He knocks again. Sometimes He says, "Knock, and the door will be opened! (Matthew 7:7)" In any event, no matter who is knocking, no one is kicking the door in; He is not about coercion. (A sidenote: When was the last time the BATF knocked?) He changes our hearts by His steadfast love, and we bend our wills to His out of gratitude and devotion. He persuades, He never pressures.
Those of both liberal and conservative bents tend to like force. Oh, they never want to say it's force, it's just democracy or security or some other euphemistic expression. They never trust people at large, but they certainly trust themselves to direct the lives of people at large. God knows that the human heart is sinful and deceitful, but He gives us free will and choices and grace. God's plan involves changing individual hearts, not collective societies.
Compulsion is anti-life, anti-Jesus. God built us to be free, He designed us to seek liberty, He loves us and holds us responsible as individuals. Amy Grant's mother once told her, "God doesn't have grandchildren." Each and every one of us will have to give a personal account of our lives on this earth, and God won't find finger-pointing and whining and excuses acceptable on that Judgement Day. Even Ayn Rand found Christianity less loathsome than other religions (although still loathsome, stalwart atheist that she was) because of its emphasis on the individual's soul, the individual's redemption.
This strong belief I have in the non-initiation of force is why I value so highly capitalism and free markets. People's transactions should be voluntary, whether spiritual, economic, physical or emotional. There is no more moral economic system in the world than that of laissez-faire, free-market capitalism, because it is the only system not based upon compulsion. It is a beautiful thing to see the Invisible Hand of the marketplace in action.
Economic liberty combined with Christian love and charity added to a good dose of self-responsibility is the recipe for peace and fulfillment on all levels, whether of nations or individuals.
My (Not So) Secret Sympathies...
Ever since the 2004 Presidential election, there have been news stories and speculation about disenchanted Democrats and other leftward-leaners packing up and moving out of the U.S. and into Canada or Australia or New Zealand or France. They do not want to contribute any more time or energy or taxes to a government that does not reflect their beliefs. Living up here near Seattle (which is pretty much almost Canada anyway), I have seen several recent news stories about people who have gone beyond consideration and actually have plans in action to make the big move. One local radio host even devoted an hour to a lady-leftie who had put her Volvo on the market and had applied for a conjugal visa to immigrate north and live with her Canadian boyfriend. I was amused but not surprised at the responses of the callers who alternately bid her a "don't-let-the-door-hit-you-on-the-way-out" farewell or reprimanded her for not sticking it out in the U.S. and working to promote her own values within the system. These latter folks seem appalled that someone could so cavalierly leave their country behind. I cannot understand their almost hurt reaction to a person's not choosing their national affiliation over their personal, individual convictions. I am fully in sympathy with those who hate the Bush administration so much that they cannot stand to live any longer in this country.
You see, I have a little secret of my own. These Canada-bounds and I are flip sides of the same coin. While they are planning a move up north, I am plotting my own move east. No, not "Boston east," "Midwest east." Destination: Jesus Land. I'm tired of living in Blue America, and I want to live where land is cheap and plentiful, the gov'ment stays out of your way, and Jason can easily follow his entreprenurial dreams in a business-friendly place. More than anything, I want to live in a state where there is only one clinic that performs abortions, where no tax money goes to fund abortion, and where, when Roe vs. Wade finally gets overturned, abortion will be outlawed (except, most likely, for "life of the mother" cases). Whoo-hoo! South Dakota here I come!
Gosh, I love so much of what Washington State has to offer. I love the climate, the trees, the mountains, the museums, the Woodland Park Zoo, the Seattle Aquarium, the coffee culture, the abundance of really good Thai food, the laid-back attitude. I love the Seattle Mariners! I will miss this state when we leave. But, but, but...for a family that wants to own about 25 acres with a big, ol' farmhouse and horses, cows, goats and dogs and not have to wait 20 years to save up the moola needed for such an estate when the kids will be grown and gone and unable to grow up in that environment, this area just doesn't cut it. Plus, it has become more and more difficult for me to stomach this place since I discovered that some of my tax money goes to killing tiny babies.
We're only given one life on this earth, and I can totally understand why people feel the need to live where their values are reflected. Two years ago, I told Jason (who has been yearning for Big Sky Country practically since he moved out of SD ten years ago) that if Tom Daschle were ever voted out of office, I would move back to Sioux Falls with him. This seemed like a pie-in-the-sky condition, as T.D. had been a popular senator for some years and was good at bringing home the pork. Then, lo and behold, Thuney-Baby (aka John Thune) knocks the fox out of the henhouse. At the same time, decent, pro-life, pro-business Dino Rossi gets the governorship of WA stolen from him by evil troll-lady Christine Gregoire. What's a free-market-loving pro-lifer to do?
We can buy a house, comparable to the one we now own, in Sioux Falls for about $100 Grand less. The homeschooling laws are even more libertarian than those of Washington (and WA has very free homeschooling laws). Sales tax is 2% lower. No income tax, and no one seems to be bandying that idea around like so many do here in WA. No congestion. Business friendly. Near grandparents (yay - a much needed and appreciated aspect). Clean air. Open spaces. Can-do frontier attitude (except all the farmers on the dole - stupid welfare farmers!). Horrible weather (but, you can't have everything in this world - at least it keeps the riff-raff out!).
It's so wonderful that we live in a world of such diversity, that you can find a place in it to live out what you value most highly with like-minded folks. That's the marketplace of ideas for you.
You see, I have a little secret of my own. These Canada-bounds and I are flip sides of the same coin. While they are planning a move up north, I am plotting my own move east. No, not "Boston east," "Midwest east." Destination: Jesus Land. I'm tired of living in Blue America, and I want to live where land is cheap and plentiful, the gov'ment stays out of your way, and Jason can easily follow his entreprenurial dreams in a business-friendly place. More than anything, I want to live in a state where there is only one clinic that performs abortions, where no tax money goes to fund abortion, and where, when Roe vs. Wade finally gets overturned, abortion will be outlawed (except, most likely, for "life of the mother" cases). Whoo-hoo! South Dakota here I come!
Gosh, I love so much of what Washington State has to offer. I love the climate, the trees, the mountains, the museums, the Woodland Park Zoo, the Seattle Aquarium, the coffee culture, the abundance of really good Thai food, the laid-back attitude. I love the Seattle Mariners! I will miss this state when we leave. But, but, but...for a family that wants to own about 25 acres with a big, ol' farmhouse and horses, cows, goats and dogs and not have to wait 20 years to save up the moola needed for such an estate when the kids will be grown and gone and unable to grow up in that environment, this area just doesn't cut it. Plus, it has become more and more difficult for me to stomach this place since I discovered that some of my tax money goes to killing tiny babies.
We're only given one life on this earth, and I can totally understand why people feel the need to live where their values are reflected. Two years ago, I told Jason (who has been yearning for Big Sky Country practically since he moved out of SD ten years ago) that if Tom Daschle were ever voted out of office, I would move back to Sioux Falls with him. This seemed like a pie-in-the-sky condition, as T.D. had been a popular senator for some years and was good at bringing home the pork. Then, lo and behold, Thuney-Baby (aka John Thune) knocks the fox out of the henhouse. At the same time, decent, pro-life, pro-business Dino Rossi gets the governorship of WA stolen from him by evil troll-lady Christine Gregoire. What's a free-market-loving pro-lifer to do?
We can buy a house, comparable to the one we now own, in Sioux Falls for about $100 Grand less. The homeschooling laws are even more libertarian than those of Washington (and WA has very free homeschooling laws). Sales tax is 2% lower. No income tax, and no one seems to be bandying that idea around like so many do here in WA. No congestion. Business friendly. Near grandparents (yay - a much needed and appreciated aspect). Clean air. Open spaces. Can-do frontier attitude (except all the farmers on the dole - stupid welfare farmers!). Horrible weather (but, you can't have everything in this world - at least it keeps the riff-raff out!).
It's so wonderful that we live in a world of such diversity, that you can find a place in it to live out what you value most highly with like-minded folks. That's the marketplace of ideas for you.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Ayn Rand at 100
Today is the 100th anniversary of Ayn Rand's birth. Happy birthday, Ayn!
Her writings, fiction and non-fiction, were, other than my father, the single greatest influence on my life and thoughts and points-of-view from the ages of 15 to 21. I remember cutting class as a sophomore in high school to escape to the local park and read The Fountainhead under a tree. I remember weeping so loudly in my bed while reading We the Living that I brought my dad into my room in alarm. I remember reading Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal and The New Left: The Anti-Industrial Revolution, arming myself with the moral justifications for laissez-faire capitalism. I think I've read everything Ayn ever wrote.
I really love her earlier fictional works. We the Living and The Fountainhead are still two of my favorite and constant re-reads. I have an especial fondness for her unpublished early works that were collected in The Early Ayn Rand. I never really took to Atlas Shrugged, although the story about the Twentieth Century Motor Company is one of my all-time favorite vignettes. The fact that she wrote that ponderous tome in the midst of an adoring circle of acolytes probably led to its being mired down with unwieldy diatribes and philosophical expoundings that interrupt an otherwise fascinating narrative. I think that it would have been a much more effective novel if the philosophy had been illustrated by letting the events of the story play out without so many soapbox speeches. In other words, show us, don't tell us. That is the beauty of We the Living and The Fountainhead - she gets her points across without whacking you with a 2x4 of philosophical dissertation.
I always ended up liking her "secondary stature" heroes better than her primary heroes. For instance, Gail Wynand is a far more developed and attractive character (IMHO) than Howard Roark. Francisco d'Anconia beats ol' John Galt hollow. Hank Rearden also beats out that pontificating-proned, blowhard-genius as far as being a realistic, charismatic man. And is there really anyone out there who doesn't think Kira a bit of a fool to choose the annoying, dispirited Leo over the sexy, leather-coated, Communist bad-boy Andrei? I can't even imagine having a conversation with her primary heroes, let alone making love with them. They are often too abstract and vague to be appealing. Boy, did my young heart swoon over the Wynands and d'Anconias and Taganovs, though!
In honor of her 100th birthday, I'm going to re-read The Fountainhead. It's been a few years since the last time I read it. I'm looking forward to that warm sense of entering a benevolent universe when I turn to the first page and read, "Howard Roark laughed."
I wonder what the atheistic Ayn thought when she met God face-to-face...
Her writings, fiction and non-fiction, were, other than my father, the single greatest influence on my life and thoughts and points-of-view from the ages of 15 to 21. I remember cutting class as a sophomore in high school to escape to the local park and read The Fountainhead under a tree. I remember weeping so loudly in my bed while reading We the Living that I brought my dad into my room in alarm. I remember reading Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal and The New Left: The Anti-Industrial Revolution, arming myself with the moral justifications for laissez-faire capitalism. I think I've read everything Ayn ever wrote.
I really love her earlier fictional works. We the Living and The Fountainhead are still two of my favorite and constant re-reads. I have an especial fondness for her unpublished early works that were collected in The Early Ayn Rand. I never really took to Atlas Shrugged, although the story about the Twentieth Century Motor Company is one of my all-time favorite vignettes. The fact that she wrote that ponderous tome in the midst of an adoring circle of acolytes probably led to its being mired down with unwieldy diatribes and philosophical expoundings that interrupt an otherwise fascinating narrative. I think that it would have been a much more effective novel if the philosophy had been illustrated by letting the events of the story play out without so many soapbox speeches. In other words, show us, don't tell us. That is the beauty of We the Living and The Fountainhead - she gets her points across without whacking you with a 2x4 of philosophical dissertation.
I always ended up liking her "secondary stature" heroes better than her primary heroes. For instance, Gail Wynand is a far more developed and attractive character (IMHO) than Howard Roark. Francisco d'Anconia beats ol' John Galt hollow. Hank Rearden also beats out that pontificating-proned, blowhard-genius as far as being a realistic, charismatic man. And is there really anyone out there who doesn't think Kira a bit of a fool to choose the annoying, dispirited Leo over the sexy, leather-coated, Communist bad-boy Andrei? I can't even imagine having a conversation with her primary heroes, let alone making love with them. They are often too abstract and vague to be appealing. Boy, did my young heart swoon over the Wynands and d'Anconias and Taganovs, though!
In honor of her 100th birthday, I'm going to re-read The Fountainhead. It's been a few years since the last time I read it. I'm looking forward to that warm sense of entering a benevolent universe when I turn to the first page and read, "Howard Roark laughed."
I wonder what the atheistic Ayn thought when she met God face-to-face...
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
The Delicious Hours
Some folks call them the "witching hours," but, to me, they are the delicious hours. That elastic period of time in the dead still of night, roughly between the hours of midnight and 3 AM, where little night owls like me get our hoots in ("funny hoots" as Sadie would say).
I love this time of night. I'm not always up at this time, but when I am, it still retains for me that sort-of wicked unlawfulness that so filled me with exuberance and glee as a child and teen. There is something a little fey about padding around in the stillness, trying not to awaken baby or husband, reading books or typing on the computer or just staring out the window. I used to work with a wonderful man of faith named John Gabriel who, when my work schedule was changed to early morning shifts and I was voicing my dismay at having to abandon my nighttime prowls, reminded me of the great Biblical patriarchs who experienced especial closeness to God in the breaking hour of dawn, yadda, yadda, yadda... God did not make me to be a patriarch, that is for sure, and I am certain He created me to be the late-night delinquent that I am. Believe me, I have never felt particularly close to Him in those vile, alarm-clanging, eye-crusty-rubbing, yawning, often softly-swearing moments of early morning awakenings. My greatest moments of prayer and devotion and meditation have all come when the sun has set and the stars are out. But, John also gave me one of those great, zinging, change-your-perspective, never-leave-you moments when he responded to another one of my complaining bouts, (I really don't complain as much as you may think I do by reading this post. Really.) wherein I emphatically stated that I "hated" something, with the reminder that, "We [humans] do not hate anything even half as much as God hates sin." So, John and his guilt-inducing patriarch statement will elude my censure, because his sin statement will always fill me with such gratitude.
I blame my dad a little too for these late-night revels. He was (and, to some extent, still is) the consummate night-owl, always up late, lurking. He taught me by example to lurk with aplomb, and I embraced the lurking lifestyle with a fervor that could only do him proud. We would watch TV together or read in silent, harmonious companionship or talk about anything and everything. We would snack devilishly on all sorts of inedibles that would have caused my mother incredible heartache had she been privy to the deed. It is probably the memories of these wonderful bonding sessions that makes me think of this time of night as "delicious." Those were just sweet, sweet times, my dad and I, two peas in a pod, cut of the same cloth, the little apple and her tree. These times are always what I hope to recreate somehow when we visit nowadays, but...well, travel fatigue and age are a hindrance on his side and family responsibilities are a hindrance on mine. Though Dad and I try valiantly to recapture our routine and lurking ways, I guess those golden nights are mostly gone. I hope he knows how much I miss them, and how grateful I am that they will live forever in my memory, growing sweeter still with each passing year.
Carolyn Arends once wrote in a song that part of God's code that we can't (or won't) decode is the "way our hearts beat, faced with the sunrise, like maybe they know something we don't." I don't know if my heart's ever done somersaults at the sight of a sunrise; if it does, I'm usually too grouchy and in need of coffee to notice (sorry, heart). But, I have felt that furious beating when contemplating the great expanse of black night sky and countless starry holes - that feeling that something wonderful is going to happen or is happening or maybe just happened. God is in the night as much as the day, and, don't forget, He made the night first (I know He worked His way up during Creation, but He picked a good place to start). May He bless the night owls everywhere.
I love this time of night. I'm not always up at this time, but when I am, it still retains for me that sort-of wicked unlawfulness that so filled me with exuberance and glee as a child and teen. There is something a little fey about padding around in the stillness, trying not to awaken baby or husband, reading books or typing on the computer or just staring out the window. I used to work with a wonderful man of faith named John Gabriel who, when my work schedule was changed to early morning shifts and I was voicing my dismay at having to abandon my nighttime prowls, reminded me of the great Biblical patriarchs who experienced especial closeness to God in the breaking hour of dawn, yadda, yadda, yadda... God did not make me to be a patriarch, that is for sure, and I am certain He created me to be the late-night delinquent that I am. Believe me, I have never felt particularly close to Him in those vile, alarm-clanging, eye-crusty-rubbing, yawning, often softly-swearing moments of early morning awakenings. My greatest moments of prayer and devotion and meditation have all come when the sun has set and the stars are out. But, John also gave me one of those great, zinging, change-your-perspective, never-leave-you moments when he responded to another one of my complaining bouts, (I really don't complain as much as you may think I do by reading this post. Really.) wherein I emphatically stated that I "hated" something, with the reminder that, "We [humans] do not hate anything even half as much as God hates sin." So, John and his guilt-inducing patriarch statement will elude my censure, because his sin statement will always fill me with such gratitude.
I blame my dad a little too for these late-night revels. He was (and, to some extent, still is) the consummate night-owl, always up late, lurking. He taught me by example to lurk with aplomb, and I embraced the lurking lifestyle with a fervor that could only do him proud. We would watch TV together or read in silent, harmonious companionship or talk about anything and everything. We would snack devilishly on all sorts of inedibles that would have caused my mother incredible heartache had she been privy to the deed. It is probably the memories of these wonderful bonding sessions that makes me think of this time of night as "delicious." Those were just sweet, sweet times, my dad and I, two peas in a pod, cut of the same cloth, the little apple and her tree. These times are always what I hope to recreate somehow when we visit nowadays, but...well, travel fatigue and age are a hindrance on his side and family responsibilities are a hindrance on mine. Though Dad and I try valiantly to recapture our routine and lurking ways, I guess those golden nights are mostly gone. I hope he knows how much I miss them, and how grateful I am that they will live forever in my memory, growing sweeter still with each passing year.
Carolyn Arends once wrote in a song that part of God's code that we can't (or won't) decode is the "way our hearts beat, faced with the sunrise, like maybe they know something we don't." I don't know if my heart's ever done somersaults at the sight of a sunrise; if it does, I'm usually too grouchy and in need of coffee to notice (sorry, heart). But, I have felt that furious beating when contemplating the great expanse of black night sky and countless starry holes - that feeling that something wonderful is going to happen or is happening or maybe just happened. God is in the night as much as the day, and, don't forget, He made the night first (I know He worked His way up during Creation, but He picked a good place to start). May He bless the night owls everywhere.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Carole Lombard and the Art of Living
Some actresses are famous for their off-screen lives, with their screen roles playing an almost inconsequential part in their appeal. I would classify Marilyn Monroe in this category. Her pitiful, sad life and remarkable beauty are the objects of our interest, and, had she never starred in a movie, film history would not be noticeably altered.
Some actresses are famous entirely for their virtuosity on the screen, with their personal lives rousing little to no interest outside the most rabid of fans. I would classify Bette Davis in this category. Who cares what she did off-screen? She was a phenomenonal actress, whose work stands on its own merits.
Some actresses meld both on- and off-screen personalities so perfectly, that the lives they live infuse their art with a totally new, unique spirit, one that cannot be imitated or replicated. This category's premiere member is Carole Lombard. She had such a zest and appreciation for living, that her particular vitality poured over into her work on-screen and left us with memorable performances that came to personify a fledgling genre of film: the screwball comedy.
I am endlessly fascinated by Carole Lombard - the actress to a certain extent, the woman to a great extent. To me, she is one of the few persons I've ever read of who truly got the purpose of this earthly life. As far as I know, she was not a Christian by name, but you'd have to look far and wide to find someone more Christian by nature. It is almost as though God created a person so infused with His spirit, that public testimony of faith would have been almost redundant. (I'm probably verging on heresy here, but God's grace is bigger than my heresy, and I'm trying prayerfully to express my observations.) She lived with a joy and immediacy that stuns me and humbles me. For instance, this quote from a 1938 interview with Gladys Hall for Motion Picture magazine sums up Carole's philosophy nicely:
"I love everything I do. I'm intensely interested in and enthusiastic about everything I do, everything. No matter what it is I'm doing, no matter how trivial, it isn't trivial to me. I give it all I've got, and I love it. I love living, I love life. Eating, sleeping, waking up again, skeet-shooting, sitting around an old barn doing nothing, my work, taking a bath, talking my ears off, the little things, the big things, the simplest things, the most complicated things -- I get a kick out of everything I do while I'm doing it.
If I don't love what I'm doing, I don't DO it. But, if I have to do something I'm not nuts about now and then, and who doesn't, I DO it and get it over with. I never anticipate trouble. I never worry, never fret. I can't duck issues. Ducking issues causes more grief than the issues themselves ever do. I never sit around and clutch my head and moan, 'I HAVE to do so-and-so, alas lo, the poor Lombard!' -- I just say, 'Let's DO it!' or 'Okay, let's GO!' -- and it's done, and there's nothing to it."
There is a true art to this kind of living. This grabbing life by the ankles and shaking it upside-down until you empty its pockets of every joy, every sorrow, every laugh, every sob, just everything, everything it has to offer, reveling in all of its gifts - good and bad - this exulting in every facet, arms open wide - there is holiness in this, for God is at the center of it all. And, knowing how to come through it all and maintain this kind of exuberant attitude, speaks to me of a faith that is boundless.
I love her views on growing older, as expressed in the same interview as the previous quote:
"With age there comes a richness that's divine. Age takes on a beauty everyone can't see, perhaps. But I see it ... I don't know of anything in the world more beautiful, more fascinating than a woman ripe with years, rich and lush as velvet with experience, her humor as tangy and flavorous as sunriped fruit. If women wouldn't get so self-conscious about getting old, they wouldn't get old metally, and then they wouldn't be old at all, only wise and simply divine. I LOVE the idea of getting old."
I wish we could have seen Carole Lombard perfecting the art of aging in the same way she perfected the art of living. What a salty, sassy old broad she would have made!
Whenever I re-read one of the many books that I have collected about Carole Lombard, I usually end up sighing and asking Jason, "Is it possible to miss someone you didn't know personally?" Because, I do miss Carole - I miss her incredibly.
Her view on her career in movies is also refreshingly balanced. On one hand, she loved and took seriously the whole business of movie-making. She was grateful to have such a lucrative career in the midst of the Great Depression. She never took her position as a film star for granted. On the other hand...(from the same interview as the previous two quotes):
"I love my work and I take it seriously. As I love everything I do and give everything I've got to whatever I'm doing. But I do not go about clutching my Career to an otherwise naked bosom. If my work were to be taken away from me tomorrow, I wouldn't be stopped. I'd go on living, and still love it. There are a thousand things I could do, would do, would want to do. I'm like old Solomon. If he had lost one of his wives, he wouldn't exactly have been a widower. I couldn't be widowed by the loss of any one facet of my life. Because it's too rich, life is too abundant. There are too many things to want to do, to have, to get, to lose, to find out about..."
Carole didn't bow at the altar of false idols.
One last quote from Carole about God. This is from an interview given to Adela Rogers St. Johns shortly before her untimely death while coming home from a war bonds-selling tour. It was published the month after her death in Liberty magazine.
Of the concept of God: "I don't seem to get solemn about it, and some people might not understand. That's why I never talk about it. I think it's all here -- in the mountains and the desert. I don't think God is a softie, either. In the end, it's better if people are forced back into -- well -- into being right, before they're too far gone. I think your temple is your everyday living."
A life well-lived won't save your soul. Only Jesus through God's grace can do that. But, a life well-lived is a blessing to God, a way to honor Him, the best proof of gratitude to Him. Carole Lombard may not have known Jesus by name in this life, but He truly must have known her, and I have little doubt that in those final few seconds on January 16, 1942, in a DC-3 flying inexorably toward a Nevada mountain in the deep silence of a winter's night, Jesus came for His little lamb and lifted her out of her seat and into His arms. Such must be the grace of God.
Some actresses are famous entirely for their virtuosity on the screen, with their personal lives rousing little to no interest outside the most rabid of fans. I would classify Bette Davis in this category. Who cares what she did off-screen? She was a phenomenonal actress, whose work stands on its own merits.
Some actresses meld both on- and off-screen personalities so perfectly, that the lives they live infuse their art with a totally new, unique spirit, one that cannot be imitated or replicated. This category's premiere member is Carole Lombard. She had such a zest and appreciation for living, that her particular vitality poured over into her work on-screen and left us with memorable performances that came to personify a fledgling genre of film: the screwball comedy.
I am endlessly fascinated by Carole Lombard - the actress to a certain extent, the woman to a great extent. To me, she is one of the few persons I've ever read of who truly got the purpose of this earthly life. As far as I know, she was not a Christian by name, but you'd have to look far and wide to find someone more Christian by nature. It is almost as though God created a person so infused with His spirit, that public testimony of faith would have been almost redundant. (I'm probably verging on heresy here, but God's grace is bigger than my heresy, and I'm trying prayerfully to express my observations.) She lived with a joy and immediacy that stuns me and humbles me. For instance, this quote from a 1938 interview with Gladys Hall for Motion Picture magazine sums up Carole's philosophy nicely:
"I love everything I do. I'm intensely interested in and enthusiastic about everything I do, everything. No matter what it is I'm doing, no matter how trivial, it isn't trivial to me. I give it all I've got, and I love it. I love living, I love life. Eating, sleeping, waking up again, skeet-shooting, sitting around an old barn doing nothing, my work, taking a bath, talking my ears off, the little things, the big things, the simplest things, the most complicated things -- I get a kick out of everything I do while I'm doing it.
If I don't love what I'm doing, I don't DO it. But, if I have to do something I'm not nuts about now and then, and who doesn't, I DO it and get it over with. I never anticipate trouble. I never worry, never fret. I can't duck issues. Ducking issues causes more grief than the issues themselves ever do. I never sit around and clutch my head and moan, 'I HAVE to do so-and-so, alas lo, the poor Lombard!' -- I just say, 'Let's DO it!' or 'Okay, let's GO!' -- and it's done, and there's nothing to it."
There is a true art to this kind of living. This grabbing life by the ankles and shaking it upside-down until you empty its pockets of every joy, every sorrow, every laugh, every sob, just everything, everything it has to offer, reveling in all of its gifts - good and bad - this exulting in every facet, arms open wide - there is holiness in this, for God is at the center of it all. And, knowing how to come through it all and maintain this kind of exuberant attitude, speaks to me of a faith that is boundless.
I love her views on growing older, as expressed in the same interview as the previous quote:
"With age there comes a richness that's divine. Age takes on a beauty everyone can't see, perhaps. But I see it ... I don't know of anything in the world more beautiful, more fascinating than a woman ripe with years, rich and lush as velvet with experience, her humor as tangy and flavorous as sunriped fruit. If women wouldn't get so self-conscious about getting old, they wouldn't get old metally, and then they wouldn't be old at all, only wise and simply divine. I LOVE the idea of getting old."
I wish we could have seen Carole Lombard perfecting the art of aging in the same way she perfected the art of living. What a salty, sassy old broad she would have made!
Whenever I re-read one of the many books that I have collected about Carole Lombard, I usually end up sighing and asking Jason, "Is it possible to miss someone you didn't know personally?" Because, I do miss Carole - I miss her incredibly.
Her view on her career in movies is also refreshingly balanced. On one hand, she loved and took seriously the whole business of movie-making. She was grateful to have such a lucrative career in the midst of the Great Depression. She never took her position as a film star for granted. On the other hand...(from the same interview as the previous two quotes):
"I love my work and I take it seriously. As I love everything I do and give everything I've got to whatever I'm doing. But I do not go about clutching my Career to an otherwise naked bosom. If my work were to be taken away from me tomorrow, I wouldn't be stopped. I'd go on living, and still love it. There are a thousand things I could do, would do, would want to do. I'm like old Solomon. If he had lost one of his wives, he wouldn't exactly have been a widower. I couldn't be widowed by the loss of any one facet of my life. Because it's too rich, life is too abundant. There are too many things to want to do, to have, to get, to lose, to find out about..."
Carole didn't bow at the altar of false idols.
One last quote from Carole about God. This is from an interview given to Adela Rogers St. Johns shortly before her untimely death while coming home from a war bonds-selling tour. It was published the month after her death in Liberty magazine.
Of the concept of God: "I don't seem to get solemn about it, and some people might not understand. That's why I never talk about it. I think it's all here -- in the mountains and the desert. I don't think God is a softie, either. In the end, it's better if people are forced back into -- well -- into being right, before they're too far gone. I think your temple is your everyday living."
A life well-lived won't save your soul. Only Jesus through God's grace can do that. But, a life well-lived is a blessing to God, a way to honor Him, the best proof of gratitude to Him. Carole Lombard may not have known Jesus by name in this life, but He truly must have known her, and I have little doubt that in those final few seconds on January 16, 1942, in a DC-3 flying inexorably toward a Nevada mountain in the deep silence of a winter's night, Jesus came for His little lamb and lifted her out of her seat and into His arms. Such must be the grace of God.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
God is Weird
C.S. Lewis once said about the story of Christ's birth something to the effect that it is so bizarre and irrational, man could not have invented it; therefore, he was convinced it must be true.
Jason is currently reading through the Old Testament. He's almost to the end of Genesis, right now he's reading about Joseph. Occasionally, I hear him chuckling and sighing, and I see him shaking his head. He turned to me once and said, "These stories are so crazy and strange." I replied, "God is weird."
Because we were created by God, in His image, we often like to athropomorphize Him, make Him in our image. But God is not man. We cannot comprehend Him, but He has put in our hearts the desire to try to do just that, and our frustration of trying to understand the eternal from the standpoint of the finite has been the earmark of the human condition since time began.
I bet there were many times that Abraham had wished that God had not chosen him. Likewise for all the men and women that God has worked through throughout time to effect His will on earth. Probably the one way authentically to know that God is active in your life is that you really do not want Him there sometimes. If there is no struggle with God, no railing against Him, no frustration, no moments of delusion or even utter faithlessness, there is no relationship. I think of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis, his grip not loosening until he received God's blessing. We wrestle, we fight, we complain, we rebel, we hide. And, if we are among the most fortunate, we stumble, scraping our knees on the gravel of our humanity, still grasping at the hem of His robe, and find ourselves lifted to victory in Him in the arms of grace. We do not let go of Him, because He will not let go of us. But, on this earth, in this life at least, we will never fully comprehend Him, and it is a grave injustice to Him if we ever think we can. But, it is an even graver tragedy for us if we stop trying to. That striving to seek the heart of God is the central theme of Carolyn Arends's excellent book, Living the Questions: Making Sense of the Mess and Mystery of Life.
God has an amazing sense of subtlety; we humans prefer grand gestures and sweeping demonstrations. While He occasionally employs those trembling forces of fire and brimstone, or triumphal displays of angelic choruses and thunderous voice, He more often works in hidden ways, especially since the work of salvation was done on the cross at Calvary. Ever since the new covenant, God has worked on the innermost parts of people's hearts rather than in moving mountains and parting seas. Yet, He tells us we too can do these things in faith.
I, for one, know that if I were God, I would use the smiting power a whole lot more. Abortionists, child-abusers, communists, war-mongers - all would receive a severe spanking of lightning right on the tushy. I would also never put a parent through the grief of planning their child's funeral, and I would stop 9/11s before they could get past the "Mohammed, contact me immediately! I have a wonderful plan to attack the infidels. Love, Osama" stage. Should the smitings be somehow seen as "random" by atheists, I would constantly be showing myself in the most awe-inspiring ways, with pageantry so grand none would have any excuse for not knowing that I am who I am. Then I would smite some more. "Spare the lightning rod, spoil the humans" would be my godly motto.
But God comes to us as a Nazarene, a man of no reputation, a humble teacher whose miracles were dismissed by the religious elite as demonic works. He comes to us to show us how to live a life of eternal significance in a world where we never feel fully at home. He dies for us, so that we might live. God's work on the cross, the shedding of Jesus's blood is to me (and I assume almost all believers) not an historic event, but a current event. Every day, when God allows sinners reconciliation to Him, He dies again so that we will not have to. This is truly weird - why am I so important to Him, that He continues to work on my behalf, offering me "beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, peace for despair" - meeting every sin with grace, tempering every judgement with mercy? Blessed weirdness! "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it. (Ps. 139:6)"
So, yes, God is weird. The Bible is a chronicle of that singular strangeness - the instances on this earthly plane where the holy has met the human, often with great messiness and elation and heartache, but never without significance and eternal ramifications. God shakes up this world He has made when we would rather He let us alone, eludes our understanding when we wish He would send unmistakable messages, and refuses to conform to our human sense of justice and fair play; but, in the midst of our doubt and anger, He never fails us. His faithfulness is extraordinary, and even the most stubborn of wandering lambs will find that famous "peace that surpasses all understanding" when they turn from the wayward path and realize they are already found.
P.S. "Weird" is weird, as it violates the entire rule of "'i' before 'e', except after 'c' and when it says 'ay' like 'neighbor' and 'weigh.' Wacky English!
Jason is currently reading through the Old Testament. He's almost to the end of Genesis, right now he's reading about Joseph. Occasionally, I hear him chuckling and sighing, and I see him shaking his head. He turned to me once and said, "These stories are so crazy and strange." I replied, "God is weird."
Because we were created by God, in His image, we often like to athropomorphize Him, make Him in our image. But God is not man. We cannot comprehend Him, but He has put in our hearts the desire to try to do just that, and our frustration of trying to understand the eternal from the standpoint of the finite has been the earmark of the human condition since time began.
I bet there were many times that Abraham had wished that God had not chosen him. Likewise for all the men and women that God has worked through throughout time to effect His will on earth. Probably the one way authentically to know that God is active in your life is that you really do not want Him there sometimes. If there is no struggle with God, no railing against Him, no frustration, no moments of delusion or even utter faithlessness, there is no relationship. I think of Jacob wrestling with God in Genesis, his grip not loosening until he received God's blessing. We wrestle, we fight, we complain, we rebel, we hide. And, if we are among the most fortunate, we stumble, scraping our knees on the gravel of our humanity, still grasping at the hem of His robe, and find ourselves lifted to victory in Him in the arms of grace. We do not let go of Him, because He will not let go of us. But, on this earth, in this life at least, we will never fully comprehend Him, and it is a grave injustice to Him if we ever think we can. But, it is an even graver tragedy for us if we stop trying to. That striving to seek the heart of God is the central theme of Carolyn Arends's excellent book, Living the Questions: Making Sense of the Mess and Mystery of Life.
God has an amazing sense of subtlety; we humans prefer grand gestures and sweeping demonstrations. While He occasionally employs those trembling forces of fire and brimstone, or triumphal displays of angelic choruses and thunderous voice, He more often works in hidden ways, especially since the work of salvation was done on the cross at Calvary. Ever since the new covenant, God has worked on the innermost parts of people's hearts rather than in moving mountains and parting seas. Yet, He tells us we too can do these things in faith.
I, for one, know that if I were God, I would use the smiting power a whole lot more. Abortionists, child-abusers, communists, war-mongers - all would receive a severe spanking of lightning right on the tushy. I would also never put a parent through the grief of planning their child's funeral, and I would stop 9/11s before they could get past the "Mohammed, contact me immediately! I have a wonderful plan to attack the infidels. Love, Osama" stage. Should the smitings be somehow seen as "random" by atheists, I would constantly be showing myself in the most awe-inspiring ways, with pageantry so grand none would have any excuse for not knowing that I am who I am. Then I would smite some more. "Spare the lightning rod, spoil the humans" would be my godly motto.
But God comes to us as a Nazarene, a man of no reputation, a humble teacher whose miracles were dismissed by the religious elite as demonic works. He comes to us to show us how to live a life of eternal significance in a world where we never feel fully at home. He dies for us, so that we might live. God's work on the cross, the shedding of Jesus's blood is to me (and I assume almost all believers) not an historic event, but a current event. Every day, when God allows sinners reconciliation to Him, He dies again so that we will not have to. This is truly weird - why am I so important to Him, that He continues to work on my behalf, offering me "beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, peace for despair" - meeting every sin with grace, tempering every judgement with mercy? Blessed weirdness! "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high, I cannot attain it. (Ps. 139:6)"
So, yes, God is weird. The Bible is a chronicle of that singular strangeness - the instances on this earthly plane where the holy has met the human, often with great messiness and elation and heartache, but never without significance and eternal ramifications. God shakes up this world He has made when we would rather He let us alone, eludes our understanding when we wish He would send unmistakable messages, and refuses to conform to our human sense of justice and fair play; but, in the midst of our doubt and anger, He never fails us. His faithfulness is extraordinary, and even the most stubborn of wandering lambs will find that famous "peace that surpasses all understanding" when they turn from the wayward path and realize they are already found.
P.S. "Weird" is weird, as it violates the entire rule of "'i' before 'e', except after 'c' and when it says 'ay' like 'neighbor' and 'weigh.' Wacky English!
Saturday, January 22, 2005
National Birth-Mother Appreciation Day
I, Justine, by the power vested in me by the desire for human decency and kindness and because nobody else seems willing to do it, do hereby declare January 22 to be known hereafter as National Birth-Mother Appreciation Day, acknowledging at long last those women who chose in the face of unexpected expectancy not to go the barbarous and despicable route of abortion, but instead generously nutured life and released that life into arms of love and care through adoption. Therefore, I beseech my fellow Americans, in this spirit of selfless giving and reverence for the fundamental Jeffersonian right to life, to take a moment out of this day to pray for these women who have traveled this difficult path and for those women who might be wavering between abortion or adoption to make the correct decision and let their babies live and flourish and bless another family.
Married mothers, single mothers, and adoptive mothers all have a special day in May where their motherhood is honored by society at large. On this day, the wretched anniversary of that aberration of justice known as the Roe vs. Wade decision, it is only right and fitting that we honor those women whose arms are empty on Mother's Day, but whose hearts are certainly always full, because they made the most selfless decision I can imagine and gave their babies life and then gave their babies to homes where they would be very much wanted and adored. Adoption has blessed so many formerly childless couples and countless children since the dawn of time, and, behind every joyous adoption, is a woman who recognized that child's right to live despite her facing inconvenience, discomfort, ridicule, ostracism, and scorn. These women are some of the unsung heroes of our world, and it is time for them to be recognized for the sacrifices they have made.
Well, here is another article I found on www.freerepublic.com (a fabulous website wherein many news items that don't get much reporting in the MSM can be found as well as people's discussions thereof). Another example of why abortion is so horrific and must end in this free, civilized nation:
http://www.theamericanscene.com/2005/01/roe-at-thirty-two-everything-that-nr.php
In case you wanted also to read the National Review article to which the above link refers in the first paragraph, you may click here:
http://www.nationalreview.com/script/printpage.asp?ref=/flashback/flashback-editors012203.asp
Hopefully, this will be my last abortion posting for a little while. It is only natural that I have focused upon this topic so often these past two weeks, as the Roe vs. Wade anniversary always haunts me especially in January. Abortion is never "off" my mind, though, and the plight of the unborn is always in my heart. I would like to post on some other things, however, so I'll take a little break from abortion for the next week or two, and maybe try some more lighthearted topics.
Peace to all, and may God forgive our often misguided, but usually well-intentioned, country.
Married mothers, single mothers, and adoptive mothers all have a special day in May where their motherhood is honored by society at large. On this day, the wretched anniversary of that aberration of justice known as the Roe vs. Wade decision, it is only right and fitting that we honor those women whose arms are empty on Mother's Day, but whose hearts are certainly always full, because they made the most selfless decision I can imagine and gave their babies life and then gave their babies to homes where they would be very much wanted and adored. Adoption has blessed so many formerly childless couples and countless children since the dawn of time, and, behind every joyous adoption, is a woman who recognized that child's right to live despite her facing inconvenience, discomfort, ridicule, ostracism, and scorn. These women are some of the unsung heroes of our world, and it is time for them to be recognized for the sacrifices they have made.
Well, here is another article I found on www.freerepublic.com (a fabulous website wherein many news items that don't get much reporting in the MSM can be found as well as people's discussions thereof). Another example of why abortion is so horrific and must end in this free, civilized nation:
http://www.theamericanscene.com/2005/01/roe-at-thirty-two-everything-that-nr.php
In case you wanted also to read the National Review article to which the above link refers in the first paragraph, you may click here:
http://www.nationalreview.com/script/printpage.asp?ref=/flashback/flashback-editors012203.asp
Hopefully, this will be my last abortion posting for a little while. It is only natural that I have focused upon this topic so often these past two weeks, as the Roe vs. Wade anniversary always haunts me especially in January. Abortion is never "off" my mind, though, and the plight of the unborn is always in my heart. I would like to post on some other things, however, so I'll take a little break from abortion for the next week or two, and maybe try some more lighthearted topics.
Peace to all, and may God forgive our often misguided, but usually well-intentioned, country.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Happy Friday, Sad Saturday
I am rejoicing in every hunger pang, every instance of light-headedness. Every time I am reminded of my lack of food intake, I also remember to say another prayer to end abortion in the United States. 45 million babies erased, destroyed, there and then suddenly not there. Forty-five million. 45,000,000.
On this day, 32 years ago, babies were still protected in most states. A tiny baby swimming about in the womb was a baby on January 21, 1973. The next day, that same baby was a "choice." Scary stuff. Unimaginably horrible and tragic too. If you can stomach it, link to this site and read for yourself how the wanton destruction of humans destroys our humanity:
http://www.sdnewsnotes.com/ed/articles/2005/0501mv.htm
Everyone in the U.S. who thinks it's okay to support abortion should read this account. When abolitionists wanted to end the horror of slavery in the United States, they had an incredible weapon in the struggle - testimony from slaves and former slaves. The unborn do not have voices to tell of the cruel way their limbs are torn from them, their brains liquidated, their bones crushed and vacuumed out of the home where they should have been so safe and warm and guarded. All they have are the brave workers in abortion mills who dare to tell their stories, and the incredible pro-life activists who have risked arrest and derision to capture this mutilation on film and show it to the world. I've been next to these brave souls who hold signs portraying poor little babies ripped to pieces by a scalpel or mummified by saline solution. People yell and scream profanities at them for daring to show what abortion is, what abortion does. They are appalled and disgusted (rightly so) by these portraits of man's ultimate inhumanity toward man, but, instead of resolving to end this horror, they abuse pro-lifers as "sick" or "disturbed." Incredible how far into denial people will go to avoid putting themselves in the midst of a controversial issue. Better to close your eyes, turn your head, plug your ears and harden your heart; after all, you are already born.
On this day, 32 years ago, babies were still protected in most states. A tiny baby swimming about in the womb was a baby on January 21, 1973. The next day, that same baby was a "choice." Scary stuff. Unimaginably horrible and tragic too. If you can stomach it, link to this site and read for yourself how the wanton destruction of humans destroys our humanity:
http://www.sdnewsnotes.com/ed/articles/2005/0501mv.htm
Everyone in the U.S. who thinks it's okay to support abortion should read this account. When abolitionists wanted to end the horror of slavery in the United States, they had an incredible weapon in the struggle - testimony from slaves and former slaves. The unborn do not have voices to tell of the cruel way their limbs are torn from them, their brains liquidated, their bones crushed and vacuumed out of the home where they should have been so safe and warm and guarded. All they have are the brave workers in abortion mills who dare to tell their stories, and the incredible pro-life activists who have risked arrest and derision to capture this mutilation on film and show it to the world. I've been next to these brave souls who hold signs portraying poor little babies ripped to pieces by a scalpel or mummified by saline solution. People yell and scream profanities at them for daring to show what abortion is, what abortion does. They are appalled and disgusted (rightly so) by these portraits of man's ultimate inhumanity toward man, but, instead of resolving to end this horror, they abuse pro-lifers as "sick" or "disturbed." Incredible how far into denial people will go to avoid putting themselves in the midst of a controversial issue. Better to close your eyes, turn your head, plug your ears and harden your heart; after all, you are already born.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
March for Life in Olympia, WA
Jason, Sadie and I went to Olympia yesterday to stand up for unborn babies at the annual March for Life at the capitol building. I'm not very good at estimating the number of people in crowds, and there was no mention of the march in the Seattle Times today, but I'd say there were at least 2,000 pro-lifers there and maybe 50 pro-abort counter-protesters. Again, the Catholics put all of us Prostestants to shame by taking the time to participate en masse in this demonstration on behalf of the unborn. I am always so ashamed of non-Catholic Christians at these events, because we should be just as involved with the pro-life movement, and our absence speaks volumes about our unwillingness to tackle this controversial issue. Shame on us and our self-satisfied, apathetic attitude toward the tragedy of legalized infanticide! How many Christians turned out for the pro-marriage rally at Safeco last summer? About 25,000, if I recall correctly. Where were they yesterday? Granted, that rally was on a Saturday, and this march was on a Wednesday, but, surely, this is an issue of greater importance. Jason, bless him, took the day off of work to support this cause. Jesus, please forgive us for our collective guilt in this travesty of humanity and decency, and please continue to bolster the efforts and resolve of all your people, Catholic and non-Catholic.
Today I started my annual 3-days of fasting and prayer leading up to the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade. Norma McCorvey (Roe) has filed a petition with the Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade, God bless her. I think often about the little baby she was carrying when she was conned into filing suit as "Roe" in 1972. That little girl was able to escape the death sentence, subsequently handed down to 45 million other unborn babes, by virtue of the fact that, if you don't turn them over to the baby butchers, all pregnancies (even "unwanted" ones!) terminate themselves around 9 months. She was adopted out (Thank God!), and would now be about 32 years old. I wonder if she's ever figured out that she was the baby that McCorvey so desperately thought she wanted to kill. I wonder if she's pro-life. Shouldn't all adopted babies be pro-life? Certainly, if you are adopted, you realize that you are not here because you were particularly "wanted" by your biological parents, but that they were selfless and compassionate enough to welcome you and give you to another family that could care for you and love you.
The march yesterday was very uplifting. They had some very inspiring speakers, none of whom I saw, as we arrived late as usual and had to stand in the very back. Sadie got a big kick out of running around the Capitol grounds in the unusually warm, rainless weather. Two pro-lifers started arguing about the Iraq war, to which I wanted to say, "Can it! This is about the babies!" The pro-aborts were particularly vile this year, with the pungent aroma of desperation clouding about them. They know they are on the losing end of history, and this knowledge led them to cry out rudely during the public prayers and speakers and try to be generally disruptive. Some had horrible signs that said, "I Love Abortion" or "I Got Knocked Up on Abstinence-Only Education." One of the favorite pro-abort sayings appeared on a few signs: "Don't Like Abortion? Don't Have One!" This, of course, is one of the most illogical sayings I've ever heard. How about, "Don't Like Murder? Don't Commit One!" or "Don't Like Slavery? Don't Buy a Slave!" Also, there was a lady there who wanted you to believe that she was "Pro-Choice, Pro-Child." Uh-huh. That's akin to "Pro-Nazi, Pro-Jew." You cannot be both.
A couple of years ago, the pastor of the church we were then attending gave a stirring sermon about surrenduring your life to God's plan. He spoke about how you can never fully prepare yourself for the way God might take your world and spin it about when you submit entirely to His will. The pastor said that it was scary and amazing and wonderful and terrible the way that God will deconstruct your tidy life and your shallow ambitions and rebuild you in His image when you pray to do His will without compromise. I was captivated by and spent many hours pondering this idea, terrified to pray this particular prayer, yet equally afraid not to know His complete plan for me. I tend to like my tidy life, you see. Plus, I was mostly afraid that God would call me to Asia or Africa for missionary work, and then what would I say to Jason?
So, I prayed a timid prayer, asking God for His guidance and direction for my life, asking to be made into what He wanted me to be, reminding Him that I was His - purchased at a great price - and His alone, pleading with Him to remember my limited abilities and prior commitments (Jason), but, in the end, acknowledging that His will ought to be done. This was hardly the triumphant averment of my faith that I had hoped secretly to be capable of, but it was the best I could do at that time. God is so good, so understanding and merciful. I knew that He who began a good work in me would be faithful to complete it, even if it took a lot of maneuvering around my protective barriers of unbelief. So, I waited to see what would happen. It seemed that nothing did.
Then, slowly and slowly, my waking thoughts and nightly dreams began to be haunted by the plight of the unborn and their precarious position in modern society. I began to be deeply troubled by visions of the destruction of life at its most innocent and vulnerable state. My heart's cry became the unheard, unanswered voices of those we lost to the barbarism that hides beneath a self-deluded mantle of "choice." I had been "pro-life" for several years, but not like this, not with this gut-wrenching acuity of horror and pain. Oh God, I thought, is this what it is going to be? Is this what You want me to strive for, to devote my life to? And I prayed again, as I have prayed many times since then. I must never lose sight of this sacred trust from God, this deep empathy and heart that He has given me for the unborn. Is it inconvenient? Yes, but so are most things that take us away from our selfish pursuits. Is it uncomfortable? Yes, I battle all the time to overcome my natural shyness and my tendency toward complacent self-absorption. Is it controversial? Are you kidding me? Almost everyone I know is pro-abortion (I refuse to use "pro-choice," as there is no such thing) to varying degrees. Is it holy? I pray everyday that it is holy and blessed in Jesus's sight.
I have so much work to do, or, rather, God has so much work to do in me, before I make a real difference for the unborn. But events such as the march yesterday are the little wellsprings of living water that Jesus so graciously provides those who seek His will. Even the most stalwart of atheists, Ayn Rand, understood that "the spirit too needs fuel; it can run dry." The March for Life is just one of the filling stations that God has placed on this amazing highway. It is an immeasurable blessing to stand next to those more mature in this particular mission of His, those runners who have lapped me several times in this race, and see that they still have the Spirit of truth shining within, feeding their souls, giving them the strength to continue.
I am confident that we will win. Hopefully within my lifetime we will see abortion in the same light as we now see slavery and wonder how we were ever so deceived as a nation. Heavenly Father, please bring us quickly to that point, and please forgive us all for the death of those little ones. Their angels always see Your face; may it be also for us. Amen.
Today I started my annual 3-days of fasting and prayer leading up to the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade. Norma McCorvey (Roe) has filed a petition with the Supreme Court to overturn Roe vs. Wade, God bless her. I think often about the little baby she was carrying when she was conned into filing suit as "Roe" in 1972. That little girl was able to escape the death sentence, subsequently handed down to 45 million other unborn babes, by virtue of the fact that, if you don't turn them over to the baby butchers, all pregnancies (even "unwanted" ones!) terminate themselves around 9 months. She was adopted out (Thank God!), and would now be about 32 years old. I wonder if she's ever figured out that she was the baby that McCorvey so desperately thought she wanted to kill. I wonder if she's pro-life. Shouldn't all adopted babies be pro-life? Certainly, if you are adopted, you realize that you are not here because you were particularly "wanted" by your biological parents, but that they were selfless and compassionate enough to welcome you and give you to another family that could care for you and love you.
The march yesterday was very uplifting. They had some very inspiring speakers, none of whom I saw, as we arrived late as usual and had to stand in the very back. Sadie got a big kick out of running around the Capitol grounds in the unusually warm, rainless weather. Two pro-lifers started arguing about the Iraq war, to which I wanted to say, "Can it! This is about the babies!" The pro-aborts were particularly vile this year, with the pungent aroma of desperation clouding about them. They know they are on the losing end of history, and this knowledge led them to cry out rudely during the public prayers and speakers and try to be generally disruptive. Some had horrible signs that said, "I Love Abortion" or "I Got Knocked Up on Abstinence-Only Education." One of the favorite pro-abort sayings appeared on a few signs: "Don't Like Abortion? Don't Have One!" This, of course, is one of the most illogical sayings I've ever heard. How about, "Don't Like Murder? Don't Commit One!" or "Don't Like Slavery? Don't Buy a Slave!" Also, there was a lady there who wanted you to believe that she was "Pro-Choice, Pro-Child." Uh-huh. That's akin to "Pro-Nazi, Pro-Jew." You cannot be both.
A couple of years ago, the pastor of the church we were then attending gave a stirring sermon about surrenduring your life to God's plan. He spoke about how you can never fully prepare yourself for the way God might take your world and spin it about when you submit entirely to His will. The pastor said that it was scary and amazing and wonderful and terrible the way that God will deconstruct your tidy life and your shallow ambitions and rebuild you in His image when you pray to do His will without compromise. I was captivated by and spent many hours pondering this idea, terrified to pray this particular prayer, yet equally afraid not to know His complete plan for me. I tend to like my tidy life, you see. Plus, I was mostly afraid that God would call me to Asia or Africa for missionary work, and then what would I say to Jason?
So, I prayed a timid prayer, asking God for His guidance and direction for my life, asking to be made into what He wanted me to be, reminding Him that I was His - purchased at a great price - and His alone, pleading with Him to remember my limited abilities and prior commitments (Jason), but, in the end, acknowledging that His will ought to be done. This was hardly the triumphant averment of my faith that I had hoped secretly to be capable of, but it was the best I could do at that time. God is so good, so understanding and merciful. I knew that He who began a good work in me would be faithful to complete it, even if it took a lot of maneuvering around my protective barriers of unbelief. So, I waited to see what would happen. It seemed that nothing did.
Then, slowly and slowly, my waking thoughts and nightly dreams began to be haunted by the plight of the unborn and their precarious position in modern society. I began to be deeply troubled by visions of the destruction of life at its most innocent and vulnerable state. My heart's cry became the unheard, unanswered voices of those we lost to the barbarism that hides beneath a self-deluded mantle of "choice." I had been "pro-life" for several years, but not like this, not with this gut-wrenching acuity of horror and pain. Oh God, I thought, is this what it is going to be? Is this what You want me to strive for, to devote my life to? And I prayed again, as I have prayed many times since then. I must never lose sight of this sacred trust from God, this deep empathy and heart that He has given me for the unborn. Is it inconvenient? Yes, but so are most things that take us away from our selfish pursuits. Is it uncomfortable? Yes, I battle all the time to overcome my natural shyness and my tendency toward complacent self-absorption. Is it controversial? Are you kidding me? Almost everyone I know is pro-abortion (I refuse to use "pro-choice," as there is no such thing) to varying degrees. Is it holy? I pray everyday that it is holy and blessed in Jesus's sight.
I have so much work to do, or, rather, God has so much work to do in me, before I make a real difference for the unborn. But events such as the march yesterday are the little wellsprings of living water that Jesus so graciously provides those who seek His will. Even the most stalwart of atheists, Ayn Rand, understood that "the spirit too needs fuel; it can run dry." The March for Life is just one of the filling stations that God has placed on this amazing highway. It is an immeasurable blessing to stand next to those more mature in this particular mission of His, those runners who have lapped me several times in this race, and see that they still have the Spirit of truth shining within, feeding their souls, giving them the strength to continue.
I am confident that we will win. Hopefully within my lifetime we will see abortion in the same light as we now see slavery and wonder how we were ever so deceived as a nation. Heavenly Father, please bring us quickly to that point, and please forgive us all for the death of those little ones. Their angels always see Your face; may it be also for us. Amen.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Favorite Scripture
Luke 12:32
"Do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
This is a wonderfully concise illustration of our relationship to and with God, through the Good Shepherd, Jesus.
Philippians 4:4-7
"Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."
This passage brings me such comfort and joy.
Philippians 1:21
"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
This reminds me why I'm here and where I'm going.
Ephesians 4:26-27
"Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil."
Foundational advice for a marriage or any other human relationship.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
"Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."
Whenever I get frustrated with Paul and his seemingly endless chawing through the epistles, passages like this above help me regain my gratitude for this Godly man and his inspired words.
John 1:4-5
"In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend [overcome] it."
This says it all. No matter what happens, no matter how many battles are yet to be fought, the Victor has been known from the start.
Psalm 139:7-12
"Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall fall on me,' even the night shall be light about me; indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You."
It never fails to humble and amaze me that the Creator of the universe counts every hair on my head. He always finds me, no matter how far I run.
I am so grateful for the Word. And for the Word made flesh in Jesus Christ.
"Do not fear, little flock, for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
This is a wonderfully concise illustration of our relationship to and with God, through the Good Shepherd, Jesus.
Philippians 4:4-7
"Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, rejoice! Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand. Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."
This passage brings me such comfort and joy.
Philippians 1:21
"For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
This reminds me why I'm here and where I'm going.
Ephesians 4:26-27
"Be angry, and do not sin: do not let the sun go down on your wrath, nor give place to the devil."
Foundational advice for a marriage or any other human relationship.
1 Corinthians 13:4-8
"Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails."
Whenever I get frustrated with Paul and his seemingly endless chawing through the epistles, passages like this above help me regain my gratitude for this Godly man and his inspired words.
John 1:4-5
"In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend [overcome] it."
This says it all. No matter what happens, no matter how many battles are yet to be fought, the Victor has been known from the start.
Psalm 139:7-12
"Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me. If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall fall on me,' even the night shall be light about me; indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You."
It never fails to humble and amaze me that the Creator of the universe counts every hair on my head. He always finds me, no matter how far I run.
I am so grateful for the Word. And for the Word made flesh in Jesus Christ.
Monday, January 17, 2005
School Killings and the Great Tragedy...
How's that for an uplifting title?
Sometimes a person will say something that just sticks with you, almost haunts you on a daily basis for the rest of your life. That seems to happen to me quite a bit.
Shortly after the Columbine High School shooting tragedy of 1999, I was talking the incident over with my dad. I, as most of the nation, was horrified by the event. I was imagining the helplessness and trauma of being a parent whose child was held captive those long hours - the terrible uncertainty of not knowing whether your child was alive or dead - the utter inability to do anything other than wait and pray. I railed against this violence and lamented these deaths as insensible and almost unbelievable tragedy. My dad agreed with me, and then he said something that shocked me and left me forever a little changed.
"An even greater tragedy than these kinds of school killings," my dad slowly said, "Is the murdering of children's natural love of and instinct toward learning that occurs every day in our public schools."
Holy cow.
Not a day goes by that those words do not echo in my mind. Certainly, for the parents who lost their children that horrible day, the murder of their bodies is more significant than the mass-murdering of children's minds that passes for public education in our country; however, as a national tragedy, the latter holds more significance. Public education is not geared toward fostering a life-long love of learning in our children, but more, I do believe, toward indoctrinating them. Great teachers manage to fly under the radar and offer amazing educational experiences to students, but they are a more endangered species than the annoying little spotted owls that interfere so greatly with property rights in the great PNW.
If the public schools only taught to a degree of competency the skills of reading, writing and arithmetic to our children, they would not fall under my censure. Surely, the young adults graduated from our high schools would then be able to face their futures with some level of confidence. Oh wait! They already do! Instead of teaching basic skills our schools excel in teaching self-esteem, so, even if Johnny can't write a coherent sentence, he sure feels good about himself.
I'm not writing here about anything new or revelatory. These issues have been discussed and pondered with greater scholarship and skill than I can ever hope to achieve by such incredible writers as Thomas Sowell, Martin L. Gross, and John Taylor Gatto. What, to me, is a little new and different is the perspective of my father. The idea that the failure of the public education is not merely something to be ruefully discussed or criticized or poked fun at, but is a tragedy of unimaginable proportions.
From that moment on, my dad's unexpected observation caused my resolve to homeschool my children to become as much a moral commitment as it had previously been an ideological commitment.
Sometimes a person will say something that just sticks with you, almost haunts you on a daily basis for the rest of your life. That seems to happen to me quite a bit.
Shortly after the Columbine High School shooting tragedy of 1999, I was talking the incident over with my dad. I, as most of the nation, was horrified by the event. I was imagining the helplessness and trauma of being a parent whose child was held captive those long hours - the terrible uncertainty of not knowing whether your child was alive or dead - the utter inability to do anything other than wait and pray. I railed against this violence and lamented these deaths as insensible and almost unbelievable tragedy. My dad agreed with me, and then he said something that shocked me and left me forever a little changed.
"An even greater tragedy than these kinds of school killings," my dad slowly said, "Is the murdering of children's natural love of and instinct toward learning that occurs every day in our public schools."
Holy cow.
Not a day goes by that those words do not echo in my mind. Certainly, for the parents who lost their children that horrible day, the murder of their bodies is more significant than the mass-murdering of children's minds that passes for public education in our country; however, as a national tragedy, the latter holds more significance. Public education is not geared toward fostering a life-long love of learning in our children, but more, I do believe, toward indoctrinating them. Great teachers manage to fly under the radar and offer amazing educational experiences to students, but they are a more endangered species than the annoying little spotted owls that interfere so greatly with property rights in the great PNW.
If the public schools only taught to a degree of competency the skills of reading, writing and arithmetic to our children, they would not fall under my censure. Surely, the young adults graduated from our high schools would then be able to face their futures with some level of confidence. Oh wait! They already do! Instead of teaching basic skills our schools excel in teaching self-esteem, so, even if Johnny can't write a coherent sentence, he sure feels good about himself.
I'm not writing here about anything new or revelatory. These issues have been discussed and pondered with greater scholarship and skill than I can ever hope to achieve by such incredible writers as Thomas Sowell, Martin L. Gross, and John Taylor Gatto. What, to me, is a little new and different is the perspective of my father. The idea that the failure of the public education is not merely something to be ruefully discussed or criticized or poked fun at, but is a tragedy of unimaginable proportions.
From that moment on, my dad's unexpected observation caused my resolve to homeschool my children to become as much a moral commitment as it had previously been an ideological commitment.
Friday, January 14, 2005
A Pantyhose Tip for the Ladies Out There
When buying pantyhose, do not let your vanity cost you money!
Unless you have legs like matchsticks, buy the largest size.
Pantyhose are never baggy, even if you buy 2+ sizes larger than you are.
My height and weight would usually put me at a Size B, but I buy Size D or sometimes even Q.
Trust me, you'll be much more comfortable, and you'll be spending less money on pantyhose.
The less skintight they are as they stretch and bend (and I stretch and bend them a lot chasing after a toddler) the less likely they'll be to get runs and holes.
The less the fabric gets stretched out, the more sturdy they'll be to withstand multiple washings.
I have not bought pantyhose in over a year. Granted I usually only wear them once a week to church, still that's a lot of wearing over a year.
That store clerk will only have to look at you to know you're not the larger size, and even if he or she gives you the fisheye, who cares?
You'll save money in the long run.
Oh, plus, you should buy and wear tights instead of pantyhose whenever you can!
Unless you have legs like matchsticks, buy the largest size.
Pantyhose are never baggy, even if you buy 2+ sizes larger than you are.
My height and weight would usually put me at a Size B, but I buy Size D or sometimes even Q.
Trust me, you'll be much more comfortable, and you'll be spending less money on pantyhose.
The less skintight they are as they stretch and bend (and I stretch and bend them a lot chasing after a toddler) the less likely they'll be to get runs and holes.
The less the fabric gets stretched out, the more sturdy they'll be to withstand multiple washings.
I have not bought pantyhose in over a year. Granted I usually only wear them once a week to church, still that's a lot of wearing over a year.
That store clerk will only have to look at you to know you're not the larger size, and even if he or she gives you the fisheye, who cares?
You'll save money in the long run.
Oh, plus, you should buy and wear tights instead of pantyhose whenever you can!
Roe Vs. Wade Survivor, Class of 1974
I count myself a survivor of Roe vs. Wade.
I was born to a "pro-choice" mother in the year after this travesty of justice paved the way for women to kill their babies without restriction in every state.
My mother used to boast about how I was the ultimate product of "planned parenthood." My parents waited eight years into their marriage to have a child. They finished their educations. They secured themselves in their careers. I was "wanted." I'm sure my mother told me these details to build my esteem, make me realize my worth. I used to buy into it. I used to be pro-choice.
Then I started thinking: What if in the midst of her pregnancy, my "wanted" status had changed? What if my father had run off with another woman, leaving my mother alone, vulnerable, suddenly unable to cope with the pressures of parenthood? What if my mother had been offered a prestigious new position within her field, one that would provide many additional challenges and accolades and stresses that would not have complemented parenting a newborn at that time? What if, on the other hand, my parents lost one or both of their positions, drastically and rapidly leading to a reversal in their economic state and destroying all the "planning" in which they had so prudently engaged? You can "plan" parenthood as much as possible, but life is ultimately unplannable. When a child's only protection under the law is his or her "wanted-ness" by the mother, then no child is safe.
If, however, each child were seen as a person from the time their unique DNA code is formed (i.e. at conception), deserving of human dignity and legal protection, this would be a better country, a more humane and civilized country. I survived a court decision that told my mother that I was not a person until she said so. I am certain my mother would be horrified to read my point of view on this (she died in 1998). She would protest and say, "No, no! Don't you understand? You were wanted. We planned, we provided, we did it right." Yes, Mom, you did do it right. I think that every child should be so welcomed into this world. You and Dad did a great job. But, even if you hadn't done such a great job planning, preparing and providing, should my life have ended? Even if, all of a sudden, I hadn't been wanted by you, I can assure you I would still have been wanted by at least one person - myself. Abortion denies a child the fundamental right of self-actualization.
No child can ever be duplicated. When you destroy a child through abortion, just as when you murder any human being, no matter how young or old, you are destroying someone irreplaceable. How can people live with these holes that have been punched through our society? I can't walk down a street anymore without seeing the voids created by 45 million missing people. What would they be doing? I'm sure some of those children would have gone on to do amazing, wonderful things, enriching countless lives during their time on earth. I'm sure some of those children would have gone on to commit horrendous acts of incredible depravity. Probably most of those children would be living lives like mine - plain, ordinary, everyday, bread-and-butter kind of lives - living peacefully, raising their own children, working hard, obeying laws, finding joys both great and small, living through their sorrows and regrets, finding redemption in an ever-loving God. No matter what the outcome, we should not deprive people of the chance to do with their lives what they will (or to seek what God wills, if they are a person of faith).
How horrible it is to think that we are adding to these missing around 4,000 human lives a day.
I am not a choice, despite what my mother may have thought. Neither are these tiny souls destroyed daily in abortion mills across this great nation, despite what lies are told to convince women otherwise.
My daughter and any other children my husband and I are blessed with will never have to grow up with the shadow of "what if?" hanging over them. They, too, will not have been choices.
Let us open our hearts and learn to want children more. Let us eliminate, as Randy Alcorn so eloquently put it in his excellent book Pro-Life Answers to Pro-Choice Arguments, the "unwanted" from "unwanted children," not the "children." And beyond "wanting," let us change our cultural attitude to welcoming these small people. They deserve to have choices, not to be choices.
I was born to a "pro-choice" mother in the year after this travesty of justice paved the way for women to kill their babies without restriction in every state.
My mother used to boast about how I was the ultimate product of "planned parenthood." My parents waited eight years into their marriage to have a child. They finished their educations. They secured themselves in their careers. I was "wanted." I'm sure my mother told me these details to build my esteem, make me realize my worth. I used to buy into it. I used to be pro-choice.
Then I started thinking: What if in the midst of her pregnancy, my "wanted" status had changed? What if my father had run off with another woman, leaving my mother alone, vulnerable, suddenly unable to cope with the pressures of parenthood? What if my mother had been offered a prestigious new position within her field, one that would provide many additional challenges and accolades and stresses that would not have complemented parenting a newborn at that time? What if, on the other hand, my parents lost one or both of their positions, drastically and rapidly leading to a reversal in their economic state and destroying all the "planning" in which they had so prudently engaged? You can "plan" parenthood as much as possible, but life is ultimately unplannable. When a child's only protection under the law is his or her "wanted-ness" by the mother, then no child is safe.
If, however, each child were seen as a person from the time their unique DNA code is formed (i.e. at conception), deserving of human dignity and legal protection, this would be a better country, a more humane and civilized country. I survived a court decision that told my mother that I was not a person until she said so. I am certain my mother would be horrified to read my point of view on this (she died in 1998). She would protest and say, "No, no! Don't you understand? You were wanted. We planned, we provided, we did it right." Yes, Mom, you did do it right. I think that every child should be so welcomed into this world. You and Dad did a great job. But, even if you hadn't done such a great job planning, preparing and providing, should my life have ended? Even if, all of a sudden, I hadn't been wanted by you, I can assure you I would still have been wanted by at least one person - myself. Abortion denies a child the fundamental right of self-actualization.
No child can ever be duplicated. When you destroy a child through abortion, just as when you murder any human being, no matter how young or old, you are destroying someone irreplaceable. How can people live with these holes that have been punched through our society? I can't walk down a street anymore without seeing the voids created by 45 million missing people. What would they be doing? I'm sure some of those children would have gone on to do amazing, wonderful things, enriching countless lives during their time on earth. I'm sure some of those children would have gone on to commit horrendous acts of incredible depravity. Probably most of those children would be living lives like mine - plain, ordinary, everyday, bread-and-butter kind of lives - living peacefully, raising their own children, working hard, obeying laws, finding joys both great and small, living through their sorrows and regrets, finding redemption in an ever-loving God. No matter what the outcome, we should not deprive people of the chance to do with their lives what they will (or to seek what God wills, if they are a person of faith).
How horrible it is to think that we are adding to these missing around 4,000 human lives a day.
I am not a choice, despite what my mother may have thought. Neither are these tiny souls destroyed daily in abortion mills across this great nation, despite what lies are told to convince women otherwise.
My daughter and any other children my husband and I are blessed with will never have to grow up with the shadow of "what if?" hanging over them. They, too, will not have been choices.
Let us open our hearts and learn to want children more. Let us eliminate, as Randy Alcorn so eloquently put it in his excellent book Pro-Life Answers to Pro-Choice Arguments, the "unwanted" from "unwanted children," not the "children." And beyond "wanting," let us change our cultural attitude to welcoming these small people. They deserve to have choices, not to be choices.
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