Love Them Both

I often lie awake in the wee hours of the night, desperately wishing for sleep but maddeningly full of thoughts.  Last night, while my own due-any-day daughter thumped with a strange regularity in my belly ("She has hiccups!" I realized), those thoughts centered on the Reproductive Health Act that New York passed this week.  I was a long time falling back to sleep.  

It seems that the awful implications of this law for babies are obvious, so who is it meant to benefit?  Women, right?  

We all know that life begins at conception.  We may not like it, we may deny it, but we can't actually refute it.  For almost every woman, there are signs to indicate the life growing inside before her belly begins to look baby-full, and long before baby's own movements are felt.  It is hard to deny that something substantial is changing inside, but easier to convince ourselves that our decisions affect our own bodies, our own futures, and no one else's.  But by about half-way, not only are we aware of a distinct person inside ourselves, separate, but we become more and more aware of the actual personality growing inside.  

At that point, to choose to end the life is obvious not just to ourselves, but to others.  "She was pregnant; now she is not."

For almost every woman considering abortion, the decision is not easy, peaceful, or considered good.  It is a lesser of evils, perhaps the only perceived option, arrived at out of desperation.  It is a haunting decision.  We may not like that idea, we may deny that idea, but I have never heard of a woman who was not haunted by the consequences of that decision.  

From this perspective, how does legalizing late-term abortion benefit women?  

This new law authorizes non-doctors to perform abortions.  According to the CIA World Factbook of 2015 information, there are FORTY-FOUR NATIONS with lower maternal mortality rates than the United States.  

The maternal mortality rate (MMR) is the annual number of female deaths per 100,000 live births from any cause related to or aggravated by pregnancy or its management (excluding accidental or incidental causes). The MMR includes deaths during pregnancy, childbirth, or within 42 days of termination of pregnancy, irrespective of the duration and site of the pregnancy, for a specified year.

How does the removal of medical safeguards and standards from an already against-nature procedure benefit women? 

This new law removes substantial layers of criminal prosecution from anyone who would act violently against a woman with the intent of causing her to miscarry her baby.  This means that the choice was made BY SOMEONE ELSE, not the woman, to attempt to terminate her pregnancy by actually violent means, no medical safeguards considered.  

How does this change in legislation benefit women?  

These are only three thoughts to think on.  They seem to me to be sufficient evidence that this law is not meant, in fact, to benefit women.  

Separate, but closely related, are pro-life and pro-family issues, such as: 

• Why are adoption options being actively made less available?
• Why are maternity and paternity leaves painfully short, often unpaid, sometimes non-existent?  
• Why are pregnancy prevention or termination medications, devices, and procedures so much more widely covered by insurances than medications, devices, and procedures to enhance the chances of conception for couples facing infertility?

I could go on.  But these seem like sufficient food for thought.  My state is in the news this week, but our culture at large is less and less pro-choice, more and more pro-death.  My heart is so sad.  

For those of us who are pro-life, AND for those of us who are actually pro-choice--as in, make all the viable options really, really obvious and available--let's work together.  Let's actually work to make abortion rare, even unnecessary.  Let's love babies AND their mothers.  

March For Life 2019, Fast-forward

Time Out of Mind

I am thinking about time this morning.  

In my quiet time with Jesus each morning, I tend to journal on how I spent yesterday, and what I expect for today.  But this morning (partly because my children are still sleeping, and it is quiet enough for me to think more deeply) I began thinking beyond the physical details of the days more...to the point of them.  

I realize I feel perpetually guilty about how I am NOT spending my time, and that is a pervasive feeling.  Even when I am perfectly glad to be doing whatever it is I am busy about.  

Surely I am not alone.  There are forever an endless supply of choices for how to spend our time, and it is a puzzle of life to "redeem the time" in the right ways.  

Wouldn't it be grand to live in such a way that I feel peace about my choices in using the time that I have, the time that God has given me?  Not the usual results of appeasing someone, or doing what is needed, or scrambling to stave off the panic of being completely overwhelmed by all the many, many things that are needed--or even the result of pleasure.  

What if I lived in a way, day to day, that resulted in a pervasive, deep PEACE about how I have spent, how I am spending, how I plan to spend MY TIME?  

What a gift that would be.  What true satisfaction that would be.  What a way to think about an intentional life.  

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children.  And walk in love...Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true) and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord...'Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.' Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.  Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is."  From Ephesians 5

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven..." Ecclesiastes 3:1  "Better is a handful of quietness than two hands full of toil and striving after wind."  Ecc 4:6  "If a man fathers a hundred children and lives many years, so that the days of his years are many, BUT HIS SOUL IS NOT SATISFIED with life's good things...I say that a stillborn child is better off than he." Ecc 6:3  "The end of the matter; all has been heard.  Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.  For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil." Ecc 12:13-14

Daddy's Girl

These are the daddies I celebrate.  I am so very rich.  

My Teachers: the Foundational Years

I just read a post from a teacher-acquaintance, written in honor of Teacher Appreciation Day and the many, many teachers who have been a part of shaping him.  

It was so beautiful.  It brought tears to my eyes, and I don't even know any of the people he referenced.  

It brought to mind the long list of teachers who have been part of shaping me.  So I'm writing my own list.  It isn't exhaustive, but more of a highlights reel.    

Preschool: YWCA, Pottstown, PA
Mrs. Corey--you took a large group of little kids and showed us how to get along like civilized people.  Also, Show and Tell was the best.  

Kindergarten: Westmont Christian Academy, Pottstown, PA
Miss --I don't remember much of any detail about you, except I LOVED you.  At home, playing school with my little brother, I took your name as my own teacher name.  And I taught him real stuff.  

1st-8th grades: St. Aloysius School, Pottstown, PA

Mrs. Sutton--I was in terrible awe of you, until I learned that outside of school you went by the name "Muffin."  Then I began to see and appreciate you as someone loving and lovable under that strict eyebrow.  

Mrs. Zale--Mostly I remember your "spelling chants," such as shouting "A-L-O-Y-ESSEYE-YOUESS!"  I do spelling chants with my own kids.

Sister Madeline--As the school librarian, you shared stories with us (a few of which I still sort of remember!) and taught us how to effectively use the library.  I still use your lessons.  

Mrs. Matuch--I have never known what the hullabaloo was about, and why you ended up leaving--and I don't want to know.  But I thought you were a wonderful teacher, kind, patient, and I missed you so much.  

Mrs. Urban--For the first time, it was okay for handwriting to slant "backward," because you were left-handed and that's the way it was.  Partly because you were left-handed, and partly because one of the boys broke his right wrist and struggled for weeks and weeks to do his schoolwork, I began practicing to write with my left hand, just in case I ever need to rely on it.  I also loved the ways you brought tangible, experiential things to lessons, like writing to a favorite company (I picked Crayola), building dioramas, or inviting my aunt to do a presentation on her recent trip to Israel.

Mrs. Renninger--Gym class and Music.  I still remember all sorts of games, from class and also played out in recess.  Confession: about that Presidential Physical Fitness award...I probably didn't drop a popsicle stick.  I probably just never ran that tenth lap around the convent, and some other girl probably should have received the honor of "fastest mile."  But Music!  I never really thought I had a nice voice, but I always loved to sing.  And though Religion Song, in the quiet church on Friday afternoons, wasn't technically music class, your facilitation of those afternoons form some of the most peaceful, warm memories of my time at St. Al's.  And they were the foundation of a lifetime of singing.  

Sister Nancy--As the school counselor, you helped me (and my parents) navigate being a Protestant kid in a Catholic school.  I appreciate that.  You were a picture of gentleness. 

Mrs. Fisher--If I ever become a "real" teacher, it will be along the same blueprint as you.  Your combination of a love for science and the experiments and demonstrations you did with us, real lessons and quality in artwork, and skydiving over Hawaii in your personal time really just suit me fine.  I loved your teaching, even when that was about the most difficult year of my social life.   You also taught me that "suite" is a different thing from "sweet."  Fifths graders also happen to be my favorite age group to work with.

Mrs. Foley--Similar to Mrs. Sutton, we were all in dread that you became the sixth grade English teacher, because as a substitute we already had our opinions.  And then we heard your mouse sneezes, and realized you were a real person that was fun and likable.  Substitute teaching doesn't really offer much chance for our best personalities to shine through, does it?  I still sing the Preposition Song.  

Mrs. Hennessey--There is so much about you that I appreciated.  By the end of eighth grade, I could tell you everything about the mechanics of any sentence, and I happened to think that was awesome.  I memorized the first chapter of Stuart Little for a forensics competition, and you affectionately called me "Topo Gigio" after a favorite cartoon mouse.  My best friend didn't appreciate that her mom was also her teacher, but I really appreciated that my teacher was also my best friend's mom--especially for that week that I went with your family to the beach.  That was so fantastic.  I still have the volume of poetry you presented to me at graduation.

Mrs. Linderman--I think you taught some Gym classes, but the gem I internalized from you was the day we chatted about my life-long bad habit of nail chewing.  You told me that what worked for you was keeping your nails consistently trimmed, filed, and clean--it made your nails strong.  Lo and behold, it worked for me too, when nothing else had.  I still have nice nails because of it.

Mrs. Kelly--Your drilled-in outlining skills have served me very well.  And your line-by-line, precept-on-precept note taking instruction made me a good student, a capable learner.  I still use those skills.  

Mrs. Lavelle--Your science lessons continue to inform my knowledge and way of thinking about the world, and to be an epitome of instruction in my book.  I still have my copy books.  I saved them all, because I thought they were beautiful.  Still do.  They're like scrapbooks of my favorite lessons.  

Spring Is Such A Maiden

Old Man Winter is not letting go without a fight this year.  Yesterday afternoon I was rejoicing to see that, except for the remains of the few largest, plowed-up heaps, the front yard snow was gone.  A couple of hours later, it was already covered in fresh white, with howling winds driving snow on what looked just like a raging winter storm.  Oh well, Spring can't be too far away.

Maiden Spring.  

People often think of "maidens" as delicate, timid, fragile. But I have known maidens who are full of energy, tenacious, strong, full of joy and unquenchable optimism, vitality.  Full of strength and gentleness.  Maidens who are forces to be reckoned with.  I was such a maiden.  

Spring is such a maiden.  

Loud

Revolutionary-feeling thought today: Christian culture so often dwells on the things we can't do freely in our society. We lament there's no prayer allowed in schools, bewail the unconscionable separation between church and state, or rail about people being too easily offended by Christianity.

What if

we stopped lamenting and bewailing and railing?

What if

we led by example, boldly starting and leading the prayer instead of waiting to be led?

What if

we participated in government as our consciences dictated, but went ahead and asked for Holy Spirit power to live out our faith with consistency across the divides?

What if

instead of railing about pansy feelings, we purposed ourselves to become unoffendable people?

Our kids have full freedom to pray in school or wherever they might want to. But we have to teach them and show them that in order for that to happen, they must initiate the praying. They can't wait for someone to tell them to do it--they must become the praying people. Our government doesn't have a beautiful track record for acting on its founding Biblical principles; if anything, those principles have been misapplied and used for evil. We have to live out the upside-down Kingdom, declaring through our integrity that His ways solve problems at their roots. We are just as easily offended by cultural issues as a wiccan witnessing kids praying around a flagpole. Except, get this: as Christians we're called to LOVE those who hate us, to PRAY FOR those who persecute us! And so our offense is uglier. Our offense has farther-reaching consequences. As ambassadors of the King of kings, we have way, way more authority than we realize--and when we use our authority wrongly, the consequences are much, much more weighty.

Test your faith. Apply it. Strengthen it. Exercise it. Live it out loud, like your faith matters.

Your faith matters.

Just Write

It is 6:05.  In the evening.  Prime time.  

And I am holed up in the guest room--Oh, look at my guest room!  In the last-published post it was the "office-guest-craft-stash it room".  We have turned a new leaf, and now I come in here sometimes just to stand in a quiet, pretty place:

Progress in the right direction.  My brain has been in a different place in the past couple of months, but I haven't really told you anything about it because, although I have had time, I haven't spent any of it on finishing and sharing my polished thoughts with you.  

So I'm holed up in the guest room, because tonight my husband came home from his day of teaching with a plan for me to write this evening, and to also write regularly.  It basically involves setting aside an evening a week to write while he takes on 3-kid duty.  To just write.  To write.

So, let me back up and tell you the earlier part of the story, because to dive right in to today's thoughts without their context is to miss the process, miss the richness.  For me it is rich.  It's okay if it isn't anything much to you.    

Through the autumn up until Christmas, I was accelerating along from about 72 to 120 miles per hour.  At one point Lincoln told me, "Mama, you're in charge of too many things."  You present a good case, kid.  His comment sank in deep, and I realized that it isn't simply a case of my not liking the pace; it is a true statement, and the pace is unsustainable and damaging to myself and the people I hold most dear.   

Andy and I called up a babysitter and walked down the road for a Reevaluation Date at our local diner. 

We came up with some changes, some redirection, and I began to sense light at the end of the tunnel.  

At New Year's, my sister-in-law gave me words for a concept, the ideas of which had already been brewing in my heart.  You've probably already heard of it: discovering your One Word.  It's enough of a concept now to generate books on a variety of contexts: your one word for the year, for life, for your business, for your lasting legacy, etc.  (I haven't read any of the books; I can't tell you whether they're any good.)  But I knew my word right away.

I painted it, because that's what I do.  I have begun applying it to all sorts of things: what I read, how many bottles of shampoo are in my shower, the ingredients in my food and how I cook it, how the laundry is sorted, how I think about social issues, how I'm pursuing Jesus, etc.  I don't think I am especially good at simplicity, but I am getting better, and that is the important thing.  

Life weaves together in wonderful ways, don't you think?  A year and a half ago, before I was thinking particularly about simplifying life, I sang a song for my Grandaddy's memorial service:

'Tis a gift to be simple.  

So 'tis.