I don’t post a lot of political and religious stuff that is highly controversial. I have my views and I’ll share them with anyone who asks, but I feel like my blog is mostly my journal, my way to remember what we have done over the years, as well as a way for me to share my life with my friends and family back home. This blog isn’t intended to make a statement about anything other than my own life.
But today I saw a picture that I couldn’t help but repost on Facebook. I have a personal stance on abortion that I defend without abandon; it seems so obvious to me that everyone should have the same position. I am flabbergasted that anyone could believe differently from me. And yet, millions do.
One of the reasons I don’t make a big deal about it is because I have friends, close friends, who have had abortions. I don’t want any of them to think I would post anything as a condemnation against them. Condemnation isn’t my job. In fact, condemnation isn’t even God’s job. Condemnation is from the enemy, the one Christians typically call “Satan.” If one feels ‘condemned’ it is the enemy, the accuser. Conviction is a totally different thing which helps us to know the difference between right and wrong and causes us to want to do right. It is worth studying the difference in those two words. There is help and healing available. But my point in writing today isn’t even about that.
It’s about bringing others to think about the life of a child, still totally reliant on its mother, as more valuable than the trees we recycle to protect. There are so many programs that beg us to “reduce, reuse, recycle” so we can protect our environment and save the trees but so few that consider an unborn child as an innocent life worthy of protection.
As I was taking pictures of Parker playing with his car, I fell in love all over again. With his baby hands. I love them. They can’t open a door, drive a car, fix a broken toy. They can barely get a spoon to his mouth, though I love watching him try. Then, this morning, I sat down and saw this picture as I was catching up on FB. I recalled seeing my babies on ultrasound waving, flexing their hands, sucking their thumbs. My babies, in my womb, were babies. Little people. Had heartbeats, one before I even knew I was expecting. They had names picked out for them from before they were even conceived. No kidding… Matt and I were 17 & 18 when we picked out Hayden’s name.
I consider my children as having entered our family from the moment we conceived them. Whether we were ‘trying’ or ‘surprised,’ each one of our children was meant to be on this earth; meant to be in our family. There are children who are conceived under less than ideal circumstances. I’ll leave it at that. I’m not going to debate here all the nuances of conception and whether I agree abortion to be okay when a woman gets pregnant after being forced have intercourse. I will say this: if a woman came to me and said that this had happened to her, I would do my best to convince her to carry the child and let me raise it. Or let me find someone to raise the child. An abortion will not erase the pain or the memory of her encounter nor will having the child and giving it to a family longing for a child make the pain more vivid. There will pain either way. But only one of those choices can allow a family to be built through the miracle of adoption.
Here are some of the pictures I took of Parker’s hands. I love his baby hands.