These are “the least of these.”
Explain to me how you think they’re not.
These are “the least of these.”
Explain to me how you think they’re not.
If these aren’t “the least of these” I don’t know who is.
These “least of these” are so “least” they don”t even show up on Democrat lists of “leasts.”
OK, so let’s get down to fundamentals. If you are pro-choice, your argument is founded on an assumption of higher moral standing. You are fighting for rights, you are taking the high road, you aren’t one of those who want to control women, etc. You are more virtuous, and you signal that fact all you can.
But you are not more virtuous. In fact, your position has no virtue at all.
The prochoice position depends on dehumanizing or otherwise negating the worth of other human beings. Those human beings are the most helpless and innocent there are.
The pro-choice position depends on then advocating for their deaths!
It is all about death. Destruction. Hopelessness. Victimization. Elitism. Privilege (the advocacy of ). Imposing the strong’s power over the weak. Manipulation. Disenfranchisement. Injustice.
That is my premise, as it ought to be the pro-life movement’s premise. Now please defend your pro-death position.
This advent season, I am noticing my attention being drawn again and again, to this aspect of the Incarnation: Mary had a baby.
On Christmas Day, we are actually celebrating a birth, and someone giving birth.
Without enshrining the birth-giver in some sort of semi-deification, we can appreciate her amazing gift, her faithful will; but we should also note the physical sacrifice. Many factions of our socio-political advisors would like to dismiss that notice. Giving birth is default for the hopelessly un-elite. Childbearing is not for the elite, unless it be once or twice, and the offspring be carefully planned and artfully curated.
All the Christian world, those faithful and still those antagonistic, when they celebrate the holiday, are celebrating a woman giving life to her child. And I admit I am enjoying that.
But for Mary it was a gritty, painful night of anguish just preceded by ninety miles travel on a donkey. Birthing a baby with only a husband for help. In a stable. In an unfamiliar town far from home.
Her location and travel compelled by the iron will of a government for the purpose of reducing her, her husband, and her infant to three numbers in a mass of subjects. In this, that government failed.
34 years of parenting and roughly 27 years of homeschooling have taught me a few things. What do I wish somebody had told me?
You cannot do all the physical work alone. Teach your children to help you from the time they can walk. Teach them it’s normal to work. Teach them that families work together. Teach them that an orderly home is a happy priority. Be kind and patient, but persevere in your teaching.
They can’t help much, it’s true, and teaching them how is a lot of work. But you will grow your patience. And later on they will help a lot!
Any way you have to do it, get help. Get help. Get help. Get help. There is no shame in delegating. Get help.
You cannot do it all. If you decide to homeschool, please recognize that you are layering your tasks now; at the same time you are maintaining your home, you are teaching and administering education for each child. You literally have two things to do at the same time, all the time.
And each child in your homeschool is in a different grade (unless you have multiples) so you have the responsibilities to evaluate, plan, assign, teach, read aloud, check work, keep records, for each child in each grade.
The endless dishes still need to be done. Three meals and snacks still need to be planned, bought, prepared, served. And there are those dishes again. Appointments made and attended. Your home maintained and cleaned to a degree your family finds comfortable and functional. The very spaces in your home must be planned and furnished so that function and comfort are even possible.
The dishes are literally endless and they will take over your life.
It is impossible. Unless you’re an absolute genius at scheduling with a perfect grasp of the totality of your responsibilities, you will be overwhelmed and ultimately make yourself ill. (I did.)
You can’t do it alone. Get help. Delegate. Humble yourself and welcome anyone who offers help.
The effort we expend on trying to look poised while seriously struggling to keep all the plates spinning is almost funny. It’s a heavy and stupid burden.
Don’t carry it. Be honest with yourself and get help.
Thus endeth this lesson from my experience.
I know women who aborted because their ob/gyn’s discovered that the babies they carried were afflicted with fatal problems. Perhaps the babies would only suffer if they allowed their pregnancies to run their course. At any rate, they were advised by trusted medical professionals that the best course would be to terminate.
Some women in the same circumstance choose not to terminate, and to see the babies through their short lives to natural death. Both decisions are made in a medical facility, usually a hospital; and the women are served by obstetricians in whom they have confidence.
The deaths of all their babies are utterly tragic. It is not for me to presume to comment on their experience except to express sympathy.
But the loss of some babies may be tragic in a second manner. A medical culture which is dubious about the humanity of the fetus may offer termination as a panacea, and women in such dire places may grasp for any solution which seems least painful–for themselves and their children. Here too, I have only sympathy.
If that culture says we should cut our losses and try again, is that same culture likely to do all it can to seek saving solutions for the babies? If it does not, those losses are doubly tragic.
That’s the problem. If the default of our society is to err on the side of death in order to solve our problems, and women are confronted with life-and-death decisions when they are at their most vulnerable…death becomes the predetermined result.
A third kind of tragedy is the Planned Parenthood vision of abortion-on-demand. This kind of tragedy is wholly different from the others. In that universe, the fetus is probably not human, it’s not a baby. We are not supposed to really care because it’s beside the point. The only point is the sacred right of women to avail themselves of their services, at cost. All other claims are moot.
Then those women, much more so their children, become victims of opportunistic corporate interests and relentless political interests. The best and most well-meaning solution that such a society can offer is death as panacea.
Such a value system is inadequate to meet the needs of real life. In real life, we are faced with unanticipated pressures and less than perfect decisions have to be made. If the overarching goal in the face of the unexpected is to get back to our comfort and our plans, no matter what the damage, those decisions will be brutal.
A Planned Parenthood culture which denies the humanity and the rights of the pre-born cannot recognize the loss that these women feel; it cannot admit that their loss is legitimate.
So imagine being a woman who has an abortion in her past, who isn’t stridently happy about it. Maybe she was OK with it at the time, believing it was necessary though unfortunate, and maybe she has regrets now. Or maybe she was one of those who was advised to terminate by a trusted medical professional, and she has grieved over the loss of a hoped-for child. In either or any case, those women have suffered loss. Yet our abortion- friendly culture cannot allow them to fully acknowledge their loss.
That is tragic. I cannot fathom how women who have suffered through the first kind of tragedy are not outraged at the presumptuous manner by which Planned Parenthood uses their losses to promote itself.
What PP actually does is to establish societal acceptance for, create the need for, then be the primary provider for elective abortion. What many, many abortive women have experienced–that their abortions were tragedies–is not equivalent to what PP does. They are worlds apart.