Like many of you, my heart is absolutely broken over the recent news of Planned Parenthood.
I have watched each awfully-worse-than-the-previous-one video and felt like the air was being sucked out from my lungs as I did.
Oh...how far the mighty have fallen. The once great nation who's motto was "in God we trust" has so quickly become "God have mercy on us!"
Right. Before. Our. Eyes.
To watch the fourth video of top Planned Parenthood officials discuss their dissection of human fetuses for sale of their individual parts has left me...broken.
Hearing the crack of a tiny skull and the laughter in the room as each limb was pulled one by one...even the exclamation of "its a baby!!!" and "another boy!!!" contradicting their own supposed belief that it's not a baby and nothing but tissue, yet she all but named him in her witch hunt.
I've been thinking a lot about this. Do I boycott the businesses that support such a genocide? Do my purchases really have an impact? Is that merely a response in anger that I'm not strong enough to really carry out and stick with? I mean...Starbucks???
A friend and I were just talking about children being bullied. In her and my family if your non-bullied children stand by silently as one is bullied and does not tell an adult...they get disciplined.
I picture myself standing before God and as if with a smile on my face that I didn't support that...and being reminded that I did. I knowingly supported those businesses (as to not inconvenience myself...) that I knew were avid supporters of Planned Parenthood.
Yes...I know they do good things. But their free pregnancy tests offered and other services to women does not wash their hands of the blood of millions of babies. It's kind of like a defense attorney standing in court, saying how this serial killer and rapist serves the homeless every Saturday. That would leave me scratching my head...but would not leave me with one consideration that indeed his actions were justifiable because he does some good things.
I have lost 3 children. When I say something about our ten children, one of our kids will say "13 you mean..." and every time I look at them confused until they remind me there are 3 waiting for us in Heaven. Oh...the veil between here and there is so thin for them. They talk about it like they can see it. Oh to have faith like a child.
The first pregnancy I was 5 weeks pregnant. The grief was so extreme that Dean took a week off work. There were many days he helped scoop me off the floor and got me into the car and we just drove. To try to find beauty again. The hopes the dreams that died with that precious child.
After Azahria, before going to Africa the first time, we lost another baby. I was over 7 weeks. I will never ever forget waking in the night so many times that I started to cry. And every time I woke, I noticed I was singing "Heaven is the face of a little girl..." by Stephen Curtis Chapman. Finally I begged God to tell me in the morning so I could sleep. I was just stepping into the shower and I collapsed to the floor in sobs. I remembered the night before. And I knew. I knew two things. I was having a little girl. And she was about to see Jesus.
Two days later, with no physical warning at all, I miscarried our baby.
I went to Africa, came home, and prayed, sought medical help etc and was so excited that we were expecting again. I had so many ultrasounds where we saw that strong heart beating. I went to Africa this time for 28 days to adopt our boys and the very first night...I delivered an intact little bubble of a sac with a perfect, tiny, formed 8wk3day fetus inside. Numb. I held that baby for so long. I can still feel the too-bright florescent light in that tiled bathroom in the heart of Africa. I didn't sleep until the sun came up. I laid there numb. And for the next 28 days every night I'd put a pillow in my mouth to dull the sobs as my heart broke more and more about the loss of our child.
The fetus I watched get pulled from limb to limb on the Planned Parenthood video was 11.5 weeks.
I don't comment on politically charged topics. And oh...there are many these days where I simply am quiet. But this is one...I can't. We believe life starts at conception. We fight for life. And I believe this fight goes all the way. It's not enough to shout your beliefs and let someone else pick up the pieces...because let's be honest...if you really believe abortion is a genocide...do you have any idea how many babies would be up for adoption if it ended...? Are you going to step up to the plate and do something?
Courage. Oh how it's missing today. We give awards for courage...to people who simply have not earned them. Yes. I said that. When we named our son's middle name Courage...it had the meaning of standing up. Standing up when it's not easy. Fighting for those who lack a voice. Putting yourself at risk if you must but you do not...sit by silently. When the feelings are gone...you still act. You act because you believe. Courage. Where is it today? Where is mine? I battled with even writing this because I know the backlash! You can unfriend me if you must...at least you know where I stand. I cannot sit by and watch these babies being slaughtered. I will inconvenience myself. I'll support local businesses who fund wounded veterans and foster children's summer camps.
In our house: We. Fight. For. Life.