GodSpeak

I tell my children that taking a stand for what you believe in is essential despite the consequences. I believe God puts certain longings in our hearts that we must pay special attention to. Sometimes, those longings are easy to spot and easy to heed. Other times, the message is complex and requires great strength of character to take on.

Throughout the Bible, God calls his people to take on seemingly insurmountable obstacles - David and Goliath, Moses parting the red sea, Noah and the ark, Jonah in the belly of the whale, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego thrown in the fire. Mary was asked to bear a child even though she was unwed.  

All of these stories have two things in common. The first is that these mere mortals could not accomplish any of these tasks without God's divine intervention. The second is that they all said, "Yes." Jonah had to be helped to say yes, but he eventually came around and went on to follow God's calling.

Each of these stories was pertinent to the times - the obstacles were seen as insurmountable and relevant to the day. For instance, an unwed pregnant mother would not appear to be a considerable obstacle today. Yet, even today, we face obstacles that still test our faith and call us to rely on God to see us through. Christians are being thrown into the proverbial fire of our time when we stand on our faith against abortion.  

I'm sure I will be thrown into the fire for writing this piece - but I must write it because I feel called to do so.  

I prayed long and hard about what to say and how to say it. I asked God to direct my words. I asked God to speak through me to whoever needs to hear what I will say. This story will reach the people it needs to reach and connect with the people it needs to touch.  

This past week there was a disturbing news story all over the television and the internet concerning the selling of unborn babies' body parts. I could use the word fetus - as if that is somehow more palatable, but the pieces are human and fully developed. In a humane world, those parts would be described as human and not fetal (like a fetal pig, for instance). In any case, I forced myself to watch the gruesome video of the woman peddling body parts over her fancy dinner as if they were auto parts. The unconscionable lack of emotion and indifference for what she was trafficking was genuinely mind-boggling and completely indefensible. Watching that video made me cry out to God and beg Him to guide me to speak out against this wickedness.

God's timing is perfect, isn't it? I don't believe in coincidences. So, I know that opening my grandmother's old jewelry box just a few days after I cried out to Him was His way of answering me. Today, when I opened the jewelry box to look for a necklace, the mirror fell off the inside of the box as it has been prone to do because it's so old. As the mirror fell, it revealed an ultrasound I had placed in the box 26 years ago. It was dated February 6, 1989.  

I remember that ultrasound because I was so excited to hear my baby's heart beating. The technician stamped the ultrasound with my baby's age: eight weeks and four days old. I asked for a copy and put it in my jewelry box when I got home - a special place for my special baby.  

Today, I was thirty-one again, remembering the day that this precious life ended. My fingers feel almost frozen right now. What do I say next? How do I put into words the waves of emotion that still crash over me? I can't. I can't convey to the reader the awfulness of listening to the doctor's clinical voice telling me the baby is gone in the blink of an eye - just a few weeks after I watched my baby's heart beating strongly. His voice sounded like it was coming from the far end of a tunnel..." skull cap might still be intact. I'll have to perform a D&C to evacuate the incomplete miscarriage." I remember running out of his office, jumping in my car, and driving for hours without a destination - feeling completely helpless, hopeless, and empty.

Going through a miscarriage is tough enough with people around you, but when it's just you, it weighs you down and burdens you in ways I cannot explain. It was just me with my misery. My husband didn't understand the tremendous loss I was experiencing, and he expected me to get over it quickly. We had a beautiful two-year-old, Jennifer, so he kept telling me I should focus on her and move on. He kept assuring me that we'd have another child soon.

That miscarriage was followed by four more over five years. I didn't think that I would ever have another child. I considered Jennifer a true miracle considering my history. When I became pregnant with Katie, I assumed the pregnancy would end like all the others. Carrying her to full-term was my second miracle. Then, I got pregnant one more time and lost that baby too. Six miscarriages were enough for me. Bill and I decided to adopt children to grow our family.  

I didn't know at the time that the miscarriages would become something of a catapult for me. I didn't realize that the loss I experienced would be my walk through the fire so that I could give voice to the voiceless. I didn't know God would use my pain to strengthen me.  

I can tell you, though, that I know now why God placed this heartache in my life. I know that God was preparing me for a battle. I understand that this battle doesn't require super-human strength, but it does require super-human resolve. It requires super-human understanding and forgiveness.  

What is the battle? I know that God has called me to speak out against the atrocity of abortion. I know that it is imperative that I speak out in a way that honors Him. I know I cannot just sit back and watch the horror of the trafficking of baby parts and do nothing. I know I cannot have a cavalier attitude about the tremendous loss of human potential that occurs through abortion. I cannot condemn women who see abortion as the only alternative. I am asking God to direct my path. I am asking God to speak to me and through me. I ask that He open the right doors and closes the wrong ones. I know that this is my walk of faith through the fire, into the belly of the whale, to face the Goliath of our time. 

What Not to Wear

I know that I sometimes don't really consider what I have on before I leave the house. One morning, when I had a respectable job that required me to do interviews, I inadvertently put on two right shoes (one black and one dark blue). It wasn't until I crossed my legs during an interview that I realized my folly.  It appeared that I had two right feet, and the color difference in the light was quite noticeable. My colleague, who was doing the interviews with me, noticed my shoes at the same time, and we both burst out laughing. I can't imagine what went through the mind of the poor candidate we were interviewing. We had to explain to her my propensity to be clothing challenged. The interview deteriorated from there, and we ended up taking the interviewee to lunch (and hiring her).   

Fast forward a few years: I not only live on a farm, but I work at a worm farm, so why would I dress up to go outside to feed the livestock or go to work? A ratty pair of jeans or shorts with an old tee shirt suit me just fine. Bill, a PE teacher, doesn't dress up much either.  Little did we know how much embarrassment we must have brought our children because they entered us in a contest to win a $5,000 wardrobe - each!

Had we known we'd been entered in the worst dressed couples contest, we may have made a more conscious effort to adorn ourselves in the sneakers with the most holes in them.  Maybe we would have worn matching armpit stained tee shirts. I have to say, I was wondering why our children suddenly took such a great interest in photography.  Often they would snap pictures of the two of us while we were out herding goats.  Sometimes, I'd hear the shutter click when Bill and I were on our way to estate sales. For at least a week, it wasn't unusual to find one of the children hiding behind a wall trying to sneak a picture of us in our casual attire. I had no idea what they were up to, but I was too busy to really give it much thought. I had goats to deliver and worms to feed, after all.

The photo sessions ended as abruptly as they started, and I completely forgot about my children's strange behavior until the day the letter arrived.  The message came from the TV show, "What Not to Wear." It said something like this: Congratulations, you have made it to the ten finalists in the "What Not to Wear" worst dressed couples contest.  

I was devastated! How could my own children be so insensitive! No wonder they were intent on snapping covert pictures - the insolent guttersnipes (it took me a long time to find that word). After calming down, I took an inventory of what I was wearing as I stood by my mailbox.   No shoes, an oversized nightshirt with "Merry Christmas" on the front (it was July) and no undergarments. At that moment, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe my children had a point. 

As I made my way into the house, I read the rest of the letter: Should the two of you make it into the top three finalists, you and your wardrobe will be flown to New York City where our What Not to Wear staff will make the final decision on which couple will be given a $10,000 shopping spree and a complete makeover.  

Did I call my children guttersnipes? I was mistaken - after all, they were only trying to assist their poor clothing-challenged parents. As soon as I got into the house, I immediately did a google search of What Not to Wear's worst-dressed couples. From what I could find, we had some stiff competition; a leather-clad duster duo with purple hair, a pair of hippie throwbacks in camo, and two punk rockers. I was not concerned, though. After all, thanks to our little cherubs, I was photographed barefoot in my daisy duke shorts and their dad in his ripped shorts with his ever-present white crew socks. Admittedly, we had a good shot at making it to the final three.  

Sadly, we didn't make it. I don't even know who won the contest - although my vote was for the hippies in camo. To this day, I wonder what would have happened had we won. Would I be leaving the house in Avalon tee-shirts to tend to the worms? Would Bill be braving middle school PE in Milo designer shorts? Would I long for my University of Kentucky nightshirt and pink polka dot undies? Would I never see my husband's farmer's tan again?  

I guess these questions will haunt me forever...