There are times when I know what I should write and just don’t do it. This one has been in my head and in various shapes and forms on my computer – in my notebooks – in my journals for years. I walk away. I don’t write. Don’t even pick up a piece of paper. Complete shut down. But I have never been able shut down the Spirit that whispers one word: write.
I hate that.
Not really. I hate that at this point in my life, I am still rebellious and do not trust Him totally. In my life, I have often run the opposite way when I see the path I’m supposed to walk. The Light always shows me the path, but it looks bumpy. It’s not paved. It isn’t appealing. As far as I can see, there are all sorts of brambles and rocks to navigate – not to mention, the swirling storm that is creating a muddy mess. If it is a crummy path to begin with why would I choose to travel that way? Much easier to walk the path that is already paved and well traveled. Right?
I do not always have enough faith…even now.
Today I saw another of the Planned Parent videos was released. My finger hovered, and then I scrolled on through the feed. I can not force myself to watch them. Babies feel pain during abortions. They hear things. They feel things.
Shortly after, I saw one of those memes that continuously circulate on FB. It caught me, held me, taunted me, and until I went back and found it again. I don’t know who this lady is, but underneath it in the comments section, there were all sorts of derrogatory names and hate-filled rants. Tears swirled, and I walked away again. In my heart, I begin that ancient process of mourning all over again. I pull my hair. I cry. I fall on my broken knees. The words attached to the photo etch across my mind, Two words carve themselves deeply – “baby-killer”.
It is my face I see now.
My coming of age years flash like a match within my mind. A bright illumination that – for a second – lights every emotion – every scent – every song sung in my memory banks. However, the match itself has no substance within itself to continue to flame unless something else is added as kindling. It is an illusion, and yet, for that nano-second, it’s brightness eclipses the present in which I live.
Vietnam. Baby-killers. Abortion.
Three words twined together. Vietnam. A war that distracted us from another war that was beginning to erupt. Wars kill all within its path…men, women, babies, races, cultures,religion…souls. Doesn’t matter. It is violent, ugly, raw. A degradation of all that is un-holy in this world. The weapons of war are legions and leave visible and invisible wounds. Tough veterans – veterans who sacrificed everything to serve their country – often return to the taunts of being “baby-killers”. Inadvertently or not, war does kill those who hold the most potential – babies. Yet – there are wars – spiritual wars – that wage beneath the conscience level of our existence. Wars that leave a different type of veteran. In the hallways of schools and universities, comfy homes and churches, congress and courtrooms, a more damaging spiritual war waged during the early 70’s. A war that ensured a similar outcome. However, this class of people are rarely labeled with any term even though they fully embody one term in particular…”baby-killer”.
I know. I am one of them.
I am in the company of 55 million others in this country who have chosen to sacrifice the blessing of tiny lives upon the altar of our own desires. It makes me cringe as I write that number and see corresponding dates in my head. I chose this road more than once It was a time of deception. A time when the prodigal lived in me. A time when – like King David – my will was supreme. A time when I did not recognize spiritual warfare for what it was. Over and over, by doctors, college professors, newspapers, professionals – the world said it was simply a fetus – not a baby, a mass of cells – not a baby, a hindrance – not a baby, an encumbrance – not a baby. Abortion was simply a procedure that eliminated so many problems. It was a paved road – wide and well-traveled. A much easier road to travel than the rough, ugly, little path that curved to the side.
Like Eve who came before me, I have listened to those voices. – especially when they supported what I wanted. It was safe. It was legal. It was logical. It was okay according to the knowledgeable leaders of the world. If I have learned anything in this life, it is that I can justify ANYTHING. I can find a reason, a logic, a science, a reputable source that says it is okay to do what I want instead of doing what My LORD thinks I should. How often have I chosen the wrong path because I did not put my faith in Him and His path? How often have I missed the wisdom and discernment that I could have learned if I had only trusted to walk the path He saw for me?
Writing about this has been a stumbling block for about nine months. Interesting coincidence, don’t you think? Then again ~ I don’t believe in “coincidences”. Instead, I believe – that once again – My Father is driving one more point home into my soul. Then I notice one more holy “coincidence”. I realize that it was almost exactly 45 years ago that I was standing at a juncture. A college campus phone booth. Beginning of a fall session art class. My fingers slipping on the wet coins as rain soaked me and my books. Back then, I did not choose the path “less traveled by”. The war had already legally begun in New York City. Just an overnight trip. 12 hours up. 12 hours back. No one would know. The doctor set it up. The boyfriend, a best friend couple, money scavenged from all our pockets and jobs stuffed in an envelope and a week later drove into the darkness.
They sang and listened to music. Sitting in the corner, I cried and prayed within myself. Prayed for my parents never to know. Prayed that I wouldn’t die. Shook when I realized the irony of that prayer for my baby. I sunk further into the corner until I walked up the stairs to admitting – alone.
Soon, that war came to the whole country. Such a wide privileged road to walk into war.
I accepted that infamous 70’s label that fall day. I became a baby killer. I justified myself as I walked that path several more times. I blocked my ears from the small still voice that whispered, over and over – “Trust Me”. Each time, I cried, but walked the privileged path. It was so easy. No driving necessary. Take the bus. Catch a ride. Walk the road and life goes on as I wanted.
I repented. I fell to my knees. I mourned. For myself – for my babies. Even though, I destroyed what He had created. Even though, I despised myself. Even though, I railed at Him for making me choose. Like King David, I did not trust Him enough in my period of testing. I can find logical excuses for why this continued to happen even with birth control, but in reality – I put myself on this road of testing. There are two trees in the Garden for a reason.
The pacifists who screamed at the 70’s rallies about the killing taking place overseas, supported my decision to kill. The politicians, the clerical hierarchy, the educated professors who also decried war, supported this selective killing. The logic of it still escapes me.
“Thou shalt not kill.”
Four simple words. Even as I was “waging war” on that which was weaker than me. Even as I killed a living being, created and sanctified in His image. Even as I became a “baby-killer” in every sense of the word, David’s words reappeared in my live.
“I — to God I call, and Jehovah saveth me.” Ps 55:16
Wars happen – physically and spiritually. We mourn. We are comforted. And slowly in our time – instantly in His – we start to redeem what war has destroyed. Rabbi Jonathan Cahn recently said, “Repentance leads to revival.” True repentance also leads eventually to wisdom and discernment. Too often, in our worldly wisdom. we choose a very ugly path to walk. Some of us go to jail. Some of us carry the burden of painful wisdom. But as His grace, His mercy, and His love sinks into our molecular bodies, we slowly realize that we have been washed clean while He holds our babies cradled in His arms. He has named them for us and teaches them the things He wanted us to teach them. I weep because I missed that blessing. I weep because I threw away so many gifts before I fell on my knees one night while watching a beautiful sunset from my bedroom window.
And even though my sins have been wiped away through Christ’s sacrifice, I weep again. But this time, I weep for the world still at war. I weep for generations of brilliant babies bearing tremendous gifts that have been lost to this world. For the mothers who, right now hear the echoes of the world instead of the clear voice of His love.
“May those who mourn be comforted. May those who mourn…be comforted.”
The time of grace is almost complete.
3″Blessed by The Spirit* are the poor, because theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.
4Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.
5Blessed are they who are meek, for they will inherit the earth.
6Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
7Blessed are they who show mercy, for mercies will be upon them.
8Blessed are those who are pure in their hearts, for they shall see God.
9Blessed are they who make peace, for they will be called the children of God.” ~ Matt 5:1-9
[Google images/FB meme]