No Matter How Small

My children do not yet know what abortion means.
I am dreading the day they find out.
They will be heartbroken.
Why would anyone kill their own baby?

I remember when I first found out. I was profoundly saddened and outraged. I remember that for a season, it was the hot topic to debate in speech class. And I also remember when people began to tire of hearing about it, on both sides of the fence.

They were hushed.

I've stayed pretty quiet on issues of today. Not wanting to alienate. Wanting to be understanding. Realizing I don't have everything figured out. Realizing I can't be so black and white.

But in raising my kids, I've also come to re-value when it's time to just speak plainly. To have the courage to say "It's wrong".

It's wrong to kill babies.

Who would have thought it would take courage to make a statement like that?

I think maybe in part because of who "it" was. Who it is. A huge monster that took on the appearance of our friends and sisters and ourselves that we didn't know how to fight.

Why would anyone kill their own baby?
The answers are numerous. Deemed complex.

How must children feel...to get these conflicting messages...children should be invested in...children deserve better...women should get to chose whether or not the humans within live or die....children should be protected....children might be a mistake....children may not be born with the correct genitals....children can't get tattoos or drink till their older....children are mature enough to have their own abortions....children can choose. children can't choose.

The answer my children, your children will hear, will nag at them. It did me.
Their sense of self worth and the worth of their children
Begins to hinge on the answer to the question,

Does your life matter if it inconveniences mine?

Despite the fear, the injustice, the inconvenience

I know I will say, as I have always said
'You child, are a gift. Every child is a gift.'

It is not a choice that should be given to extinguish
It is a murderous evil that has gone largely unchecked
It is vile and sad and horrifying

We are killing ourselves.

Of even more bewilderment to me are the doctors and nurses who kill the babies. They are not the ones who feel trapped or have been left to make this decision on their own. They come to work. They do not have an emotional connection to what is happening. They go home to their own children. Do they take maternity leave? What kind of insane compartmentalizing is happening here?

I remember sitting in "Horton Hears a Who" when Clover was just a few weeks old and found a lump growing in my throat during the rising chant, "A person's a person no matter how small." I wasn't expecting this children's narrative to take such a simple and obvious stand against a mother's right to choose. I don't even know if it was what Dr. Seuss originally had in mind. Yet I cried nonetheless. And then I had these heavy thoughts as I picked up my daughter's carrier and maneuvered through the theater aisle to the exit.

We teach our children not to kill. To be responsible. And then we teach them when it's ok to kill. And that bad people get punished for killing the innocent. But not always. Because sometimes, we are the bad people.

Let me be clear. I am not throwing stones. I was one of the young ones given a choice to swallow a life stopping pill just in case my future was threatened by inopportune timing. I wish I hadn't even had a choice. All I knew as a kid was fear of getting in trouble. Eventually, had I not taken that pill I would have seen on the other side- grace. But I didn't know.

We say "It gets better" to those struggling with gender and identity and sexuality. But why does it get better?

We say it's get better because growing older is half the battle. Usually the older you get you see how life offers the most unexpected twists and turns, and they aren't all bad and they most certainly are not all predictable. We say it gets better because we realize that part of feeling normal and surviving happens when we find our true friends and are accepted by either a nominated family or our biological family. We find community. That's part of the amazing component to making it that the LGBTQ have going for them, they offer an instantaneous, all accepting, far reaching community.

Can't we say to the young teenage mom, 'It gets better'? Can we be ready to offer instantaneous, all accepting community? Do we know how to be there if they chooses to give their child up for adoption? Can we sit in the emotional trenches of parenthood alongside them, can we celebrate the joys with them?

Can we offer legitimate hope to the mother and family swamped by financial stressors, who cannot even begin to imagine how they would go about caring for one more mouth to feed? Can we help continue to guide and encourage them as they struggle to figure it out?

Can we speak with confidence about our God who provides? Who wroughts abundant life from sacrifice? Who redeems time and dreams? Who gently leads the mothers of the young? Who has plans for and loves and knows well both mother and baby and wants to give good gifts to them both?

Can we offer grace? Can we offer hope?

I want to be part of the solution. I do not want to sit idly by. I do not want my kids to find out about this practice of abortion and look at me and wonder if my inaction meant it was not that big of a deal.

We have had teenage and unwanted pregnancies in my family. Quite a few actually. We've had a few such pregnancies in our church community too. I wonder as I sit here reflecting if we have done enough? Baby showers and hand me downs are helpful, but are we really helping beyond the superficial?

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The article below by Ann Voskamp outlines a great way to be part of a proactive effort to support all human beings, whether in-utero or out.

http://www.aholyexperience.com/2015/08/an-honest-conversation-about-abortion-that-asks-us-not-to-turn-away-from-anyone-the-emmaus-option/

Spilled Milk

When my mind is fixed fully on Him

With space to allow us, God and I, 

To sit in silence

To pause, to breathe

I find the harder parts of child growing

Cannot weaken my resolve

...But I'm still learning 

See yesterday, the milk spilled.

So I sent daggers from my eyes 

To silence what was left of their joy

Subconscious expectations 

Daily invade my thoughts 

And weigh heavily on us both

Draped-gloom on tiny shoulders 

But He's creating a buffer for them

Around my old heart with His new 

He is stitching space to be

For when my mind and heart and strength are fixed

He supplies

My God supplies all of my needs

Not my children, they are free

It is my God

Come my darlings, 

Move freely around me despite the cup on the table ledge 

Because spilled milk, 

Really isn't so bad.

Pour out the cup that is grace-laced love 

Share in its abundance

For it's what grows the children up strong

It's what grows us up strong too

If We Never Call On Grace

If we never call on grace

To pool in opened wounds

To run down open hands

To fill up wearied eyes

And patch up broken hearts

Grace for self

Grace for others

Grace for the way we see ourselves

And the way you see us

And the way we see you

If we never call on grace

We are a bleeding mess

You say disgusting

Yes, sometimes I am

I have never claimed to be more or less

Then a bloody mess

Did spewing shame satisfy? 

More words 

Will not stop the blood from draining from my face

Won't help the blood rushing to yours

Sometimes I don't know where to go from here

The impossible way forward

Grace for you

From me

From Him

To stop up your mouth and plug my ears 

While my eyes still see

And my hands still stretch

In grace 

And there's enough for us both

And I am trying

...'Because grace makes beauty
Out of ugly things'

Grace by U2

http://youtu.be/n4QvtXqNq0Y

Glass

its a schoolday, we have things to do
but play a little longer
i wasn't planning on breaking that glass
but it wasn't my fault ...or at least all my fault
glass perched precariously on a base too small
the others balanced
not knowing behind closed doors the emergency pending
not knowing a cupboard that had been opened hundreds of times before
would be the one time to let the glass fall
the glass broke
i took the brunt
i stayed barefoot in the kitchen sweeping up the remains
yelling at the children to stay back
to go get their shoes on
but i remain barefoot, i can't leave the pile i've patiently swept
can't risk my kids walking in the kitchen
risk them stepping on an un-found piece
even though i've warned them to stay away
thankful for the light
artificial and real
helping me catch the glint of lighted up glass
glass can go anywhere
humorous, almost, to see bits of it stuck in our bananas on the counter
it doesn't belong there
in the moment, you use what you can to contain an accident
i grab a business card among the ruins on the counter
and begin tapping and scraping the crystals into a line
not what i thought i'd be doing
i was just trying to put dishes away
i step on a small piece but it can't penetrate, my skin is tougher there, calloused
but minuscule splinters fell beneath my shirt
too close to places unshielded, most tender
pinpricks hurting and scratching with each movement though try as i might to shake myself free
my daughter wants to dance in the kitchen
in barefeet and ribbons she twirls in because to her blind eye the threat is gone, the accident contained
but i know better
it will take time before one can run freely through this room of the house again
when glass breaks, the scene changes
even after each piece is gone, ground down to fine powder
it will never really disappear
clinging to bristles on our broom
nestled in our grout and tile cracks
we will wear it on our feet, on my knees
as i kneel to sweep up what i can
as i cook and clean in the years to come
as my daughter dances in the kitchen
glass remains

Awaken

Shut

Tight
Eye lids crunch
Hurt arms clutch
Shame

Shapes

Move
Beneath the lids
Beyond in shadows
Dim

Bump

Crash

They hurt and yet
They stumble blinded
Too

Cry 

Out
Try to squint
Eyes yell quit
Death

Light 

Streams 
Redemptive work

This seeing hurts

Grace

Abrasive
Blinding

Glaring

Jarring

More
Pain 

Tempers raise 

While light reclaims

Dark

Re-
Focus. 

Colors
Flood
Sharpened pain
And joy; Sustained
Love

Brave
Lens
Meets the gaze
Of the todays
Hope

Light
Spills 
And light reflects

Light reflects
Life 

Awake

weather watchers

for my mama, thank you for teaching me to see our home through your eyes

my family, on my mother's side, we are weather watchers. we storm chase with the best of them. straining daily to see spun cotton in the timeless desert blue. we are loyal to the chance of rain the way my father remains loyal to the team. talking statistics and that one great snowfall years ago.

i am teaching the art to my daughters. we don't use words like nimbus or cumulus, but we've come to know them. we can anticipate their moods. this farmers' intuition, traveling across time and land from beyond our southmost borders, to the adobe walls that framed my mother's days. weather wisdom passed down through my grandfather. see him there tending to the cherry trees.

come and listen.

there's the wispy and wizened tendrils of hair-clouds that stretch across fall to early spring. in this hemisphere, the sky looks colder than she actually feels.

in the mornings, we check west. if ocean-wave-clouds possessively hover over that mountain range, we know. it's the calm before the wind storm. the unrelenting wind that has italicized our trees.

sometimes a flock of clouds migrate across our large expanse of sky; the shape shifters. the ones whom reflect what the imagination projects. the ones the children love.

we hit and miss with thunder-clouds. for them, we look east. the gang gathers together, imposing, dark and roaring. yet despite their day-long agitation, patience strained by blistering sun, they can be dissuaded. western winds breathe deep, then blow. dismayed, their temper cools. below the eastern deck sulkily they return.

but sometimes, the humid stress compounds. the gang refuses to disarm. it's Westside Story played out in the skies! these are the best of times, and the girls and i and my mother and sisters are ringside, anticipating the fight. the sharks and the jets begin their dance, round and round the ring on tippy toes, sinews flexed and ready. when suddenly the tense calm erupts. the clash! the rumble! bernstein would be proud!

i have come to realize our scrappy brawls pale in comparison to the heavy weight fights of the further east, but for us, it is five-star entertainment all the same.

...this drought. it beckons the imposters. lock-jawed and tightfisted, they tease across the sky.  their saunter invites onlookers but don't be taken in. precipitate they will not. no sense wasting hope or time.

a desert's thirst is rarely quenched, but to withhold even a drop this long has cracked our lips and dried our imaginations. we cry out over days and weeks and months and years. and God will send them, though we know not when. and they will come. in phalanx formation they will block the circle of the sun.  they will fill in the valley gap. and they will rain. and they will snow. grace-filled clouds...our relief. and our landscape will be transformed! her capabilities and ours regenerated from sight to sound to smell to taste!

it is with any of these characters, A-list or not, will give a stellar performance come sundown. there is no equating what pictures in our skies when the colors begin to mingle on the clouds and on the earth. our sunset filter. unparalleled beauty.

we live about as far west as you can go on this great northern continent, our sky lives above a patch of sandy ocean-less soil. our concrete river and man made pond often lack the reserve to fill our sky and yet-

the clouds, they've been as faithful to my family as we have to them. our unobtrusive mediator, our common denominator. maybe they will become the same to you.

for one but has to ask, what's the weather? to unite our gaze upward and beyond.