Margaret Sanger, I wish you could get a slobbery hug from our "infant member" who you think would be better off not born

I had a whole blog written about a funeral I attended last week of a baby boy, two weeks away from his first birthday.  I was almost to the end of writing it when I had to lay down to take a nap with Ben.  

I love sleeping with toddlers, and I always have.  Once they finally get to sleep (!), it is pure joy.  This time it was out of necessity, as Ben had, for the fifth time in three days, been laid down for his nap and smeared poo all over the crib, the guestbed, himself, and anything else he could get his smeary hands on.  He had just done it about an hour earlier after lunch, sitting in his little portable seat.  “UH!” he had yelled at me, holding up a handful.  Ugh.  

The boys took the pack-n-play out to scrub it, I scrubbed Little Wild Man, and then I plopped him down on the bed and told him we were taking a nap.  As this is a fairly new event, he was unconvinced.  After several impressive wrestling moves on my part, he finally calmed down.  

Ben loves singing.  He always has a little tune going, whether he is waiting to eat or walking around in the dirt or sitting in the stroller.  Sometimes he sings himself to sleep.  So it was no surprise that he settled into a song.  “Memooooooomeeeee” as he explored my face with his little finger and concluded by sticking his tiny, chubby finger in my nose.  I controlled my laughter and watched his face from my squinty, pretending-to-be-asleep eyes.  

I thought of mothers in Syria and Iraq, having to choose which children to take with them as they flee from ISIS.  How they couldn’t imagine the luxury of laying in a comfortable bed in safety with their child.  DId you know a Syrian child becomes a refugee every thirty seconds?  And over half the country has been displaced as of this very moment.  

The UN states the wretchedly obvious this past week: "In the shadow of ISIS, women and girls are at risk and under assault at every point of their lives."

I thought of the current politics over abortion, the blindness that remains when 887 babies are murdered daily by Planned Parenthood alone, every 97 seconds. Half of all black babies are aborted.  I thought about those lives as I stared at Ben’s eyelashes, slowly drooping.  The lives and potential of over 320 THOUSAND lives last year.  How did we come to this?  

I hate telling my children about the current state of the world.  I hate telling them that these things actually happen.  As much as I hate hearing another thief being beat to a pulp again yesterday at our neighbor’s house, calling the police so that they didn’t kill him, and he only about 14 years old, as much as I hate them hearing those horrible sounds of human agony, I can tell them that these people have not seen a better way, that justice and safety are part of their reality.  But my compassion falls short when I tell them what we do in our own country because it defies logic.  I feel compassion that these people are blind to the very science they espouse, but my compassion falters after that.  Did you know that the US is among only six nations that allows elective abortion after 20 weeks?  And those nations include North Korea and China?  Is this what we call progress?

I pray for Allistaire, still fighting for her little life, most of it having been spent in children's cancer wards.  Her leukemia showed up when she was just a little bit older than Ben is now.  My girls rarely miss a day of praying for her.  

I know I cannot fix all the world’s problems.  So I just ask you, God, what should I do?  What should be my response?  If you are sovereign over all things, including where I am from and the abundance you have blessed us with, what kind of steward do you want me to be?  I know I cannot save everyone.  My part feels so small.  But faithfulness and obedience are not small.  I want to be faithful with what you have entrusted to me.

I think of the lie that led us to our current state of abortion—the lie that I have a right to my body and my life.  It is about me, after all.  The lie that I will waste my life with these children, when in fact God’s truth that children are a blessing has set me free from just pursuing self.  I marvel at the founder of Planned Parenthood’s quote,

 "The most merciful thing that a large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it." 

Margaret Sanger, Women and the New Race 

(Eugenics Publ. Co., 1920, 1923)

Well, I suppose if it’s all about us and life is valued or devalued solely based on how much of a bother it is to the rest of us, then you would be right, Margaret Sanger.   Fortunately, such is simply not the case!  You need to see my older kids fighting over who gets to hold the "infant member!"  Jake has said twice in the last days, "Ben, what would we do without you?!  We can't imagine you not in our family!"  Yes, agrees Carter, "What would we do with all our free time?!"  :) 

God, in His kindness, has allowed us to live among the poor.  I can still get calloused, even after this long.  But praise God for renewed enthusiasm to embrace our current situation and the people who do come for help.  It is a privilege to have enough to be asked for help. 

A lady came to our gate whom I had met about eight years earlier, when we lived in this town before moving to the village.  She had come with a baby who had cerebral palsy and was stiff and unable to do much of anything.  At that time, I had admired this mama so much for taking care of this little one in the village with no support.  Even in America, anyone would see this as a difficult life.  Last week when she came, she was carrying a now-10-year-old Neema, still stiff and barely able to do anything.  She was asking me for a stroller, as she said her back hurt from carrying Neema around.  Well, yes, I should say so—I tried to picture hauling Megan around everywhere.  Impossible.  Praise GOD, we had an umbrella stroller that she could have to push her in.  

That is not generosity, by the way.  That is simply giving what I didn’t need anymore.  Generosity implies parting with something you would rather keep.  But God cares for that mama and Neema, whose name means “Grace,” and I want to be Jesus with skin on for her.  

My conclusion, as I laid in bed with my gorgeous tiny boy, thinking about little Isaac who we buried just a couple days earlier, was just to be joyfully faithful right where he has put me.  Always be asking what He would have me do.  Always remember that being a wife and mother is the most glorious of occupations, and one that literally can change the world.  Always make room for others.  There is enough.  

Enough to share.

Enough time for what He’s given me.

Enough wisdom from His treasury full.

Enough grace for our days.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!  

How unsearchable are His judgements and decisions and how 

unfathomable and untraceable are His ways!  

For who has known the mind of the Lord, 

or who has been His counselor?  

Or who has first given to Him that it would be paid back to him? 

  For from Him all things originate 

and through Him 

all things live and exist

 and to Him are all things directed. 

  To Him be glory and honor forever!

Romans 11:33-36, Amplified Bible