I posted this mini-rant on my Facebook page, but felt that it needed a little more attention than just a scan-through on someone's feed:
There is so much wrong with this article, I'm not sure where to start. This baby was named, loved, and cared for in that 15 minutes before she died in her parents' arms. If this law were not in place, the baby would be nothing but a bag of hazardous waste & a stain on some hospital sheets. She was treated like the human being that she was, instead of an appendix or a tumor.
I really don't see what the problem is. How is an abortion the better choice, here? I think that the parents were more likely trying to save themselves the emotional trauma, not do what was "best" for the baby. Also, the mother's water broke after the 20-week mark and the baby was born 8 days later... meaning the baby was 21 weeks and some days when she was born. Babies have survived from about that age with medical intervention before!
Here's a crazy idea: how about instead of having a cut-off date for medical intervention in the case of extremely premature infants, how about doctors do everything they can to help these babies, no matter what? Instead of taking life, how about we try to save it? More importantly, why do we even have a cut-off date in the first place?!?
These poor parents should be championing things like premature infant treatment research, instead of looking to blame a law that now protects more babies than ever before.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
So I'd hoped to keep this mostly entertaining and lighthearted... the occasional intense, emotional story now & then to maintain my humanity, but I don't want this to just become a dumping ground for my difficulties & baggage. Yet, in the same way, I don't want to come across as one of those always happy supermoms who make a perfect seven course meal for dinner every single night and had perfectly clean, adorable kids that obey every word out of my mouth, not out of fear, but because I'm the world's awesomest mom and they love me that much! Yes. I can lie through skillfully snapped photos and carefully crafted entries, too. But, well, I don't want to.
At least not that much.
I might have the kids stand in the cleanest part of the living room or dump the laundry off the couch so I can take a picture of them without a crazy cluttered background because that is something I would do anyway.
As a gesture of good faith, here is a photo of my kitchen sink as it looks right now:
|The sprayer hose is curious about what goes on in the lefthand basin.|
Oh, sure... that's not so bad... until you turn around and see this behind you:
|I think that's a partially-eaten Triscuit on the bottom-left.|
Yeah. That's a galvanized metal tub. Full of dirty dishes (not to mention all the other random dishes scattered about the house). Did I mention I don't have a dishwasher? No? Oh, well, I don't have a dishwasher. I wash ever'thang by hand, folks.
In the corner of the tub picture you might have noticed the black bucket of eggs. That is one of three currently sitting on my kitchen floor awaiting deposit into the proper incubators:
|We don't incubate the cat food. It's never worked for us, anyway.|
I think we may have lost most of our first round of birds, probably because while we saved up enough eggs to incubate, the buckets sat on the kitchen floor and got kicked & tripped over by everybody. That and one of the incubators went on the fritz for a short time and got well over 100 degrees. Homemade balut, anyone?
Anyway, the latest in our epic saga of being young, married, with 2 kids so far, and being perpetually poor (I kind of feel like all or most of those points are redundant) is that our car has a blown head gasket. At least, that's what the guys at the garage told me. And yes, they're trustworthy. I'm not going to some Shady Ray's
The quoted price to fix? $1600. (Oh, hang on! I think I've got that floating around in the bottom of my purse!) So we can't afford that, really. I suppose technically, we could, but that would make Verizon, Geico, and the electric company very angry with us. So we found a repair manual for $20, a full gasket set for $200, paid extra to have them sent via 2-day shipping, and bribed a mechanic friend to help The Hubby fix it this afternoon. And by help, I mean "do all the work while The Hubby hands him tools and makes sure they don't lose any bolts."
The bad news is that after pulling a few things apart, he now suspects that the car may actually have a cracked head. They're forging ahead with the repair, as the suspicions were voiced before the entire engine was pulled, so they weren't getting a really good look at it... but I am a pessimistic vehicle fatalist and have already begun looking for a "new" car.
Thus far, I haven't heard back from them. I'm kind of hoping that "no news is good news" but even if they get the car put back together and all that, we're all worried that there will be something else wrong with the car that we didn't anticipate. Overheating several times can really mess with an engine (although, in our defense, we always pulled over right away!). I'm wishing/hoping/praying/dreaming that they'll get it all fixed. Especially since I have an important dentist appointment, which I've already rescheduled once, on Tuesday afternoon.
Although, I have to say that I've been fairly calm throughout this entire ordeal. My husband, too. I told him I wasn't sure if we'd been visited by an Angel of Peace or an Angel of Apathy, but whichever it was, I was glad to not be freaking out about this like I normally would.
We both know that God has us right where He wants us. And I think He may be knocking me down a peg or five, because I'd just recently been feeling pretty secure. We had a small chunk stashed in our bank account, nothing financial was really looming in the horizon, and life was beginning to get calm and routine. There may not be anything too bad about that, but routine can lead to passivity and being too comfortable. Frank Peretti once said in a message which I often listen to when I need a little boost that the way you learn to trust God is by having to. Maybe I've hung in there enough times that things like this aren't as scary as they once were. I still feel apprehension and concern about the situation, but it is not all-consuming like it has been in the past. (Not to mention that a very dear friend has been praying especially for peace for us.)
I've heard some people say that God will sometimes nudge you all the way to the edge of the cliff before pulling you back again. I also like to think that sometimes He'll even push us over the edge completely and catch us right before we hit the bottom. I don't think I've been pushed off the cliff yet, but I do think He's giving me a good, hard look over the edge to help me put things back in the right perspective. His perspective.
Friday, May 25, 2012
I had a little glimpse of Heaven the other day. Not in the poetic, inspirational sense that is gushed about when gazing into the face of one's spouse or seeing the delight of a baby with a new discovery, not the kind that is turned into a Facebook picture with a smarmy quote & an Instagram landscape, but a real glimpse of and desire for Heaven.
I am a part of a small ladies' Bible study group in my area that is made up of women from many walks of life and a few different churches. This week, we just began our new study focusing on the book of 1 Peter. Before we started our study, we sang a couple songs. I sat there singing with all the other ladies, my baby girl on my lap, and in that moment I had my glimpse.
We all hear how Heaven is a bright and beautiful place where we will all be celebrating and praising God for eternity. And to tell you the truth, I always felt that sounded kinda like a letdown. I mean, yes, of course I want to go to Heaven and of course I like to sing praises to the Lord, but... all the time? Without ceasing? No coffee break or nap in between songs?
I always had that little bit of apprehension wondering if Heaven really was as great as it was supposed to be (I'm sure that it must be—it isn't Heaven for nothing, you know). I don't necessarily consider myself a pessimist, maybe more of a realist... and sometimes I will downplay my excitement about things because I would rather be pleasantly surprised than somewhat disappointed.
But I get it now. I felt perfect peace for that short time. We only sang two songs, but during those songs, I felt completely satisfied. I wanted nothing. I needed nothing. I was whole and complete and so totally at peace. I think now that total peace has to be one of the best parts about Heaven.
No matter where you are, you can always think of something to worry about (especially if you're a mother). Whether it's the car needing repairs soon, the house needing work, the bills waiting on the kitchen counter, your husband's foot paining him at work, your own back seizing for no reason, the kids being happy, healthy, and alive, maybe even something like a terrorist attack on your hometown... whatever it is, there's always something that could be worried about.*
Having that brief, Heavenly moment made everything so peaceful and the rest of the world so trivial and unnecessary. I could have sat there forever, singing & praising God. And now, I get Heaven.
*I've always thought that a mother could completely destroy Stephen King in a contest of thinking up macabre situations. I find myself imagining the most convoluted situations wherein my loved ones could be maimed or killed. I don't do it on purpose. I just think about my son going outside to play and then wonder what dangers are there that could be an issue. Then my brain starts to open up the full-to-bursting file drawer labeled "Potential Outdoor Hazards" and I start getting a bit anxious.