6 A.M.

I own a city park. If we were playing Two Truths and a Lie, you would think that was the lie.

It's not always mine. Sometimes it belongs to the runners in colorful jackets, to gossipy mamas pushing strollers. To canoodling teenagers and to German Shepherds.

But it's mine right now, in the cold, quiet darkness just before the sunrise.

I'm  sitting in a balcony, listening to a symphony. The melody of water pouring over rocks just to my left. The harmony in the middle and the low, steady notes from the section at the end. My symphony has been playing for years and years, eroding its instruments a little, but never growing tired. It has had many, many visitors. People walk past, silhouettes on the shining curve of the bridge. Tourists lean over the rails and applaud. Businessmen hurry on without a glance. Still, my symphony plays, heedless of encores and of silence.

Now, in the glow of the lanterns, the river glimmers faintly. I'm walking down a path, past crumpled flowers on sticks. It's cold- I'm going to have to leave my park soon. But I want to get just a little closer to the water.

Water is mysterious.

The sky is lightening. Faint spots of light blue in the deep, dark blue over the bridge. And I can see the rocks more clearly. Great rugged boulders and smaller ones, piled up by giants who once tried to block the onslaught of the falls. The empty place in the middle, proof that they gave it up as a bad job. And the tiny ripple of a mini-fall running through the giving-up place.

A bird flies past, wings extended, just past my head- as though it's used to me, or I'm invisible. And now the sky is a mixture of light gray-blue and dark gray-blue, clouds rushing behind black, brushy treetops.

The air is brighter, and ducks are cavorting in the water.

I look up, and I'm surprised by pink streaks of sunrise. It looks like God painted the clouds a moment ago, while I was typing. I didn't catch the exact moment of transformation.

This is my place of peace. I feel that if I could live here, I'd be a better person. But I can take a little bit of it back with me to my mundane, working world. Maybe just the knowledge that God loves me enough to show it to me. I am grateful.

A Terrible Anniversary and a Joyful One

I was so happy all day today. My sister had a baby boy. My first little nephew. I'm doubly an aunt.

It was a great day to bring life into the world, because it's the 42nd anniversary of Roe v. Wade- a law that caused many, many helpless little babies to lose theirs. I feel like every mother should have her baby on this day. I feel like the hospitals should be crowded and overflowing, halls echoing with tiny cries and joyful conversations, celebrations of life.

While I'd like to write a whole post about my little nephew (even though I haven't made his acquaintance yet), I don't think his privacy-loving parents would appreciate it. So I'm going to post a couple things I wrote about abortion (on a mostly liberal writing site) a while ago, instead.
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It's Not Your Law, Jane Roe

This is a true story about a lie.

In 1969, Norma McCorvey found out that she was pregnant for the third time. She was only 21, and homeless. Her other two children had been adopted, and she knew she couldn't parent this child either.

Norma didn't have much education. She didn't even understand what abortion was. When someone told her that it was the way to stop a pregnancy, she drove to a clinic, but it had been shut down. Abortions were illegal in Texas at the time.

So, she was referred to Sarah Weddington and Linda Coffee. Apparently, one of Norma's friends thought that two new lawyers would be able to help her. That's when the whole fabrication began. Sarah and Linda changed Norma's name in the affidavit they gave her to sign (to Jane Roe). They changed her story, claiming that she was raped. They made her the poster child for women who weren't allowed to abort their babies.

Norma never read the affidavit. She never appeared in court. She never even had an abortion.

In 1973, with the companion case Doe v. Bolton (which did not define the term "health" when saying that an abortion is legal in any case where the life or health of the mother is affected) Roe v. Wade made abortion accessible to any woman through the ninth month of pregnancy for ANY reason.

Norma went on to work in abortion clinics, but later, she became a Catholic and pro-life. In her book Won by Love, she describes the time when she saw a fetal development poster. She says, "It dawned on me... that's a baby." And she only has guilt over "her law."

I just want to put my arm around "Jane Roe" and tell her.. it wasn't your law. Her heart is hurting.. because she was manipulated. And this manipulation didn't stop with her.

Enslaving Right

It is, after all, the land of the free. So women must be free to lose their freedom.

They were told that they had a glorious right to "choose" and now, they only wish that they hadn't chosen. They divide their history into Before and After. They cry when they see babies on T.V.

I have been in a room with women who were talking about their abortions. Their pain, their shame. Have you? You know, you might want to actually talk to a post-abortive woman (about her abortion), before you go on and on about how liberating it is that women don't have to stay pregnant anymore. You might just want to fact-check that.

Maybe look into Planned Parenthood a little bit. Read up on their greed, on the pressure that is put on a woman to have an abortion once she first starts inquiring about it. On the way defective birth control has been distributed to high school students to create more lucrative abortions. On the women who have died because of malpractice.

Maybe consider the women who don't even have a choice.

I'm training to volunteer at a pregnancy medical center. We give women and girls accurate information and counseling about their options (unlike the abortion clinic right next door). We also offer free pregnancy tests, limited free ultrasounds, information about adoption, and referrals to an in-home nurse program when they need help caring for their babies. We help women heal from their abortions when they decide to abort their babies anyway.

In the past few days, I've heard some sad stories. Some girls (and women) don't get to choose. They have parents who don't want to take care of the babies (when the girls aren't ready to be moms). They have boyfriends who don't want to support the babies. They have other relatives who are pressuring them to abort (even when they don't want to). Or they simply feel like they have absolutely no one to help, and no other options.

They aren't told the truth about fetal development (which is a continuous process from the time of fertilization). They aren't told about adoption (a loving decision that allows a child to LIVE). They don't have a "choice".

Like Jane Roe. They're manipulated, and left with a hurting heart.

I was reading Lifenews.com a few months ago and just realized that I couldn't just talk
about abortion. I had to do something. But whatever I can do- cleaning the building, welcoming clients, counseling pregnant women- it's so small in the face of all of this.

If you're pregnant, I want you to know that abortion is not your only choice. Wherever you live, there are people who care about you, and will help you. Just Google crisis pregnancy center, or pregnancy medical center. Don't let people talk you into doing something you don't want to do.

Adoption is not shameful. If you're not ready to be a parent, it is the most loving thing you can do for your child, as well as bringing joy to the adoptive parents.

If you're not pregnant, and you just think that abortion is wonderful, I'm here to tell you that it is not. And that's not just my opinion. Do your research- I've done mine.

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It actually feels horrid to talk about this on the day my precious nephew was born. But there it is. My sister is celebrating her wonderful gift; other women are throwing theirs away. Some without understanding, some with no one to tell them the truth. Some because they're forced to. On a terrible anniversary and a joyful one, I don't know how to not talk about it.

Insignificant Life

I don't know how I got to this place.

 

And really, my job is almost ideal. I have a laid-back boss who jokes around with me and doesn't criticize. I'm paid as much as I could expect to be paid without a degree. I have benefits, I can work overtime if I feel like it. I don't have to talk to customers.  

Still, I'm ashamed of what I do right now. Since I've said all of that, I'll just tell you. I push mops and brooms around. Dust, and vacuum under the desks of successful people. I talk to engineers and managers about politics and religion so they won't think I'm stupid, standing there with a Swiffer in my hand. They're probably not going to realize, as I'm cleaning water fountains, that I tutored my college classmates in math, or that I can type and figure out complicated Excel functions.

I think I'm above it, even though I chose it.

I've been listening to Librivox books while I work (one perk of doing mindless things). I decided to listen to all of the books I loved when I was little- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, The Enchanted Castle. Last week, Little Women and Little Men. Today I finished Anne of Green Gables.

I'm listening to answer one question. What made me love this book- what makes me love it still?

It's research for my own book-of-the-future.

I have a different answer for each one. Lewis Carroll is so witty. I laugh at his word plays and ridiculous characters, but I also see the wisdom behind their funny dialogue. E. Nesbit is a plot master. I can't drag myself away from her books- the stories are faded in my memory, so I'm listening to them as brand new, and each twist is fascinating. I have to find out what happens next. Louisa May Alcott's strong point is characterization. Her little women and little men are unique and well-rounded. I feel like she really understands men- and that's not easy. When I listen to Laurie talking, or Dan in Little Men, I think- yeah, he's realistic. He's not talking like a girl would. He's talking like a guy would.

(I was a little bit scarred when another one of my favorite female authors portrayed a male character as thinking things that only a woman would think. Romantical things. Sorry, but I don't believe any man walks around for hours thinking about all the sweet things he's going to do for his girlfriend.)

L.M. Montgomery is just amazing. Plot, characterization, humor, believability. Everything. I don't even have one answer to the what-makes-me-love-it question. Maybe that's why I've read each of her books so many times. Her series is one of two (with The Chronicles of Narnia) that I used to read on a which-one-am-I-in-the-mood-for-today basis. I'm in the mood for Anne of Avonlea today. Anne's House of Dreams. Rilla of Ingleside.

Today, the main thing I learned from Anne of Green Gables was love. I've got to put love in my book-of-the-future.

Matthew Cuthbert was a quiet man. He was a farmer who was afraid to talk to women. He never did anything important, except for one thing.

He made a huge difference in Anne's lonely, neglected life.

If not for Matthew, Anne would never have stayed at Green Gables. She wouldn't have made so many friends or had such tremendous success (passing first of PEI scholars in the Queen's entrance examination, winning the Avery scholarship, going to college, becoming a teacher, marrying a doctor, becoming a mother). She probably would have stayed in an orphan asylum until she was old enough to find work. Then, she would have become a nanny for a big family, earning barely enough to support herself. She never would have SHONE.

I've been thinking that I may have missed my opportunity to "shine" as Anne did. I didn't have her ambition or drive. I didn't have goals or a definite plan when I graduated from high school. I really just drifted around.

That doesn't mean my life is doomed to be insignificant.

I don't know why Matthew lived as an obscure farmer. Maybe he had ambitions at one point. Maybe he had a bitter realization of his own. I'm-a-loser-and-I-know-it. 

(Maybe he's fictional.)

Really? Did you have to say that to me?

To me, he's real. And significant.

I want to write about someone like Matthew, but more importantly, I want to be like him. To quietly pour love into a child's life- some child who doesn't have anyone else.

When I die, my degree won't matter, and the things people think about my intelligence won't matter. My worldly success won't matter. But the difference I made in some neglected child's life will matter.

"In the evening she went with Matthew for the cows, through Lover's Lane to the back pasture. The woods were all gloried through with sunset and the warm splendor of it streamed down through the hill gaps in the west. Matthew walked slowly with bent head; Anne, tall and erect, suited her springing step to his.

'You've been working too hard today, Matthew,' she said reproachfully. 'Why won't you take things easier?'

'Well now, I can't seem to,' said Matthew, as he opened the yard gate to let the cows through. 'It's only that I'm getting old, Anne, and keep forgetting it. Well, well, I've always worked pretty hard and I'd rather drop in harness.'

'If I had been the boy you sent for,' said Anne wistfully, 'I'd be able to help you so much now and spare you in a hundred ways. I could find it in my heart to wish I had been, just for that.'

'Well now, I'd rather have you than a dozen boys, Anne,' said Matthew, patting her hand. 'Just mind you that- rather than a dozen boys. Well now, I guess it wasn't a boy that took the Avery scholarship, was it? It was a girl- my girl- my girl that I'm proud of.'

He smiled his shy smile at her as he went into the yard. Anne took the memory of it with her when she went to her room that night and sat for a long while at her open window, thinking of the past and dreaming of the future."

You Were Sold for Nothing

Saturday, I went to a conference. It reminded me of the day I read an ABC News article and decided what I wanted to do with my life.

http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/buy-child-10-hours/story?id=5326508

"So how much will it cost me to get a child?" I ask.

"The last one I gave was $300."

Trying to test the value of human life, I push a little.

"I have a friend who got one for $50."

"No," he says.

"What about $100?"

"$150," he offers.

I accept.

 

I listened to Emerald Road play Leaning on the Everlasting Arms. And thought about children who'd never been secure from alarms. Who'd never had a single thing to lean on, let alone an everlasting God.

 

My mom isn't on social media- she hasn't seen the memes. The pictures and quoties people post while they're lounging on their Lazy Boys, convinced that 32 likes will save a life, somehow.

 

She was doubtful when I told her. Mom, slavery still exists. Right here in the U.S. Right here in Greenville, South Carolina.

 

I heard that the I-85 is one of the most heavily traveled highways. Tons and tons of merchandise- cars, snack cakes, human beings. We're having a great day on the I-85.  

 

I heard from law enforcement personnel who have search warrants on their desks for pimps. From women who worked to get their victims to safe houses.

 

I heard about the manipulation that can make a love-hungry teenager want to stay with a money-hungry man.

 

A man who'd lurked in a mall or a fast food joint looking for the girl with low self-esteem. The one who stared down at her tennis shoes. The one who'd be easy to convince.

 

I love you. You're valuable to me. I'd do anything for you.

 

I want you with me.

 

He'd found an addition to his stable.

 

The victims are mostly girls, but not all. They're the runaways. The kids who are already living on the streets. The kids whose parents don't bother with them, or don't even want them. Some are sold by their own parents for the next high. The overdue rent payment.

 

Amber Alerts are for rich kids.

 

If you've worked with men, chances are you've heard someone talking about going to a strip club. I have. I just want to go back in time, get right in those men's faces and tell them. Some girls don't choose to entertain you in that way. They are forced.

 

Wanna go to the slave auction with me tonight?

 

There are over 100,000 victims of domestic minor sex trafficking in the U.S.- right now. The average age is 12. Guess what percentage of these children get rescued? Oh, between 1 and 2.

 

The rescuees? Usually, they die in about 7 years. They get diseases. They get addicted to drugs. It must be a little hard to cope with the fact that your body has been sold and you don't even know what has been done to it.

 

Every person living in the U.S. is privileged. We have police who are available, who want to help. Who will arrive on the scene as quickly as they can. The thing is- they don't find out about most trafficking incidents. It's easy for a pimp to hide a child, especially a child he's won over- with purses and trips to Disneyland.

 

And children in Haiti don't even have the possibility of police protection.

 

What have I to dread, what have I to fear.

 

I watched a beautiful young woman walk up to the stage after hugging one of the women who worked in the safe house. She enthusiastically asked us if we were awake, or if we needed chocolate. She made us laugh by admitting that although she was Indian (from India) she always wanted to be white. I have to admit, some of her teen- like phrases put me off a little bit. Home girls. Duh.

 

But then I started listening to her story.

 

It was a brief account, completely devoid of self-pity. The story of her mother's divorce and remarriage to an abusive man. Her own low self-esteem as a teenager. The 40-year-old man who gained her attention at just the right time.

 

You're beautiful. You're special to me.

 

The "modeling" she did for him. The move into his home. The abuse she endured. And the day that he died- the day she found mass-produced pictures of herself that she didn't even know existed.

 

And then she told us about the goodness of God. That's right. I listened to her overflowing with joy over the fact that God had saved and changed her. She said that she was in her first healthy relationship, and she had a wonderful life. I haven't heard anyone (except the fictional George Bailey) say that so sincerely, in a long time.

 

She told us that she renewed her mind every day, and showed us her truth cards. She told us what these girls, these victims need to know the most. Their identity in Christ.

 

The truth card she shared with us? It's one I want to tell the girls I work with, one day.

 

For this is what the LORD says.

 

You were sold for nothing, and without money you will be redeemed.

 

Isaiah 52:3

In Which, Once Again, I Don't Really Write Yet Claim To Still Be Here

I'll be back. I want to tell you about a conference on human trafficking I'm going to on Saturday. After this week, I promise I will be here, REALLY here every Tuesday :-P