Pro-Choice, Pro-Pleasure, Pro-ME - ME ME ME!
This started out as a Twitter post, but quickly grew too long to fit.
I admit that, as staunchly pro-life as I am, I have not kept up with the proceedings in Texas as much as I would like. But my Twitter stream is a pretty even split between the pro-choicers name-calling the pro-lifers, and vice versa and it keeps nagging at me to write something about it. There have certainly been mistakes on both sides in terms of appropriate behavior — we know that both sides can get rabid and passionate about where they stand. But my revulsion for the rabidity of the pro-choice side is pretty overwhelming. They are, after all, the ones that are insisting on murdering innocent, unborn children who have no voice with which to speak. I mean, sorry folks, I simply cannot get on board the train of murdering unborn children just because you had a few fleeting moments of sexual pleasure with indiscretion. Married sex or not, you had BETTER be prepared to take responsibility for your actions. Committing murder because you didn’t like the results of your pleasure is a far worse crime than sex outside of marriage. This applies even to married couples who want to get an abortion. It signifies one of the worst problems we’re faced with today — a people willing to perpetrate murder so they don’t have to deal with the fallout of their actions. It is the ultimate representation of this generation’s selfishness.
Please, please understand I mean no disrespect to rape victims who have become pregnant. I cannot even begin to imagine or comprehend what you have been through. You were wronged and sinned against in an extremely humiliating and heinous way 1. But even in this case, I fail to see how further acts of violence make things right. By murdering the unborn child of this rape, is it not punishing the wrong party? Capital punishment at that.
Rape victims aside — and I am still against abortion in cases of rape, for it is still murder — this is perhaps the most selfish and short-sighted generation of humans to walk the face of the earth. That we would sacrifice our own young, not on the alter of external false gods, but upon the alter of the god of our pleasure is one of the most damning things I can think of for any people to do.
And God forbid that someone should rape my wife or one of my daughters because I would probably commit a sinful crime of my own by hunting that person down and killing them but for the grace of God. My point is, I think rape is very, very bad. ↩
Keep in mind that this Kirsten is a liberal columnist. It gives me hope that not everyone on the left is insane.
“Get ready for pat-a-cake! Baby’s hands are now fully developed and he spends most of his awake time groping around in the darkness of your uterus. Brain and nerve endings are developed enough now so that your baby can feel the sensation of touch.” Let’s be clear: Davis has been called a hero for trying to block a bill that would make aborting this baby illegal.
How is it heroic to champion a so-called right of someone to kill another? And what’s more, that other person has no voice.
In addition to the limit on late-term abortions, the Texas legislature sought to pass regulations on abortion clinics similar to what was passed in Pennsylvania in 2011 after the Gosnell horror.
You know, the Gosnell horror the pro-choicers were trying to say did not represent them and what they believe.
So no, I don’t stand with Wendy. Nor do most women, as it turns out. According to a June National Journal poll, 50 percent of women support, and 43 percent oppose, a ban on abortion after 20 weeks, except in cases of rape and incest.
One can assume I am also not the only woman in America who is really tiring of the Wendys of the world claiming to represent “women’s rights” in their quest to mainstream a medical procedure—elective late-term abortion—that most of the civilized world finds barbaric and abhorrent. In many European countries, you can’t get an abortion past 12 weeks, except in narrow circumstances. Gallup reported in January that 80 percent of Americans think abortion should be illegal in the third trimester, and 64 percent think it should be illegal in the second trimester.
Human-rights movements have traditionally existed to help the voiceless and those without agency gain progressively more rights. Yet in the case of abortion, the voiceless have progressively lost rights at the hands of people who claim to be human-rights crusaders. Abortion-rights leaders have turned the world upside down. They want us to believe that a grown woman is voiceless, that she has less agency than the infant in her womb who relies on her for life.
Precisely! I could not agree more whole-heartedly with this.
Also recommended reading is her article titled, “Abortion Rights Community Has Become the NRA of the Left.”
The Hardest Question
One of the hardest questions I have to face is the now ubiquitous, “how are you doing?” or “how are you holding up?”
It’s not hard because it’s the wrong question, or that I wish people would quit asking it — well, I mean I have heard it a lot and I’m ready for people to quit asking it, but I understand why it’s being asked. And yet it’s hard because the honest answer is, I don’t know how I’m holding up. Sometimes I think I’m doing better because I’m not randomly breaking down anymore. But then I feel bad because I feel like I should be feeling worse, and then that problem is solved.
And then I might read my sister’s blog and start crying all over again. Or once in a while I’ll be looking at my children and tears will sting my eyes that grandma will not be present in their lives anymore, and the youngest of them — certainly Kaylee — will not remember or know my mom in this life.
Or maybe I think about the fact that I will certainly visit my mom’s grave at some point in the future, but that’s too painful to think about right now. Apparently some part of me is not ready to admit that her body, her shell, is in the ground, returning to the dust from whence it came.
I also remember from time to time that we have not talked about a headstone at all yet. I have not been able to bring it up with dad, and I don’t know if he’s thought about it yet. And then I am sad all over again.
So, about that hard question — I still don’t know, but it’s sort of looking like I’m not doing all that well.
My Sister Writes About Mom
The day after the funeral, I was thinking about planting flowers at the grave for Mothers Day, and as soon as the phrase “mom’s grave” went through my mind, I was glad that I was alone in the house. For a while, I just sat on my bed and cried.
And I cried reading this.
An Anniversary I Will Forever Remember
Below are some of the hardest words I will ever write. I’ve written much of those words before writing this part at the top and I have cried — no, I have wept. I have had to stop and walk away for a bit. But I need to write this, I need to preserve it, and I need to tell it.
Sunday afternoon, all eight Draper siblings, the two spouses of the siblings, and all 5 grandchildren (well six technically with one in my sister’s womb) gathered together in my parents’ home to belatedly celebrate their 32nd anniversary. My dad is a semi-truck driver — owner operator — and he got a well paying load that he needed to take to feed the family, but it would have him out of town over the anniversary. So we decided to celebrate later. And that’s what we did.
It wasn’t anything special. We talked trucks, politics, life, other mundane things, nothing too exciting. The young grandchildren ran around playing, grandma (my mom) would coax one of them to let her hold them or sit on her lap occasionally.
We gathered around the table and ate food, had brownies and ice cream, gave my parents gifts, etc. Mundane, and normal celebration. As usual, my dad would rib and tease my mom about silly things. Sometimes she fell for it, not knowing (as always) if he was serious, other times, she knew better and didn’t fall for it. Occasionally, she would punch dad on the shoulder for some particularly funny tease. And at one point, my parents had a kiss in honor of their anniversary that had us children begging them to get a room. My parents loved each other more than any other couple I have ever known. Yes, I love my wife passionately, but I’m not even sure I know how to love that much yet. It will take me many more years to achieve that kind of love.
As usual, a little while after the meal, and after some more small talk, my sister, her husband, and their kiddo cleared out. And my family also began to clear out. As usual, my three kids old enough to make the rounds on their little feet ran around giving hugs and kisses to aunts and uncles, and especially to grandpa and grandma. And Kaylee was passed around. As usual my mom lingered over the precious little infant bundle.
And then we left with words I don’t exactly remember, but were along the lines of, “see you soon.” And why wouldn’t I say that? As far as any of us knew, my mother was healthy and vibrant. And she was only 56 years old. It turns out, “see you soon,” was presumptuous.
My wife and I went home and at bedtime put the kids to bed. As is my habit, I was watching a little TV (I’m re-watching Stargate SG-1 if you must know) when I received a phone call. The caller ID read Charlotte Draper. I answered with something like, “Hi Mom, what’s up.” It was my sister — the oldest sister still living at home. She explained in an unsteady voice that mom had a heart attack and was not breathing. Dad was trying desperately to revive her with CPR and chest compressions.
I fumbled around the house looking for my keys, a shirt, shoes and who knows what else. I had a hard time finding them all through the tears.
I drove pretty fast. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was afraid an officer of the law would see me and delay me by pulling me over for such outrageous speed. Any time I saw headlights I would slow down to something a little more reasonable. It was the most helpless thing I have ever felt.
After what seemed like an eternity, I arrived at my parents’ home where an ambulance had arrived and the medics were trying desperately to revive my mother. My dad was looking on helplessly and praying, standing on the back bumper of the ambulance. Not long after that the ambulance took off.
My dad took off after the ambulance in the car, my sister Johanna jumped in with him. The rest of us didn’t quite know what to do. My sister’s husband Gabriel was there. Johanna (I believe) had called him to come help and he had been with my dad trying to revive my mom. We prayed, then I wondered around the living room a bit while my siblings sat around bleary eyed and crying. Then I took Gabriel back to their house only a minute away so he could talk to my sister Elise.
I don’t remember exactly how, but we figured out we should get in the family van and get ourselves to the emergency room to be with dad.
On the way I got a phone call. We were probably five minutes away. Somehow my dad choked out to me that mom was gone. The doctor had declared death. I was unable to get all the words out to my siblings, but they knew. We all frankly knew that despite CPR and chest compressions, she had not been breathing for far too long. But the finality of it was too much.
There’s much more to tell, but it’s too much of a blur to untangle at the moment. We were surrounded by friends at the hospital. We made phone calls, we comforted dad, we comforted each other, we cried with friends, we hugged a lot. But nothing helped. My dear mother was gone.
My mom loved her children and grandchildren. She poured her life and soul into us. There was nothing more important to her. There was never a question in my mind that my mom was there. She was a constant in my life. She saw me born into the world, she saw me grow up and learn to ride a bike, she saw me fumble with schemes and plans to elevate myself in the world, to make money, to make a life for myself. She was with me when I hugged her, she was with me when I had a bad attitude from time to time as a teenager. She was with me when I was married. She would wait anxiously for news of her grandchildren’s birth. She was there for birthdays, rainy days, thick, and thin.
And finally, my mother was a Godly women who loved the Lord and desired nothing more than that her children should walk in His ways. I know with assurance where my mother is, and that one day I shall see her again.
My mother, in many ways, may have been an ordinary women, caring for an ordinary (more or less) family. But she was one of the most extraordinary women I have ever, or will ever know.
Kaylee’s Baptism in Pictures
The Baptism of Kaylee Marie
Follow the link for the audio recording of the service. My Pastor gave a REALLY great message. Go listen!
“Not a Person Until 18 Months”
While Gray argued that the unborn should be protected in law because abortion is the violent killing of innocent human life, Mercer argued that there is nothing ethically troubling about abortion, at one point suggesting that a baby isn’t a “person” until around 18 months of age.
Man, my new little “not a person” sure is cute!
Mercer agreed that the unborn are human beings, and that abortion is the deliberate killing of a human being, but argued that the notion of “human being” is not a “morally relevant concept.” Individuals are not special by virtue of their “species membership,” he said, but become “persons” and worthy of protection because they possess certain “ethically salient properties” such as the ability to experience pain or pleasure, self-consciousness, and rationality.
This is wickedness, pure and simple. And while current typical pro-choicers may slam this guy as an extremist and not representative of the pro-choice position, this is where it leads. This is where we are headed.
More Kaylee (I need more creative blog titles)
Meeting the Siblings