I meant to wish everyone a Happy New Year yesterday, but the day found me in bed for its entirety due to another bad cold. ‘Tis the season. It seems like every time I get my head above water, you know—another wave squashes it under. Life is like that sometimes. But just because I got a rough start in the opening of 2006, I still anticipate a great year ahead.

Due to the activity and frequent illnesses of the last several weeks, I neglected to daily care for the garden. I went out there two days ago, took stock of the weeding situation, and cried inwardly. The task was too large. However, my husband is outside squaring off small “boxes” in the garden, so that the kids can rake and weed a small portion each day. In another week, we should be on top of it.

I use this same method when I assess the kitchen situation. The kitchen can go from a sparkling Clorox commercial to a federal disaster in just one meal preparation. Especially when toddlers “help.” The way that I manage the clean-up task is to take one counter portion at a time. Make that sparkle, and then move on to the next one.

I use this same technique in keeping the house in ship-shape. Always start in the easiest room (and preferably the most visible) and work your way back. An overwhelming task is doable if you break it down into smaller parts.

My husband and I have a date for dinner this evening. We’ll discuss this past year, this coming year, and all the things we hope to accomplish. There is a lot to talk about. And if the task seems too overwhelming, I’ll …just order chocolate cake for dessert.

It was only a year ago today that I was trapped sitting contentedly in our microscopic two bedroom apartment in California. My husband temporarily relocated to California on an extended business trip, and the children and I joined him for the duration, which turned out to be seven months. As it happened, though, no sooner did we arrive in California that he was flying back to Florida several times to “fix” things at the Cape’s launch site.

Big sigh.

All the grand plans to get my scrapbooks caught up, my sewing projects finished, and my recipes, addresses, and rechargeable batteries all organized into Word documents, notebooks, and neatly color coordinated plastic bins with pretty labels vaporized into thin air once I saw how far I had to walk to get the laundry done.

Poof. In one instant, my big plans became big obstacles. Not only wasn’t I going to sew away my days with daffodils neatly pinned in my hair, now I’d have to coagulate some kind of storage solution for my lame projects. Sewing machines, recipe books, and rechargeable batteries don’t fit into 888 square feet apartments when six people are living in it. Not if you let the kids have clothes and keep their Happy Meal toys.

But my handy wireless laptop managed to squeeze its way in there, and so I frittered away any free time emailing friends back home and love notes to my husband at work: I’ll love you forever if you pick up Thai on your way home. Make sure you substitute extra wontons for the salad. Love, Your caged wife.

In the back of my mind, I picked up something about a “blog” and a Dan Rather expose’. Though I didn’t know the whole story, I figured a “blog”—whatever it was—couldn’t be all that bad if it did all that good. So I googled, “How to blog,” and I was up and running twenty minutes later. I was surprised at how easy it was initially—to publish, to write, to debate, to link, to make real friends, and to speak too quickly sometimes.

And now, one year later, there are still two things that surprise me, yea, three things that make me wonder: (1) how come none of the people I initially wrote the blog for ever had time to read it, (2) how come people care enough about cranberry sauce that they’ll take time out of their day to write me about it, and (3) how in the world to get that trackback thing to work.

I hope the second year brings more clarity.

Having kids will keep a mother humble. Just recently, I set the table for dinner and decided to add a little flair with a few candles. My family is special, and I enjoy showing them so. I lit a few candles and arranged them nicely on the table. My middle daughter (age 4) walks in the room and quips, “So who’s coming over?”

I have no comment.

Then today, I whipped up a simple chicken salad for dinner, and to add a little panache, I decided to make the rolls from scratch. I usually make “quick breads,” but today I pulled out the yeast and rolling pin. The kids all clamored around the museum artifact rolling pin, and yelped, “You mean we get to use it?!”

Oh well. Even if I’m not a domestic goddess waiting for an Oprah show guest appearance, I consoled myself with the fact that at least I’m a Prairie Muffin. But even recently, my Official Prairie Muffin status was ripped from me with this declaration: Prairie Muffins own aprons and they know how to use them.

I’m doomed now. You see, I don’t find aprons practical since I haven’t left the baby/toddler stage in almost eight years. Why wear an apron when baby shoulder spit-up or toddler facial juice adorns your shirt before you make it to the kitchen anyway? That’d just be another thing to wash.

I thought aprons were for women who had maids to iron them and men on cable cooking shows sporting pre-measured ingredients.

[Note: The administration understands and appreciates the spirit and sentiment of the Prairie Muffin Apron. She just hasn’t fixed one up yet.]

The Bible tells us to “Humble thyself in the sight of the Lord,” and while that’s a good thing to do independently, we should remember to thank the Lord for the things and people He sends our way to help us a little in our journey.

It all began when my husband was away on business, and we were chatting late at night on the phone about the day’s events. As all husbands-who-take-frequent-business-trips know, as soon as The Husband leaves, The Wife will proceed to hear loud noises in the garage in the middle of the night. Scary, mysterious noises only happen when The Husband is gone, because when they’re home, their snoring drowns out regularly-scheduled scary noises. I know this.

As it happens, I hear my Scary Noise for the night while I happen to be talking on the phone to my husband. Functioning as the concerned patriarch that he is, he tells me, “Go look and see what it is.”

Right…I was just about to do that. Leaving the baseball bat, kitchen knife, and Nurf gun safely in the house, I commence to the garage armed with only the cordless phone on my ear. I rest in the fact that at least The Robber is too stupid to cut the phone line, so my five foot frame might stand a chance against a stupid prowler. I’ve seen The Karate Kid.

It’s also comforting that my husband, while several thousand miles away, might hear a quick description of the perpetrator and have no questions about the nature of my demise. I always try to find the positive in a situation.

So, I get to the garage, turn on the lights, and note that the sprinkler system is on. The pump is running, and that’s where the noise is coming from. Strange– as the system isn’t programmed to come on at this time nor on this day. Furthermore, the system is in the “Off” position. I tell this to my husband. I affirm my sanity as he questions the legitimacy of me teaching the children how to diagram sentences when I apparently don’t know how to spell O-F-F.

Husband: So, just turn it off.

Me: It IS off.

Husband: Obviously, it’s not.

Me: I know it’s not, but it is!

He arrives home later in the week, only to confirm my statement. The sprinkler system is spooked. It is a certifiable mystery. So my husband—who programs rocket launch pads for a living, right?—reprograms the sprinkler.

The sprinklers woke me up at 3:10 a.m. this morning, and I’ve been awake ever since. He promised to smash it tonight.

Some things in life are just a mystery. So many things don’t make any sense to me, especially when I consider some of God’s hard providences in my life. Even as the years go by, I still can’t make sense out of some of His provisions. The Bible tells us that “now we see through a glass dimly.” As is His way, sometimes He tells us “why” now, and sometimes He waits until we meet Him on the other side. In either case, while trivial sprinklers and the more concerting, hard providences of His hand remain mysterious, the one thing that is for sure is His goodness. And that is what we hold onto during the dark noises in the night.

How great is your goodness,
which you have stored up for those who fear you,
which you bestow in the sight of men
on those who take refuge in you.
Psalm 31:19

…you were worried about my safety in the post below.

When giving directions, it is important to be thorough and clear. It is not enough that I know the outcome I’m hoping for; I need to take the time and energy to communicate it clearly to others. Children, especially, need clarity, as life experience might not fill in the gaps that adults assumedly possess. Which brings me to another point– don’t assume anything.

The day was like any other day in our current string-of-days: I was on the couch, nursing my third-trimester state with a bowl of cherries, and giving instructions to my oldest arrow to begin dinner preparations. On the menu was a simple dinner of baked potatoes with fixins’ and a salad. I instructed my son to turn on the oven, wash nine potatoes, poke a hole in them, and then place them in the oven.

He brought me a potato and a knife and asked pointedly how I wanted the hole to be poked. I modeled the task, and gave him back the knife, instructing him to hurry along before the oven completely preheated. Then he asked from the kitchen what he should put the potatoes on.

[This is where I should have clarified.]

I replied that he should place the potatoes on a cutting board, to which he answered that they wouldn’t all fit.

[I should have clued in by now, but I didn’t.]

I told him that only one potato needed to fit on the board at a time. Minutes later, the smell of melting, burning, cooking plastic filled the air, along with my son’s shrieks. (Yes, he shrieked, but give him a break, as he’s still only seven.) He had placed the potatoes in the oven …on the plastic cutting board.

My third trimester self flew off the couch faster than when the UPS man rings the doorbell. I rescued the potatoes, pitched the cutting board, consoled the kid, fixed the salad, and wondered how many more years I’d have to go until I could give abbreviated instructions. If yesterday was any indication, I’d say there’s still some time.

It is a son’s duty to listen to instruction, but it is a mother’s obligation to make sure the instruction has some wisdom to it.

The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge,
but fools despise wisdom and discipline.
Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction
and do not forsake your mother’s teaching.
They will be a garland to grace your head
and a chain to adorn your neck.
Proverbs 1:7-9

There’s lots to say, do, think, and write. But just not online right now. I plan on turning on the computer more next week, but you know what they say about the best-laid plans. In the meantime, I offer a peek at some of the good down-home entertainment we enjoy around here. Don’t worry… our half-time shows are family friendly.

When I finished the introduction and first chapter of Lord, Meet Me in the Laundry Room, I cried. Now, I’m not a regular crier, and even my advanced maternal state has me making “to do” lists, not wallowing in my hormone laden idiosyncrasies. Still, Barbara Curtis’ book resonated with me as no other mothering manuscript before.

The language wasn’t flowery; her thoughts were not new. Perhaps it is because she is a mother of twelve, and I could tell that every feeling and thought I’d ever nursed, she had already nursed before. Perhaps it was that I enjoyed reading more from a woman I had grown to know only online. Perhaps it was when she said this:

This book is about spending some time together sorting through the things that get in the way of finding joy in motherhood. It’s about getting real about the past and mistakes we’ve made, the limitations of our lifestyle as mothers, the competitive spirit that robs us of intimacy with other mothers, and the lack of affirmation that sometimes makes us want to cry.

This is a book about seizing each day, squeezing every bit of joy from every peanut-butter-and-jelly-smeared moment, finding God in the hum of a washing machine or an unexpected bargain. (page 9)

From the title, you might infer that the book is a “how-to” meet God in your everyday life as a mom. But it’s much more than that. Barbara (it seems more right to call her “Barbara” than the more formal “Curtis” when writing) begins her book by connecting with the reader. She doesn’t do this by saying, “Hey, I’ve got all these kids. Whatever story you’ve got, I can top.” Instead, Barbara weaves a story of her own misjudgments and creative mishaps with the old story of God’s faithfulness.

Then from the backseat I heard Zachary clear his throat and in his deadpan four-year-old Eeyore voice ask, “Mom, when are you going to get a job?”

“This is my job,” I said, maybe just a little edgy.

But homeward bound, as the kids fell asleep one by one and I was left alone with my thoughts, I began to see the beauty of Zach’s question: somehow—even though it could be hard work and even though I had my testy moments—my kids didn’t think of motherhood as a job.

And I decided that was a good thing—because it’s not really a job at all, but a calling… (page 98)

Today’s mothers are tired, due to nurturing the distractions that compete for our attention and affections. Reading this book was like a cup of cocoa on a cold day: Barbara’s warm candor and not-so-perfect stories were a treat to me, a mother in the trenches. Lord, Please Meet Me in the Laundry Room is a story of deliverance, Barbara’s own, as well as the one waiting for us younger mothers who have the willingness to learn some wisdom from those who’ve gone before.

Update: Launch scrubbed due to the wind.

First-time visitors to this site often use the Contact Form to ask me two things. The first is, Can you add me to your link list? (The answer is usually affirmative.) The second question is even more profound, Is your husband really a rocket scientist or is that just a joke?

Well, yes and no. He is a “rocket scientist,” but it is a tongue-in-cheek joke. Greg works on the Atlas V program, designing and programming the buttons that launch the vehicle. (Actually, I think it’s all software; hardware, gadgets, and blinking buttons are just in the movies.) While most of us think rocket scientists are white-coated guys with thick glasses who mix potions all day in a lab, my husband doesn’t wear a white coat, and he had Lasik surgery a couple years ago.

He also thinks that processing returns at Wal-Mart SuperCenter the day after Christmas might be a somewhat more challenging feat. Rocket science is not always, well… rocket science.

Those of us rusty on our calculus might tend to disagree. However, when I told my husband that I was teaching our son about Fact Families last week in math, he replied with puzzlement. It’s all in what you’re used to.

Today the Atlas V vehicle will launch the New Horizon’s spacecraft on a nine-year mission to Pluto. The launch window opens at 1:24 p.m. At the time of this writing (10:35 a.m.), all is on schedule. It will take the spacecraft nine years to reach Pluto. So, when you hear a passing news brief about the fly-by in 2015, remember the rocket scientist who helped get it there, and then, be extra nice to lady at Wal-Mart customer service. It matters.

Guess I know what the husband and kids will be doing later tonight while I’m at choir practice: watching recaps.

There’s nothing like an impending baby arrival that can get a girl going on her lists. Not long ago, my lists were on various scrap papers lying around the house, and now, I have them all organized in various stages of repair on my laptop.

I am a woman with a mission: Get the house in Better Homes and Gardens photo-op condition before this baby makes his or her appearance. Because one should be able to bask in order for about ten minutes before the disorder begins.

The old story about a man moving rocks uphill day-after-day just to return them to the former pile hardly describes the life of a mother of babies, toddlers, preschoolers, and kids with science experiments and paint. (Paint?! What relative was out to get me at Christmas?) At least in the story with the rocks, the man just moves the rocks. In the mother’s story, the rocks fall off the wagon, explode, and don’t come in cups with spill-proof lids. I know this.

But lists keep the wagon moving, albeit imperfectly sometimes. Lists enable grocery shopping to occur never more than once a week. Tomorrow, my list will enable me to combine the post office trip with the midwife visit and swing by for my blood draw all in one-fell-swoop. If you are buckling and unbuckling babies at each stop, you know that errands aren’t a mother’s best friend. Neither are gas prices.

Consider making the following ritual part of your day.

Follow the 15:4 rule: Spending fifteen minutes thinking about what you are going to do before you start will save four hours of wasted time later on. Any individual who has thought through her workday, set priorities, and organized the day’s tasks is likely to accomplish far more than someone who moves randomly through the day. ~Stephanie Winston (HT: girl talk)

Some women like to regiment their day to the minute; I prefer to have a structure that every day follows. That way, each child “does the next thing” without my constant management, and we can still be flexible to each day’s particulars, particularly when God’s plans trump my own plans (Romans 12:1-2). Whatever method you employ, be deliberate.

Like a lot of things, lists can arguably fall under the category of “morally neutral.” Yet, just like the oft used example of technology, nothing comes without its caveats. That is, while something may not be good or evil in itself, it has the potential to instigate both good and evil depending on its use. Still put another way, most everything comes with strings attached. Making lists can cause frustration, dissatisfaction, or unrealistic expectations in a household. Likewise, it can be a tool for multi-tasking, using time wisely, and good management. Being a driven sort of person, I struggle with the former use.

Lists can be one way to obey Scripture’s admonition to redeem the time (Ephesians 5:16)—making the best use of our time because the days are evil. (We do this not just by making lists, but “presenting our bodies a living sacrifice” for His use. This means that we ask Him what His will for our day is, rather than making arbitrary plans and asking His approval, as if His blessing comes out of a vending machine.) And just in case you think I manage this perfectly, God humorously humbled the writer of this post just now: I paused to cook up my recipe of Curry Chicken for dinner tonight, and just when I went to add the curry, I found that it somehow wasn’t in the cabinet. Or on a list.

If you were in an American church yesterday, there was probably reference to Sanctity of Life Sunday, a day set aside to remember that God is the giver and taker of life. This fact, of course, was spit upon with the Roe v. Wade decision 33 years ago and in countless back alley abortions before then. Since that January 22, 1973 decision, an estimated 44 million abortions have taken place.

Government approval of abortion should give us reason to pause for reflection. The most obvious reason, of course, is that the legality of something doesn’t make a “something” right. It is legal for me to murder my almost-born baby, but it is wrong. It is legal for me to hate my brother, but it is wrong. It is legal to park my kids in front of MTV for all their waking hours, but it is wrong. Christians are governed by a different standard– the Word of God– not the legal whims of whatever nation they happen to live in. The reason for this is because the Word of God is infallible and the men who govern us are not.

When we say that the Scriptures are the only infallible rule for our faith and practice (II Peter 1:20, 21; John 5:39), it follows then that our practice—that is, the way we live our lives—can be sufficiently ordered by Scripture. In other words, I do not have to panic about the matter of my children watching MTV, because Scripture has already ordered my conduct on the subject. It is true that MTV is missing from Bible concordances, but wisdom is not absent.

I will not set before my eyes
anything that is worthless.
I hate the work of those who fall away;
it shall not cling to me.
A perverse heart shall be far from me;
I will know nothing of evil.
Psalm 101:2-4

Woe to those who call evil good
and good evil,
who put darkness for light
and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet
and sweet for bitter.
Isaiah 5:20

But you know that I’m not writing about MTV, Sponge Bob, and iPods. Our culture is something we must reckon with, but it is impossible to influence a culture when Christians are being swept along with it. New methods, pop psychology, and gimmicks will not ultimately reach our culture for Christ. Radical Christians who embrace the doctrine of the sufficiency of Scripture (whether or not they know this intellectually) and live as such is a much more powerful tool than a free DVD giveaway at the local mega-church.

As I await the arrival (in much discomfort) of our fifth child next month, God’s Word is my consolation. Margaret Sanger says, “The most merciful thing a large family can do to one of its infant members is to kill it.” In contrast, God’s Word says in Psalm 127:4-5, “Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them!”

My culture tells me to limit producing children in favor of a lifestyle of personal peace and affluence. Sleeping in on Saturday mornings is more desirable than pouring Cheerios. Let’s not mince words: children are work. However, the Bible would tell us that children are a heritage, a reward (Psalm 127). This is what the Lord’s blessing looks like:

Blessed are all who fear the LORD,
who walk in his ways.
You will eat the fruit of your labor;
blessings and prosperity will be yours.
Your wife will be like a fruitful vine
within your house;
your sons will be like olive shoots around your table.
Thus is the man blessed who fears the LORD.
Psalm 128:1-4

Upon the remembrance of Roe v. Wade, let us not only pray for our nation and its repentance, let us not only remember the atrocity that occurs daily, let us not only mourn our losses–but may we also live in such a way that we embrace God’s Word as sufficient. If we agree that abortion is murder, is the only way stand against such a thing, ourselves, to merely not murder?

Lord, help us to love the things you love, and despise the things you hate.

I spent the morning reorganizing the kids’ work folders as they finished school. In the process of organizing, purging, and musing over old journal entries, I was able to throw away a whole garbage bag of old schoolwork, used workbooks, and magazines/catalogs that I’ll never read. It felt so good, so freeing. (Yes, it looks like I’m having a baby, alright.) One bag down, ninety-seven to go.

A part of me desires order, serenity, and all my ducks-in-a-row. I also want my flowers to ever-bloom, without the hassle and interruption of winter. Living in Florida, I have that luxury, but I know that this is not the natural order of things. There is a time for spring and a time for winter. There is a time for order and a time to let go.

Often older women will tell young mothers: Let the housework go as your children will only be babies for a short time. I admire the sentiment and hindsight in which this statement is often made, yet I struggle with one thing.

The one thing, of course, is that if the preschooler’s Play-doh crumbs are left unattended, soon the baby crawls over to play in it. The baby keeps a few in her fist, and then moves on to the living room carpet, wherein she proceeds to smash it in. Then, the five-year-old races through on some contraption and runs up the stairs and so on. Then, you crawl in bed after a long day and wonder, How come my clean sheets are sticky and have blue smudges all over them?

Then if you try to track down the line of origin, the perpetrator is always The Kid Who Can’t Talk Yet. Or if the baby was sleeping at the time of the incident, the executor is always named, “Not Me.” I know about this stuff.

Claire Cloninger wonders in her book, A Place Called Simplicity, what we really mean when we say that we want more time:

Do we really want more clock time—more boring hours that never seem to pass, more frantic minutes to spend rushing around and racing against our deadlines? Or are we really hungering for more meaning-filled God time—more of the deep, sweet contentment that fills us when we are able to rest for a moment in the “timeless present”?

One of the ways I’ve resolved to live more simply is to purge my life of clutter– symbolic and literal. This morning’s trip to the trash is just a small picture, a tiny echo of what we do everyday when we pass over the world’s definition of what it will take for our family to be fulfilled: amusement parks, perpetual age-segregated activities, X-boxes, and a Disney video for the trip to the grocery store because—after all—they can’t expect to just sit there in the car for the fifteen minute drive.

I desire more meaning-filled time, not mindless rushing. Children—even lots of children—are not obstacles to living a meaningful, simple life. What is required with a full and bustling household, however, is that we are purposeful with the things we allow in and the things we purge.

After reading through the comments and dialoguing in private emails this week on my recent post, Abortion and the sufficiency of Scripture, I have to admit that I am surprised at the number of Christian women defending Margaret Sanger’s quote, The most merciful thing a large family can do to one of its infant members is to kill it. I’ve been told repeatedly that I’ve taken the quote out of context. I stand behind my interpretation, but I must admit my bafflement that so many people are interpreting it otherwise.

Some of the surprise stems from the fact that the quote was not the basis of my post, as it was just a passing example. Further amazement arises that Christian women would defend anything Margaret Sanger said or wrote. (I assume they’re defending the context and the words and not the woman herself; in fact, one writer said as such.) The only thing I am not surprised with is that many of you have challenged me on it, and for that, I am grateful. I stand behind my interpretation of her meaning, but it is my intention to allow the reader to be able to interpret the passage for herself. Although my site is one of “humble musings” about humble things, sometimes we talk about important things, and I hope this long post poses some clarity on the discrepancy.

Now, to take a few minutes to address the quote in question. Margaret Sanger’s book, Woman and the New Race, was published in 1920. It is available for you to read in its entirety here. The gist of what I’m hearing is that Sanger doesn’t condone abortion and infanticide, but rather the liberal use of contraception in order that abortion might be avoided. Sanger argues in chapter 10, Contraceptives or Abortion, that contraception among the working class needs to be more readily available to combat unwanted pregnancies so that fewer abortions result of it. In this way, the argument is made that Sanger is “really” against abortion. In fact, Sanger says,

The question, then, is not whether family limitation should be practiced. It is being practiced; it has been practiced for ages and it will always be practiced. The question that society must answer is this: Shall family limitation be achieved through birth control or abortion? Shall normal, safe, effective contraceptives be employed, or shall we continue to force women to the abnormal, often dangerous surgical operation?

Notice the absence of a third option for keeping the baby, or fourth, carrying the baby to term to bless another couple with adoption. With Sanger, it is the same argument that modern parents employ today when they hand contraceptives to their teenagers, because—after all, they’re going to do it anyway. Moderns and pragmatists hold their hands on each side of their faces only willing to observe two options, when really, a third option exists.

The third option, however, is always the one that requires self-control, biblical thinking, and biblical behavior. That’s why we always like to think that we only have two options—it excuses us from behaving and thinking biblically.

The entire premise of Sanger’s book is unbiblical: Woman must have her freedom—the fundamental freedom of choosing whether or not she shall be a mother and how many children she will have. The freedom the Bible espouses is freedom in Christ and freedom from sin. Otherwise, we are slaves for the Lord. Insomuch that it is not fundamentally a question of woman’s rights to be a mother or not be a mother, but rather, it is a question of whether to submit to Christ or not to submit to Christ in all things.

If you do not desire children, don’t marry. In fact, it is with great Biblical support to work with your whole life as unto the Lord, not being concerned with a husband or children. (See I Corinthians 7.)

But the matter of being free to choose children or not while married is an erroneous question. It presupposes that children are made for the pleasure of the parents and not for the Lord’s use. It presupposes that barrenness is a blessing. It presupposes that the matter of children is up to the couple and not of the Lord.

The underlying premise of Sanger’s quote is made with a presupposition of autonomy. If you claim to be a daughter of the Lord, then you do not have the right to make autonomous statements.

Yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil. ~ James 4:14-16

Now, I just said that “the matter of being free to choose children or not while married is an erroneous question.” The emphasis here is on the word “free,” not on the word “choose.” We do face real decisions of whether to choose or not choose children, but we are never to make those decisions autonomously. We are the Lord’s, and our decisions belong to Him. You are not free; you’ve been bought with a price.

It is not my desire to tackle the subject of Christians using contraception here (though I have in a broad sense). Someone asked my opinion of the matter in the previous posts’ comment section, and here’s what I will say on the subject. It’s not so much that I think natural means of contraception are a sin, but that I wholly agree with God that children are a blessing. (You should too, as it is good to love that which He loves.) What that looks like in your family is a matter of conscience between you, your husband, and the Lord.

But back to the original Sanger quote and whether or not I took it out of context. I wanted to preface her quote with the case that Sanger makes autonomous statements, and that as Christians, we do not have the right to do as such, though it may seem a proper and logical thing to do in a post-modern world. In the chapter which the quote appears, The Wickedness of Creating Large Families, Sanger begins by saying this, The most serious evil of our times is that of encouraging the bringing into the world of large families. The most immoral practice of the day is breeding too many children.

And I’m making sweeping statements, broad judgments?! By her statement, this cookie baking stay-at-home mom with a minivan is worse than Hitler, Stalin, and some guy making video tapes in Afghanistan (or is it Pakistan?).

Sanger argues that large families are a burden on mothers, fathers, and society at large. The context in which the quote is found– The most merciful thing that the large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it– is among a paragraph discussing the morality and mortality rate of children in large families.

Many, perhaps, will think it idle to go farther in demonstrating the immorality [notice the word here is “immorality,” not “mortality!”] of large families, but since there is still an abundance of proof at hand, it may be offered for the sake of those who find difficulty in adjusting old-fashioned ideas to the facts. The most merciful thing that the large family does to one of its infant members is to kill it….The probability of a child handicapped by a weak constitution, an overcrowded home, inadequate food and care, and possibly a deficient mental equipment, winding up in prison or an almshouse, is too evident for comment. Every jail, hospital for the insane, reformatory and institution for the feebleminded cries out against the evils of too prolific breeding among wage-workers.

In a private email, someone argued that Sanger was not promoting infanticide. But how else does one “kill it,” an infant member of a large family? Just not let “it” be born? Hogwash. Margaret Sanger said, “Kill it.” Soon we’ll be talking about what the meaning of “is” is.

The bottom line is that when you take Sanger’s independent, self-enthroned ideas to their logical conclusions, along with a post-modern definition of “mercy”—which we’ve had time to do since her death in 1966—you end up with the largest concentration camp ever invented, Planned Parenthood. Men and women are not autonomous, and Christians, above all, should recognize this fact. And then go out and live like it.

Blessings to all who wrote,
Amy

*Please do not use the comment box criticize any of the women who emailed.

In light of the recent discussion on femininity and culture, I recommend Wayne Grudem’s Evangelical Feminism and Biblical Truth. It has everything to do with the recent discussion on the matter and will prove a valuable resource. In fact, with 856 pages spanning commentary, appendices, and indexes, there is not a more thorough, current treatment of the subject available.

Many years ago, I read through Recovering Biblical Manhood and Womanhood: A Response to Evangelical Feminism, which is a compilation of essays by several authors, including two favorites—John Piper and Elisabeth Elliot. Since that initial groundbreaking work, evangelical feminists have found new arguments to bring to the table, and this work now addresses those points– 118 arguments to be exact.

In the first two chapters, Grudem makes the case using Scripture for a complementarian view of men and women; that is, that men and women are equal in value and personhood, but different in roles in marriage and the church. The rest of the book answers every evangelical feminist argument on the subject with great detail, fairness, and scholarship. (And if he skipped any, there is even a website to find updates on those arguments as well.) While the book is more aptly called a “work,” it is accessible to the layperson while maintaining its scholarship. It is readable, enjoyable, and usable. By that I mean, the subject headings are so well organized that the reader can skip, fast forward, and rewind with ease.

To give you a taste of what’s in the book, here’s a look at some interesting topics:

On a personal note, my husband teaches a class on Systematic Theology employing Wayne Grudem’s text on the subject by the same name. Since we’re nowhere near eschatology and several years have already gone by, it could be said of Grudem that if nothing else, he is thorough. However, after reading Evangelical Feminism and Biblical Truth, I’d have to add that he is “right on,” gifted, and gutsy as well.