I’ve always known that I’m in the minority. Have you ever witnessed a hunched-over teenager sporting pants that need hemming, belting, and a little patching (for the bargain price of my weekly grocery bill) and a scowl that in comparison makes Witch of the East look like The Good Witch? All in an effort to be different, he trades his birthright (and his money) for a little bowl of bland porridge. Mr. Teenager thinks he’s the cutting edge minority but neglects to notice that all the other kids in his class look just like him. No, I’m not in that minority. I mean that I am REALLY in the minority.

You will not hear the following statistics in the president’s upcoming State of the Union address, but you can find them in an article by Christopher Check in the January 2005 issue of Chronicles Magazine (you can also hear a more profound discourse on the subject at Buried Treasure Books):

From 1990 to 2002, the percentage of the adult population (18 and over) that is married has dropped from 61.9 percent to 58.9 percent. In 1960, 72 percent of the adult population was married.

Total fertility rate (TFR) has increased to 2.1 (just above replacement level), but 1/3 of births are out of wedlock, and marital fertility is below replacement level. As the median age of the population continues to rise, the TFR is expected to decline.

12 percent of all families in 1980 had 3 or more children. In 2002, it was 10 percent of all families. Nearly 1/4 of all families with three or more children are single-parent families. Only 3 percent of families have 4 or more children under age 18. More than half of all families have no children under the age of 18. When you use the word “family” to describe a mother, father and their minor children, that describes a minority of families today.

Of the approximately 30 million currently married women between 15 and 44, 41 percent have become surgically sterile, 19 percent use hormonal contraceptives and 17 percent use a device to prevent birth. People who do not use birth control or use natural family planning are less than 10 percent of this group.

Somewhere between 1-in-4 and 1-in-3 women alive today have had an abortion. [Amy here: I’m assuming this statistic includes chemical and morning-after pill abortions, “selective reduction” procedures and homicide in order to protect the unencumbered lifestyle-- er, the “health”-- of the mother.]

In 1970, 40 percent of married women were in the paid labor force. In 2002 it was 61 percent. Among women who have had a child in the last year, 58 percent are working. 56 percent of children ages 3-5 are in institutional daycare. Only 26 percent are cared for by their parents full-time at home. The percentage of children in higher income households who are in daycare is even higher: 62 percent from homes with an income in the $50,000 to $75,000 range; 75 percent from homes with incomes greater than $75,000.

One doesn’t need a crystal ball or even the gift of prophecy to observe these statistics are sobering and have profound implications for society. In addition to the above figures, it is also reported that the divorce rate among Christians is a little higher than among non-professing Christians. (Perhaps this is because those that claim to be Christians feel an obligation to marry instead of just shacking up until the next honey comes along.) But whatever the case, we are marching steadily on the Highway to Hell: living, eating, drinking, being merry, and enjoying our lives without being “encumbered by children.”

Carmon Friedrich sums it up nicely (you have to read it slowly): By following the philosophy of gathering rosebuds while ye may, many are getting left out in the cold when the seasons of life change, and the rosebuds disappear leaving just the cold, cold grounding of reality: loneliness and lost opportunity to plant and tend thriving gardens that will bloom for eternity.

Mother Teresa expressed, “How can there be too many children? That’s like saying there are too many flowers.” Cultivating children for the cause of Christ is work that will reap eternal rewards. I will stand before the Lord one day with my children next to me, not my spiffy house. Tending covenant children produces a fruit sweeter than apples picked at their peak. Hard labor? Yes. From Galatians 6, we are admonished:

7Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. 8For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life. 9And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some weeds to pull.

There’s quite a ruckus going on at Carmon’s blog because she posted a picture of James Dobson’s son, Ryan, sporting a little biker/cutting edge look. From the onset, I knew there’d be feather ruffling, so I decided to sit back and enjoy the discourse.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that if I encountered Rockin’ Ryan in a dark alley, I’d probably quickly gather my chickadees to my bosom and tighten the clutch on my purse. I might even just throw my wallet at him and advise my children to, “Run!” Although you can’t judge a book by its cover, well, sometimes a little low-key marketing doesn’t hurt.

Now, before you imagine any stones coming from this glass house, let me say your conclusion is a little premature. It’s nearly impossible to look at the discussion without biased opinion. I happen to like my ankle-length attire, and all I’m missing is a head-coverin’. We humans like things to be black-and-white, and for that matter, sometimes when devising our standards we inadvertently set up a god in our own image. Yet, what we, as Christians, wear is not immaterial; it matters.

I’m not digressing with my story here. My six-year-old son, McGregor, had some sage advice for his 29-year-old unwedded aunt. He said, “I know who Aunt Jacqui should marry—someone who loves God with his whole heart and doesn’t bow down to idols.” We are in the process of studying Exodus during family worship, so this admonition didn’t come as a surprise. However, as I reflect on what he said, I think the kid has a good point.

What we 21st century Christians wouldn’t give that Christ would come back and set it all straight. Still, the children of Israel had fresh manna daily and didn’t even have to interpret the Words of God through a cultural glass, yet they rebelled, set up idols, and went on their own merry, pagan way. They had the complete, ultimate “how to” book, and still deliberately set up gods in their own image, stone idols to replace God-breathed law.

I venture to hypothesize that even if we had a list of “do’s” and “don’ts” for how a 21st century Christian should look, we’d still rebel. The same sin that dwelt in them, is alive and well in us. We are all sons of Adam and daughters of Eve: living, breathing, working, lovin’, and yes, even dressing, in a sin-stained world. To wit, I don’t toss out this Scripture flippantly: Man sees the outward appearance, but God looks at the heart.

The Rockin’ Ryan dilemma centers on how far we should go to become like those whom the Lord has called us to reach. And it is probably a discussion that will go on and on. It is good that we ponder, pause, and pontificate the matter. Let it continue.

But in all our ramblings, let us remember that the ultimate culture-mesher was the God-Man: Jesus Christ. God Himself condescended, took on human form, and became flesh so that we, in turn, could inherit eternal life. When the depth of this truth is internalized in our mortal hearts, then we will know which shoes to wear when we walk out the door.

Now, go love God and don’t bow down to idols.

The rain and cold is constant here, so you’ll forgive me for slipping into a moment of desperation. I took my crew to the McDonald’s playplace for lunch yesterday.

Now, the 10 times that I’ve taken them there, they’ve returned home 10 times with a cold exactly three days later. I reasoned away my apprehension with the fact that school was in session and the germs from the previous night had probably since fettered away. I figured that if I was going to chance it, now’d be a good time.

I was wrong.

Apparently, it was Mothers of Pre-school Twins Day (who all, incidentally, had various forms and consistencies of “stuff” oozing out of their eyes and noses). But before I could make a last-ditch sales pitch to try boring-ole’-Wendy’s-that-doesn’t-even-have-a-playground, we were in. I placed our Happy Meal order and cursed my memory for not remembering to bring reading material. I thought it was going to be a lonnnnng two hours.

I was wrong.

There was plenty of entertainment. For starters, there was a nice assortment of soccer moms chatting within earshot. I was able to educate myself on what the voting public considers “moral values” without even having to watch an episode of Oprah. I like economizing my time. It was kind of like Dr. Phil, minus the commercials.

Before long, the mom’s were completely engrossed in swapping juicy husband-bashing stories, so the kids were left to themselves. Not a good thing. Even my friend, Johnny, from a previous blog, was there. He was the one rolling on the floor licking it.

Then, there was the nice ole’ Grandpa who gave his granddaughter a quarter to work the elaborate Happy Meal Express machine that smokes, lights up, and spits out a handful of M & M’s all for the price of a mere quarter. I admit that I was surprised that you could get anything nowadays for a quarter, but alas, it was a smokescreen. The thing didn’t work, so Grandpa sacrificed another quarter to the contraption. (Kinda reminded me of our government…) Of course, the machine wasn’t going to produce without a fight, so Grandpa shook, kicked, and punched the thing until four M & M’s plunked into his hand.

Now, my three-year-old, Annalise, was standing nearby to watch the show up close, and Grandpa opened his hand, offering her a piece of the spoil. She looked at him like the ax-murdering, child-abducting, kid molester that we’d taught all our kids to view strangers who offer candy. It was a proud moment. She didn’t take the bait.

So, next time you’re tempted to need a little TV for entertainment, hop down to your local McDonald’s playplace where hours of happy, fruitful, and productive play can be found. You can never have enough precious, plastic Happy Meal toys, you know. And, while you’re there, send my regards to Johnny.

[Update: it is now three days later, and my six-year-old is laying on the couch coughing. Sorry, McDonald's. Next time we're going to boring-ole'-Wendy's.....]

I went to Wal-Mart this week.

Now, I believe I have my readers conditioned to expect that this is going somewhere. Whenever I go to Wal-Mart, I always come home with a juicy tale for my anxious husband. It’s always somethin’. Now, I am saving my previous “experiences” for another day, as I have a pile of ironing to do this morning. Actually, I just want to relate something positive that happened at the Giant Mammoth.

My four children and I were walking along with our two carts, when, (gasp!), someone stopped me to comment about my family size. Now, I don’t think four children is a lot (unless you’re gracefully following your husband on an extended business trip and living in a microscopic apartment, but we won’t go there again…). Nonetheless, I believe the public’s concern about my prolific reproduction stems from the fact that I appear to have many fertile years ahead of me. I won’t go into all the usual comments I receive; I just want to talk about the two I heard today.

My! Elmer, look at all those children. A train of beautiful children! Wow, Miss [I am a "Mrs.", just so you know…], you sure have a nice looking family.

To which I replied with sincerest gratitude. And waited.

It never came.

Understand, faithful readers, that I hear this comment a lot, but it is usually followed by, “Don’t you know what causes that?!” I always wonder (under my breath, of course) that if they’re so delightful and beautiful, why they send me their condolences. Nevertheless, as if one positive comment wasn’t enough, I was flabbergasted by another one.

Wow, ma’am, you sure do have a lot of helpers. You are lucky to have that much help.

Now this is a first. Since when are children looked upon as anything less than something you have to control and prevent?? I figured I had to make a break for it, before the good will of fellow Wal-Mart shoppers ran dry. So, I headed quickly to the check-out. The cashier scanned me through, and asked me just as I was leaving,

How many of those are you going to HAVE?! I have one, and that’s enough!

Oh well, I almost made it out. Next time, I’ll try the self check-out.

Last week Cal Thomas wrote an article, Shedding Light in Dark Places, with the basic premise being that Christians should spend less time criticizing the culture, and instead, use their energies to start infiltrating it.

Culture is starving because too many with a worldview that differs from the prevailing one have withdrawn their nurturing influence. It doesn’t help when such people are persuaded it is better to criticize institutions and their products, rather than going them one better.

How are academia, law, filmmaking or journalism improved when not enough believers in God become professors, lawyers, filmmakers or journalists? “Hollywood” does not suddenly begin making better movies when it is criticized for making bad ones.

In response, Dappled Things asked, How do we go about “shedding light in dark places”?

With respect to Cal Thomas, Bet from Dappled Things, and most Christians reading my commentary now, the questions you are asking are all wrong. The reason that our country is marching happily down the Wide Way to hell is not because Christians have withdrawn their influence from popular culture, but precisely because Christians are engaged in popular culture and there is no difference.

We should not be asking how we can best shed light; instead, we should be inquiring more fundamentally, why are our lights are so dim? Christians, on the whole, have digested the same worldview our public institutions have fed us. And we are licking our lips. We swallow the lie that academia and such are morally neutral and, therefore, can be separated from faith.

We Christians believe humanistic teachers when they say, “Plants need light and water to grow.” We God-professors gleefully sit under a Godless professor who declares, “1 + 2 = 3”, nodding our heads and patting ourselves on the back because the government finally got it right. No! The reason that a plant grows is because God ordained that plant to grow and sustains its very life, every atom and molecule, in order to bring Himself glory. He just happens to use light and water as a tool to accomplish that end. Furthermore, it is Jesus’ one, and Jesus’ two, that makes Jesus’ three. All of life, academia, media, art, science is under the domain of a great God, and to separate God from any of it is to commit cosmic treason.

So, going back to the article, Christians do not need to get off their comfy couches and “get out there and make a difference.” It would be nice if it were that easy. No, in order to begin making a difference, Christians must begin the process by being different. And that requires a lot more than just getting off the couch.

Set stage:
I learned something about myself when an old friend called last night to offer her (belated) congratulations on the hoopla surrounding the Best New Evangelical Blog. As I extended my gratitude to her for actually reading the thing, she remarked, “I don’t know how you have time to write…”

I replied that I composed my last post in about 20 minutes (10 minutes to write, 10 minutes to spell check and try to get those linkies to work) while the baby was finishing her nap and the older three were building a fort out of couch pillows, so what was so hard about that? And then it hit me. I do not spend an extraordinary amount of time writing, but rather a dizzying amount of time reading. I read constantly: books, journals, magazines, catalogs, websites, the fine print on coupon advertisements, and cereal boxes. Now that I think of it, when I played Life with my three oldest yesterday, I was too busy reading the rules on the underside of the box to actively enjoy and participate in the game of Life. (Try not to miss the nuances there…)

Outtake #1:
Actually, it probably took me about 10 minutes longer than mentioned to write the last post because I had trouble thinking up my plant growing illustration. The math one was easy because I just ripped that off Sproul Jr., and the cosmic treason comment was stolen from Sproul Sr. Then in the comments, I mentioned a “God entranced view of all things” which is highjacked from Piper, and of course, the whole basis of the post was taken from Cal Thomas….

So, not only am I an addict (to reading), but I’m a thief as well. Hello. My name is Amy, and…

Moving on, here are the people who confess to blogging about my post compiled in one spot:

Credits (in order of appearance):
–Bet, from Dappled Things has 1, 2, 3 posts on the subject
–Sandra, from Everyday Grace has one post and a take-off post on Bono
–Kristen, from Walking Circumspectly has one post and a take-off rant on Bono
–Amber Lynn, from Desperate Vision
–Milton Stanley, from Transforming Sermons
–John, from lucid moments
–John, from Blogotional
–Molly, from My Three Pennies
–Razor’s Kiss, weighing in with his study on Francis Schaeffer’s The Great Evangelical Disaster

[Update: People are still writing; here's more:]
–Salt and Light comments
–Kristen, from WC wants to tie Bet and also have a third post

Stage Help:
These people didn’t write their own blogs about this, but they deserve recognition anyway for sending me emails that go something like this, “Hey, Amy. Your sidebar looks pretty bad. You know, if you just paste in the code I’m giving you…” They’ve given up on teaching me anything, and just send me the codes I need, though I’m sure they wouldn’t want to be held responsible for the miserable state of my site. Anyway, they deserve your patronage:

Todd, from Five Children
Curt, a.k.a. The Happy Husband

Fine Print:
I hope in the making of this scene that no cyber feelings were injured. Please inform the stage manager if the unfortunate has occurred.

Outtake #2:
Now, regarding yesterday’s comments, I appreciate everyone who took the time to write. Pondering such things is a worthwhile pursuit, and I hope the dialogue continues around your dinner table tonight. In the meantime, I have a game of Life to go play.

Exiting stage left, er, make that right…

Everyone had some great contributions on the matter, but there can only be one correct answer for test taking purposes. So, the quick answer to the pop quiz is: What Would Jesus Think?

Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.

For those of you interested in my long answer, however, here it is: Someone accused me of reductionistic excess, and in the spirit of ecumenicalism, I have to agree and disagree on that point.

Stay with me…

Some of you argue that being is doing, and doing is being, and why can’t we stop the semantic wars and just get on with it?! The reason I think this is worth quibbling about is that when we don’t exhaust the matter, we often end up with “Bono Christianity” on one end (doing without being) and proverbial Presbyterians on the other (being without much doing).

In the above text, Paul instructs us to “have this mind” which resulted ultimately in Christ’s obedience to the point of death on a cross.

Semantics, schmamantics… Thank you all for your thoughtful discussion; it’s truly been profitable to me. I hope we’ve all grown a little more in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. Lovely parting gifts to all.

In case you’ve missed the ruckus over the last few days, you are in good providence: Paula has supplied us with a Cliff Notes version of the sum of the whole matter (without all the fluff) found in comment #41.

Yesterday when I read this I was going to comment, but instead I just thought about it for a while. Many words have been said on the topic, but I guess I like to simplify. What I see in Cal’s original article is a lot of talk about DOing. (not a bad thing, but…) What I see in your article is a focus on BEing. (absolutely essential for DOing) Doing for God is Great, but shallow. Being for God is all He wants, He then makes the doing possible.

So, Greg chimes in (#43) with, “That’s the problem with WWJD - it’s not the right question. See Philippians 2.”

So, here’s your mission should you choose to accept it: what is Greg getting at? What should the acronymn be? (WWJ__?) Stop reading the back of cereal boxes, pick up Philippians, and check in below with your thoughts. Winners, runner-ups, and doorprizes TBA this evening.
————————————————–
Footnote: Here’s a quick way to impress a girl– Before Commenter #43 and I were married, he quoted the entire book of Philippians to me. That’s when I knew…
(that I needed to stop reading cereal boxes)

Earlier this week, we discussed how what we think has profound implications on the way we live. Ronald Sider discusses George Barna’s latest statistics on the evangelical community in his new book, The Scandal of the Evangelical Conscience:

Barna’s findings on the different behavior of Christians with a biblical worldview underline the importance of theology. Biblical orthodoxy does matter. One important way to end the scandal of contemporary Christian behavior is to work and pray fervently for the growth of orthodox theological belief in our churches.

John Piper asks, “Who would have thought that the very survey system that lures so many to put their finger in the wind of opinion would tell them, Take your finger down and teach the people what the Bible says?”

As I sat down to write this post, I watched this video and this video of Terri Schiavo with my six-year-old standing over my shoulder. Not wanting to influence his reaction, I gave him a factual run-down on the case. Just the facts. When he became visibly upset, I asked him about his tears. He replied that he was afraid of what would happen if “they” decided we should stop feeding our eight-month-old Baby Cakes since she can’t feed herself (except in the recent case of her swallowing a Lego), and he doesn’t want our Rebekah to die. As a side note he also asked, “Well, why did her husband marry her [if he doesn’t want to take care of her]?”

What astounds me is that this matter debated among us “intelligent” adults is plain and clear to a six-year-old: Might makes right, and the defenseless are left without a defender.

Just this week, my husband informed me that his company isn’t finished with their project, which will result in him staying in California with no end date in sight. The giant company told us that we’d be in California for six months, and now that date has come and gone. I proceded to grumble about the situation, and he said that it wouldn’t go through the summer. So, I yelled (yes, literally, it wasn’t one of my better moments), “Where’s the line? WHERE’S THE LINE?!” If they can just get us to stay one more month, then at the end of that month, it will be just one more month.

And so it goes.

We’ve already determined via Roe v. Wade that life is not precious. Only certain life that meets certain criteria is precious. Once we moved “the line” away from where The Line Maker created that line, it will always be “just one more month.” (Incidentally, my husband is drawing a line in the sand regarding the project.) I was about to point out that we are on a fast-track to Nazi Germany, but we’ve already superceded Hitler’s death camps with our corner-mart abortion mills. We drew a line in the womb, and now it bleeds out to precious ones who aren’t very good with a spoon. Phil Steiger writes, A culture which refuses to acknowledge the inherent value of life at all of its stages, especially at the margins, will become a culture in which the margins will take over.

Though we earnestly pray that the courts will grant Terri the right to eat, it is probable that they won’t. After all, they starved her for six days last year. If the courts decide to strip God of His right alone to determine when life begins and ends, I hope they are at least merciful and grant her family the option to choose lethal injection or the electric chair.

In the meantime, we will teach our Rebekah to get a better handle on her little plastic spoon.

I think I’ll catch some flack for this one, but I’m going to post it anyway. Want to know the secret to church growth? Click here. (Woe to you if you have a dial-up connection…)

G.K. Chesterton’s words seem appropriate here: The problem with Christianity is not that it has been tried and found wanting, but that it has been found difficult and left untried.

Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few. — Matthew 7:13-14

Dear Amy,

I’ve just had my first, he’s almost a year. People keep telling me it will get easier - but the last five months have been very HARD. As he gets more active, I get more stretched. He’s now not a great napper or eater…My husband works nights (and OT) and has a sketchy sleep schedule himself, not much help usually. My loving church family who were all helpful when my son was born have disappeared.

I remember.

I remember being home alone five years ago with a one year old (and pregnant with the second). I remember getting him out of his crib, putting him in the highchair, and then sitting afterward for hours in the rocker reading Animal Sounds and The Creation over and over and over again. I remember not being able to leave the room without him wailing, contorting, and shrieking in protest. I remember wondering why the days were so slow and dreaming of a fast-forward button for my life. I remember the aloneness. I remember pouring my heart out to a church lady, hoping for a word of encouragement, and instead hearing, “Oh you think it’s hard now? Just wait until you start homeschooling.”

I was too naïve to understand basic woman nature: if you have a problem that needs empathy and a good old-fashioned get-your-hands-dirty-and-involved kind of solution, forget about it. She’ll just one-up you.

I remember.

I remember having my first child and realizing that my life was not my own. Oh, I knew the Scriptures about all that, but this gave it hands and feet. It’s not that I didn’t want to give my life for him; it’s just that I didn’t realize how hard it’d be. Oh, “they” warned me all right, but it wasn’t the warning I needed.

What I needed was a paradigm shift. However, it was a hard shift to make when the world and most evangelical churches war against this change. What is the shift?

Believing God.

Believing God when He declares in His Word,

Behold, children are a heritage from the LORD, the fruit of the womb a reward. 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! –Psalm 127:3-5a

The Lord calls you blessed and rewarded–not useless, replaceable, and in need of finding yourself. Rewarded by the Most High God–this all powerful, all wonderful, all wise knower and determiner of what is good is calling you and me blessed and rewarded.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? –Psalm 8:3-4

Believing God makes all this Mommy Madness meaningful. There is hope (not the world’s hope, but a living hope); there is purpose; there is joy in the journey. While society propagates the myth that mothers are dispensable, God declares that you are valuable, blessed, and worthy of reward. Why don’t we treasure His Word on this?! We have hope in the midst of diaper changes, endless laundry, and sleepless nights that God is raising up another arrow in His army.

As I read aloud Psalm 127, I remember that my first arrow assessed that God has great purpose in store for him, “Mom, does this mean that Daddy is a warrior and I’m his arrow in the battle of the Lord?” I see already that God is working as I obey and believe His Word.

The world calls mothering mundane, but God says it matters. God did not make a mistake when he created babies to need nurturing, cleaning, feeding, soothing, and rocking. The Designer designed it this way. Who are we to declare that He made a mistake? Oh, we will not say aloud that He erred, but our lives contradict us as we render unto Caesar the precious ones that are His alone on the altar of personal freedom.

So, dear mother of one, it is my prayer that God will give you the gift of faith to believe His Word, so that you will be able to give an answer to the hope that is yours.

———————————————–
Be sure to read the follow-up on this post here.

I’m sure you’ve noticed my lack of posting about Terri Schiavo. It’s not that we don’t talk, pray, and ponder the matter in our house, but there are two reasons why I haven’t posted on the matter this week:

1. I already spoke my mind when I advocated the electric chair or lethal injection as the way to murder her (tongue-in-cheek, of course).

2. What can I possibly add that hasn’t been said already?

But, I’m lying here on the couch, sick with a terrible virus: useless to all, in need of some artificial mechanism juice to help me breathe (unlike some other people with the initials, TS), and arguably a little brain damaged. What? But there’s hope for me? Not without a little Excedrin therapy and some vitamin C tabs, I assure you. Luckily for me, my rehabilitation can be purchased for about $12.99. Whew. I’m glad my husband isn’t a cheapskate.

Nobody is self-sufficient.

We all depend on someone. The poor and weak in our society are often referred to as dependent: pre-born babies, the handicapped, and the elderly. But lying on the couch, sick, I realize that we are all dependent.

I am dependent on my 6-year-old to bring me tissues, read to the girls, and fetch my water. Heh, I’m glad that I get water. Furthermore, I’m dependent on the oil company that makes the gas in the car that I’ll drive to purchase the antibiotic from the doctor who was trained by the university that was built by burly construction guys who made it to work because of the 12-steps of AA which is staffed by volunteers who got out of bed because life was deemed a gift.

Then the LORD said to him, “Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the LORD? (Exodus 4:11)

Yes, I’m dependent on a 6-year-old boy today, but we are all ultimately dependent on a long-suffering– and at least lately for our good– slow-to-wrath Creator. You don’t take a breath that He doesn’t allow and enable you.

We can argue Terri’s viability, and I thank those who are dedicating themselves to that work. But what does it matter? A nine-month old “fetus” can be killed, even though she’s viable, due to a “mother’s” inconvenience. The pro-death camp long ago conceded that our right-to-life isn’t a viability issue, but a (my) “rights” issue. And we all know, might makes right.

Let’s call a spade a spade.

And so “Can the pot say of the potter, ‘He knows nothing?’” (Isaiah 29:16) What we are facing is the age-old sin of making gods in our own image. No, we don’t admire the golden calves of our forefathers. Instead we declare ourselves to be judge and arbitrator, set ourselves in the place of God, and save everyone the hassle and spare change of casting golden statues. We put the gold in our pockets instead, wise economists that we are.

So while millions of babies continue to die a slow and agonizing death sustained by burns from a saline solution, and while we continue on injecting the inconvenient feeble with a needle that crushes their skulls—we now throw high our arms in agony that they’ve come for a dispensable “wench” outside of the womb?

The throne has been created for our humanist god, while those who bow to the king’s fat belly are blissfully unaware that they are his next meal.

The only thing I don’t get is why there are those who are still “confused.” But, that’s right, I’m not thinking straight today.

I took the liberty to rewrite the standard wedding vows.

Yesterday’s Marriage Vows:
Do you promise to love and cherish her, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer, for better for worse, and forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her, for so long as you both shall live?

Today’s Marriage Vows:
Do you promise to use and enjoy her, in youth and vitality, for gain and for prosperity, for better for purse, and forsaking her druthers, keep your wealth only to transfer, your lust so now she can’t live?

We do.