A Mother's Response to Abortion

Recently, my eyes have been wet and my heart heavy.   Articles have flooded my computer with abhorrent crimes, graphic images, staggering statics.  Abortion.  My child was born at the same gestational age where many young lives will end.

Are we really in a second, silent, Holocaust?   Whether you're for it or against it, there's no escaping the topic, and it demands a response on so many levels:  intellectual, emotional, spiritual, physical.

And emotionally, I join the outrage and the outcry and plead for the end.  Won't someone do something?

As I consider the realities of abortion clinics and abandoned babies and unwanted pregnancies, my lips verbalize a longing for redemption and change, yet my body is immobilized.  Paralyzed.   I am a single person, with little influence, money, or resources to make a real difference.  Could I actually make a difference?  Where would I even begin?

And don't misunderstand me -- there are many things I CAN do.  Too many to list here.  Pursue adoption.  Consider foster care.  Give money.  Plead that God would change hearts.  Teach my kids.  Pray that Jesus would come soon.  Raise awareness.  Love mothers who have walked this horrific road.


But the end issue is not just abortion.  It didn't start with Roe vs. Wade, and it doesn't stop with Kermit Gosnell.

The issue is larger than that -- we are in a chronic war against the enemy, not just for unborn children, but for ALL children.

We've ALWAYS had to fight for every. single. child.  Consider the words of author Russell Moore:

"We ought to be reminded that Jesus is not born into a snowy winter wonderland of sweetly-singing angels and cute reindeer nuzzling one another at the side of his manger.  He is born into a war zone.  And at the very rumor of his coming, Herod -- the Planned Parenthood of his day -- vows to see him dead, right along with thousands of his brothers.  It's always been that way. The Bible tells us so... children are always hurt.  Human history is always riddled with their corpses."

But why is it that children are perpetually caught in the cross-fire of sin and selfishness?  Why are children the ones who always lose the battle of "rights?"  From divorce, to child slavery, to sex-trafficking and child labor, to domestic abuse, abductions, and playground bullying -- children have always represented what the Enemy longs to destroy:  new life.

"The demonic powers hate babies because they hate Jesus.  When  they destory "the least of these," the most vulnerable among us, they're destroying a picture of Jesus himself...they know the human race is saved -- and they are vanquished -- by a woman giving birth... They are also destroying the very pictures of newness of life and of dependant trust that characterizes life in the kingdom of Christ.  Children also mean blessing -- a perfect target for those who seek only to kill and destroy."

For the God who created each child, knit together each baby, not only delights in children, but says we must become like one of them to enter His Kingdom.  He prizes children.  And because of this, one of the main battle grounds against the enemy will always be with children.

And if this is true, then perhaps there's something even more close-to-home, more obvious, and just as critical that I tend to overlook.

I can love MY children.

I can daily battle for their bodies, their minds, their hearts, their souls.  I can pour myself into care for them, and love them regardless of the cost, the inconvenience.  I can kiss their ouchies, clean their bottoms, fill their bellies.  I can teach them, pray for them, remind them everyday that they are cherished.  I can show up at her "dance recital" in the basement, and stop laundry for just long enough to make a Play-Doh cake.   I can put my to-do list on hold for just a moment to pick him up and hold him close to my chest.  I can plan excursions, educate their minds, surprise them with gifts, read them one more story.

I can love the children I have, with all that I have, because the battle is for ALL of our children.

Perhaps this is not enough.  Perhaps I should be investing more in the large-scale battle against the injustice that plagues the most helpless among us.  And I am certainly not suggesting that we turn a blind eye to the atrocities that are regularly committed in the very cities we reside.  But perhaps our own homes provide the starting point we tend to overlook in pursuit of grander opportunities.


As the Church of Jesus Christ, we are in a battle for children.  And the battle begins in our own homes.


**All quotes are taken from Russell Moore's excellent, and highly recommended book, "Adopted for Life."  Regardless of your stage of life, this book needs to be on your reading list! 

The Warning Sign

I looked in my rearview mirror, and much to my dismay, saw the red and blue siren flashing behind me.

Ugh.  I put on my flashers, and fumbled for my wallet and car registration, which I presented to the officer when he arrived at my window.

"You turned right when there was very clearly a 'no turn on red' sign posted," he alerted me.

I did??  There was?

"I'm sorry.  I must have completely missed it."

"You couldn't have missed it."  He replied bluntly.  "It's huge."

Well, somehow, I did.  This haphazard mother missed the large, looming, obvious "no turn on red" sign that she was clearly supposed to see.  How did that happen?

After a sharp reprimand and a hefty fine to pay, the officer sent me on my way.  Then, I promptly made a U-turn and drove the 1/2 mile back to the crime-scene intersection.  I had to see this for myself.

He was right.  There is was.  It was huge.  And I missed it.

How did I get so distracted, so intent on my destination, that I failed to notice the giant warning sign hanging above the traffic light?


A few days ago, something similar happened.   I read the following "warning sign" in James:

  Because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.

James 1:20 (NIV)

I've read this countless times before.  I've been down this road.  I've turned this corner.  Did I really miss the sign?  The "anger-will-not-actually-give-you-what-you-really-long-for" warning that James gives?

We want and we don't get.  So we react.  Call it annoyance, frustration, agitation, weariness-gone-haywire, whatever you want...James calls it anger.  And he is says that it does NOT produce the righteousness that God desires.

Because anger is a funny thing.  It actually DOES get us where we think we want to go.  And it gets us there faster.  People listen up.  They pay attention.  Things get done.  A quick temper, a word-spoken-too-harshly, an unloving rebuke, they actually produce the quick results that we think will satisfy us.  And so I use it.  I use anger to secure an outcome, get what I want, arrive at my destination faster.

That destination may be nap time, the completion of mealtime, a quiet home, a clean home, a full night's sleep, a successful shopping trip.  And often, "whatever it takes" to get there includes an angry outburst.

But the warning in James is very clear.  Anger doesn't work.  

If I long for my children to be righteous, anger is not the vehicle to take them there.
If I long to pursue righteousness myself, anger will thwart my desires.  

It may make your children compliant, and it may produce results for the short term, but it is not the path to righteous living. Not for you.  Not for them.  Please know this:  when you find yourself giving into anger, you inevitably forfeit the very change you long to see in your children.  In the end, disregarding the "warning sign" leaves us with hefty fines to pay -- often at our children's expense.


The gospel provides a better way:

God is patient with me, so I can be patient with my children.
God has forgiven me much, so I can forgive my children much.
God does not treat me as my sins deserve, so I can humbly extend grace.
God continues the good work He began in me, so I can walk alongside of my "slow-learning" children.


Don't miss the warning sign.  Where anger produces thorns and walls, love can mold softened hearts and produce lasting change.

Being Big and Strong

It was just another normal breakfast in the Royes home.  I sat by the side of Joanna's highchair, instructing her to take bites of food, followed by sips of her milk.  After a bite-too-big and a cough-too-loud, the breakfast in her belly came back out onto her tray.

As I wiped down the highchair and my child, I tried explaining to her the importance of not throwing up.  The conversation went something like this:

Mommy:  Sweetheart, it's important to keep the food in your belly.  Do you understand?
Joanna: Yes, Mommy.  Understand.
Mommy:  Can you please try not to cough?  When you cough, the food doesn't stay in your belly!
Joanna:  Yes, Mommy. No coughing.
Mommy:  And if the food doesn't stay in your belly, then you can't grow big and strong!  Don't you want to grow big and strong?
Joanna:  NO.

I stopped what I was doing to look at her, puzzled.  This daily-repeated conversation had taken an unexpected turn.  She repeated her new battle cry several times, each time with increasing volume and resolve.

Joanna:  NO, Mommy!  No big and strong!!

She proceeded to cry, asking to be all done breakfast, despite my sad attempts to convince her that being big and strong was a GOOD thing-- much better than being 25 pounds for the rest of her life.

Rationalizing with a two-year-old hardly seems logical.


Half of my heart was saturated with annoyance.  This isn't fun for me either, kid.  But the other half of my heart was pricked at her sadness, at her desire to escape pain, rid herself of inconvenience, not realizing that she'd be sacrificing so much more in the future.  And as her mother, with her future in full view, I must insist that mommy knows best, and she needs to eat.  She'll thank me later.

I am my 2-year-old.  Many days, I don't care about growing big and strong, I just want the hard work, the sadness, the tiresome tasks, to end.  And the very things in this life that cause me pain, God has determined to mold and use so that I grow up "big and strong." He uses the things I would eagerly forgo if given the chance, to sanctify me, change me, sharpen me, humble me, grow me in grace, dependence, mercy, steadfastness.

Because He knows it's better.  And He knows that I will thank Him later.

Sweet mothers and fathers -- thank you for serving your children, doing for them what is best, even when they despise you for it.  You are growing them big and strong.  You are caring for their future when they'd prefer to ignore it.  You are imaging our faithful God who daily does this for us.

Valentine's Day Reflections

I've always been a sucker for Valentine's Day.  I love the cards, the colors, the affections, the flowers, and the 50% off candy on February 15th.  

I woke up Valentine's Day morning, finished writing my romantic, heart-felt, gushy card for my husband, and proceeded to get ready for the day.  Valentine's Day often carries with it the anticipation of affection, love, warmth, and surprises.

So naturally, my heart was crushed, when by mid-morning, my two-year-old had vomited twice and peed through 3 pairs of underwear.   My heart was not kindled with affection.  My emotions did not radiate love and warmth.  This was NOT the surprise I had in mind.

And yet perhaps, as I sat on the floor, wiping up vomit, and crying because the day was hardly off to an affectionate start, I was celebrating more than I knew.  

By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to 

lay down our lives for the brothers. 

1 John 3:16

Far beyond cards, flowers, sweet words, and romantic gestures, real love was defined on the cross -- one perfect lover sacrificing His life for men and women who didn't deserve Him. 

And in God's eyes -- the best way to spend Valentine's Day, to demonstrate love for another, is by sacrificial service to one that may never repay you. 


Sweet mothers -- did you spend Valentine's Day cleaning up messes of your children?  Giving baths? Cooking a dinner that received no accolades or genuine thank you's?  Helping with math homework? Drying teary eyes, and wiping runny noses, and kissing boo-boos, and sitting down exhausted at the end of the day?  Recognize it or not -- you are celebrating.

Celebrate Valentine's Day by remaining steadfast.  Persevering in your calling. Sacrificing for your children.  Doing the same, menial, overlooked tasks of loving and nurturing little ones who may or may not notice.  This is true love.  These acts are celebration-worthy.  

And by all means, go buy the 50% off chocolate. 

Our Messy (Beautiful?) Home

We visited some friends recently for dinner.  My feelings of insecurity mounted as we approached the door, I knew what awaited us inside. 

I was right.  We were greeted by the scent of baking cookies and a softly burning candle; beautiful pictures hung on the wall, the carpets bore the marks of a fresh vacuuming, and flowers adorned the table.  

It was a lovely evening.  Really. 

Then we returned to our own home, where the aroma of dirty diapers filled the air, along with a trashcan in desperate need of emptying. I surveyed the room.  Half-chewed Cheerios plastered the chairs, single socks were carelessly stuffed in the couch cushions, and the humidifier had been transformed into Joanna's personal canvas for her "crayon art."  Legos were scattered like land mines, and someone's snowy boots had left a dirty footprint path through the kitchen.  

Most days, I feel like I can't compete with the chaos.  It regularly wins.  It also regularly swallows our library books.  And I certainly can't compete with our friends whose kids are grown and out of the house.

And within that statement lies the root of my problem -- because when did this become a competition?   I can often long for my home to appear as if kids don't live there -- immaculate, orderly, organized.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm totally an advocate of orderliness in the home, improved organization, and general overall cleanliness.  I attempt to wash the dishes daily, vacuum the carpets weekly, and dust every other year.

The problem comes when I end up spending more of my time trying to hide the fact that I DO have children, than I spend WITH my children; crossing things off my "home to-do" list, forgetting that my children ARE my to-do list.   In my heart's feeble attempts to compete and feel secure, I try to cover up the mess, forgetting that sacrifice is always messy.

If your bathrooms, like mine, don't get cleaned until someone is scheduled to come visit, it's ok.  Allow them to be a beautiful, dirty, reminder that love is chaotic, and sacrifice is messy.   

And if you're tempted to refrain from having spontaneous guests because your home "isn't up to standard,"  throw the doors of your home and your heart wide open, allow people to see the "I'm-not-always-so-put-together" you, and remind yourself that messy IS the standard. 

Does your home bear the marks of your service to your children?

The gospel speaks loud and clear -- Jesus, our beautiful Savior, exchanged his Kingdom robes for our filthy rags, and entered our messy world, and bears in His hands the marks of His service to us.

Your Special Needs Child - The Painful Songs

There are some songs that I just can't sing.

This morning in church, one of them came onto the screen.

Come, all ye pining, hungry, poor, 
The Saviour’s bounty taste; 
Behold a never-failing store
For every willing guest. 

I was already in the last row of the sanctuary, but I slipped out the backdoor before anyone caught sight of my tears.   Off to the bathroom I went to bury my face in tissues.  

A call to the hungry to be fed by Jesus evokes painful reminders of my daughter's condition -- her inability to eat, her body's rejection of food, her tears whenever I announce "mealtime!"   Would my daughter ever know the beauty of Jesus filling her soul if she couldn't understand how food fills the body?  Would she ever cherish verses like "taste and see that the Lord is good," if, in her mind, tasting is never equated with good?

Songs referencing the goodness of food only remind me of the brokenness in my world; how the Fall has affected my child.   For Joanna, food is punishment.  


I remember talking with a dear friend, years ago, whose oldest son has autism.  Unable to speak at a conversational level, she recalled how she still couldn't bring herself to sing, "Oh, For a Thousand Tongues to Sing" without dissolving into tears.   You see, her son has never been able to sing his great Redeemer's praise.  And that's not likely to change.  

I didn't get it then -- how a song of praise and worship could evoke such deep heartache, such longing.
I still don't understand completely, but I have my own songs that I still can't sing.  

At least not yet.  

But Heaven is coming.  

And all things broken will be restored, and all Scripture unfulfilled will find its fulfillment in the eternal throne room of God.


I don't know much about Heaven.  But I do know that there will be a feast -- a great wedding feast, celebrating the marriage of the Lamb and His Bride.  And Lord willing, my daughter will be at that feast.  And she will dine with her Beloved, she will enjoy it for eternity; She will taste, and know that her great God is good, and that Jesus fills her soul.  


Do you have songs that you can't sing?  Songs that, instead of evoking praise, evoke tears?  Songs that remind you of an unfulfilled longing?

Hold on.  You will one day sing.  

Heaven is coming.

Rescuing Love

Not all tears are grief-filled.  Some tears are shed when my eyes encounter true beauty, when God moves, when my Father whispers glorious truths to my heart.

Tonight was one of those times.  A tears-shed-from-beauty time.

It was a simple scene, really.  A child dancing.  But oh, to know the context, is to see something breathtaking.

50 of us filled the room -- family worship night -- and the words to the song came up on the screen and  voices filled the room:

"You are the everlasting God, the everlasting God -- You do not faint, You won't grow weary.
You're the defender of the weak, You rescue those in need, You lift us up on wings like eagles..."

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw children swirling and dancing and laughing as the music continued.  But one child in particular stood out -- a small boy with cocoa-colored skin and piercing brown eyes and a big toothy grin that lit up the room.

His parents stood close by.  They watched their son.  And I wonder if their minds flashed back to that day, years ago, when they first received the call.

Five years ago, dear friends, Peter and Erin, traveled overseas to Uganda, because they got a call that orphaned twins -- two precious baby boys -- needed a family.  And their hearts melted at the thought of calling them their own, and so they got on a plane to rescue their boys and traveled halfway around the world and fought legal battles for weeks and months on end so that one day, they could bring those boys home and speak over them words of affirmation and claim -- we are your mama and papa and we want you. 


And these same boys grew up in a home where love reigned and Jesus was celebrated and the days of being an orphan forgotten, because the word orphan described them no longer.  They became rescued sons. 

And TONIGHT they sing, and dance, and the words in the background speak of the God who saved them:  "You're the defender of the weak, you rescue those in need."  Their dancing affirms the very words they sing.  

And they likely have no idea.  No idea of the "would-be" life that awaited them apart from the glorious intervention of a saving God, and merciful parents, to defend the weak, to rescue those in need.  They are care-free, happy, rejoicing, loved, and largely unaware of the powerful rescue that took place those many years ago.  They sing of something larger than themselves, larger than they could ever comprehend. 

And I cry tears because I see the beautiful Gospel reminder that I too have been rescued.  Adopted.  Called out of a life of sin, slavery, and fatherlessness, and welcomed into the home of God, who gives me reason for singing and dancing.  He adopts me that I may enjoy the blessings of a Divine Family.

Sing.

Dance.

Rejoice.

Worship.

Know the beauty and freedom of RESCUE.