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Abortion Is Good

randomlychad  —  January 7, 2014 — 7 Comments

For who, exactly?

For the girls who suffer guilt the rest of their lives?

For the babies who never had a say?

For the women who can’t conceive later in life?

For childless couples waiting to adopt, hoping to become a family?

Tell me again just who abortion is good for?

Oh, yeah: doctors, clinics, Planned Parenthood:

Because it makes them fat stacks of mad cash.

It’s not about the girls, it’s not about women’s rights.

It’s about money, pure and simple.

“Greed is good,” said Gordon Gekko. But is it? When it causes people to value cash more than human life? (“What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?”). Remember when life had incalculable value? Ten years ago, no one would have batted an eye about a mother in Texas being kept alive because her baby deserved a fighting chance. Now, it’s news. Now, it’s about women’s rights.

It’s a smokescreen. “Every child a wanted child” is a BS PR campaign. Yes, teen pregnancy is hard, but all throughout history woman married young, and had many, many children. Not all of whom lived to reach adulthood. It’s only as society modernized, and great emphasis was placed on education and opportunity, that teen pregnancy was declared to be a scourge, a travesty… Because it makes life hard? “Young lady, you don’t want to limit your opportunities, you know. But have sex. Have as much as you want. Just use protection. But if you have an “oopsie” just know that we’re there for you, okay? We have pills, forceps, vacuums, and saline solution. Completely painless, and without consequence. All because we care. Have a nice life.”

Whoever said that life wasn’t supposed to be hard straight up lied.

It’s really the culture (of convenience) that makes it harder than it needs to be:

Look at Mary, the mother of Jesus. Impregnated by the Holy Spirit at possibly thirteen. She knew where babies came from (“Since I have never been with a man”). So did Joseph her espoused (“who had a mind to put her away quietly”).

Not to mention Mary’s parents (who aren’t mentioned in Scripture). How did they feel about this? What if abortion had been an option in their day?

Where would that leave the rest of us?

Or what about evangelist James Robison? Who, the story goes, was born of rape? Or Jaycee Dugard, who has two beautiful children borne of a very bad situation.

Tell them that abortion is a good thing.

Point is: God is in the redemption business. And even the darkest, blackest things are never beyond His reach.

We just have to give Him the chance. Like young Mary did all those years ago.

What do you think?

'ABORTION // Fetus & Moron' photo (c) 2010, Raquel Baranow - license:

I get it. I really do. I’m a man. As such I’m not supposed to have an opinion on the subject of abortion. The sovereign rights of women, and all.

But, since no one’s ever accused me of being particularly wise, here goes:

We’re all supposed to act like abortion is like suffrage, just another right which has been hard-fought, hard-won, hard-earned. Like hands off, “touch not, taste not, handle not,” this is women’s business, son.

So step off.

Now the law says a woman gets to choose. That’s all fine and dandy, but legal doesn’t always equate to ethical, moral, or responsible. I’m not here prepared to discuss situations of rape, incest, or life of the mother–the reasons most often trotted out for why abortion should be kept “safe, legal, and rare.”

Thing is, it isn’t. Rare, that is. It happens everyday, all around the country. Young girls are being given the “morning after” pill without so much as a by your leave from their parents. As if their rights somehow trump those of parental consent. The message being sent is that life can be divorced from consequence. Think you might be pregnant? Here, pop a pill.We won’t tell your parents. We can’t have you making such a serious mistake, but don’t want to keep you from that sweet, sweet nookie your body so clearly craves. So, have at, young woman.

We’ll be here in the morning…

And that’s just merely one form of early-term abortion. The thing is, and here I’m tipping my hand, I’ve written of The Sister I’ve Never Known, and how I lost a sibling to the altar of convenience. Here’s the rest of the story:

As adults, we hear things which shake us to the core, shift our paradigms in ways perhaps we didn’t wish to go. Two of those, for me, were the aforementioned revelation about my mom’s abortion. The other was, as I heard from her own lips, that she and my dad were using contraception when I was conceived in 1968. Why would anyone tell their adult child that? More specifically, what am I to make of it?

You may draw your own conclusions, but here are mine:

1) We didn’t really want you, weren’t trying for you, but we kept you anyway.

2) If abortion on demand had been legal in 1968, I might not well be here now. As it was later on, not being quite convenient, having a burgeoning career, etc., my parents were about seventeen months married when I was conceived, financially strapped… In short, the conditions were such that if there had been a legal out, they might well have taken it.

All because it was inconvenient to have a child then. But thankfully they didn’t. Yet how many do everyday? And we’re supposed to act like this is okay, have nothing at all to say.

“Choice” doesn’t happen in a vacuum, is not free of repercussions, consequences… In short, as Donne so wisely said all those long years ago, “no man [or woman] is an island.” Whether we like it, or not, we are all part and parcel of one another. Men, women, children–the born, and the preborn–have this in common:

We are all of us human beings, endowed by our Creator with certain inalienable rights. And more particularly, more specifically, more personally, I believe that every child should be given the same chance I was, although not wanted, to live, because God has his hands upon even the least of these.



I see her in my mind’s eye: the bright red of her hair shining in the sun’s light, pigtails flying, green eyes sparkling as she swings on the backyard swingset. She is fair-complected like her Irish forebears, freckled by the sun she loves so much.

In my dreams, I stand behind her pushing her higher and higher as she squeals in delight.

“Higher, brother, higher,” she says. So I comply, pushing her up towards the sky.

She is always five, happy, precocious, precious as we play. We roll in the grass, staining our clothes. We chase my cat into the trees behind our parent’s property. She is a joy–full of laughter and life.

I will always keep her safe. No harm will come to her as long as I’m alive. I am her big brother.

Our mother calls us in for dinner. Missy, for that’s her name, can’t come inside. I wonder why. She’s just as much a part of this family as I.

“It’s okay, brother,” she says. “I’ll be here tomorrow when it’s time to play.” I go in for the night, eat my dinner, say my prayers…

Then I wake up. I’m not a little boy, but a man grown. And then I remember: I’ve never met my sister. Her life ended before it even began, scraped from our mother’s womb. Because two sons, and a burgeoning career, were enough–perhaps too much.

I see my sister, sitting on Daddy’s knee, laughing, waiting for me. Someday the faith shall be sight.

Until then, Missy.