Sometimes, I’m not sure what to write about until I sit down and put a pen to paper, just to see what happens. There’s an old man in a blue suit across the way and a man who must be his son, they’re leaning in together, talking, as words and crumbs fall in the short space between them. In the corner, by the window, a lady with Downs is enjoying a doughnut with her elderly friend and as I watch them, I’m struck by how unutterably glad I am that we are not living in Iceland.
I have an unfortunately long memory for this day and age. Filed away in there are articles of a nurse’s confession, ‘I cut their vocal chords so they couldn’t cry’; articles about Gosnell keeping body parts pickled in jars; articles on nurses who delivered and disposed of fully formed children; the account of a doctor who would leave saline needles in women’s bellies so that he’d know it was over when the needle fell still; videos of feminists ringing cowbells to drown out the gospel; images of pure rage in candy pink; images of a hand reaching from the womb; videos of haggard, wild-eyed, high-heeled women rasping ‘hoes need abortions’ over and over and over; posters declaring that pro-lifers should have been aborted; and movies of women haggling over body parts as they pick at their overpriced salads.
We live in an age where premature babies can survive younger and younger, where images of our children in the womb can be pinned to our fridges in higher and higher resolution, where these scans can be printed in 3D so that the blind may feel what their baby looks like; where unhatched turtle eggs have more laws protecting them than unborn human children.
I’ve never met about 20% of the children I was meant to go to school with. They died before ever I could. In America, it’s worse with about 25% of my generation simply obliterated.
We are not a people who will be able to claim we never knew. All of the things filed away in my mind are public domain. They’re not difficult to find, you can’t miss them. Neither can you say you never knew. The spread of knowledge is the great blessing and the great curse of social media. The slaughter of children is commonplace in our society — expected even — and none of us has the right nor the opportunity to remain oblivious.
I’ve read articles by vegans justifying abortion as vegan friendly. I’ve read articles by young women who were abused or were hardly into their teens when they fell pregnant, or who were afraid to lose the life they had planned. I’ve watched doctors speak dispassionately about tissue removal, psychological trauma of carrying to term, re-assembling dismembered parts on trays to prevent septicaemia, and I’ve heard them throw out all the statistics about what they call health care.
We can hear and read and watch the arguments surrounding abortion from any and almost every angle (even that of children who survived the act). All it comes down to is a woman’s right to kill her child versus that child’s right to life as a human being, made in the image of God. The sad irony of it is that the unborn child is only a child if it is wanted.
Once upon a time, I thought that maybe the doctors and nurses at these clinics didn’t know, that perhaps they had simply never realised. I was naive back then. There is no way that they do not know and that is the great evil of what they choose to do.
I will not make any arguments about when life starts. Nor about whether the child feels pain, nor whether there are circumstances in which it would have been better for the child never to have been born, nor rape, nor finances, nor drug addiction, nor mental health, nor risk to either life, nor deformity, nor career, nor women’s lib, nor convenience. It’s all out there for the world to see, you cannot miss it.
There is no need to make a case because the evidence speaks for itself, the witnesses bear testimony, and the blood spilled calls out, like Abel’s, from the earth.
Today, Ireland votes on whether to repeal the 8th Amendment, thereby allowing abortion on demand. Pray for them, that God in his mercy and his restraining grace, would lead them to save the 8th and thousands of lives with it.
Pray that they would not become like the UK and the US, so caught up in ‘women’s rights’ and the desire for progress that they make a choice that will ultimately lead to slaughter of millions and the fierce, tear-stained battle to reverse a decision which can never be undone.
We want to end abortion now, to stop the killing. Pray that Ireland would prevent it before it even begins.
They say Hemingway wrote the saddest story in the world in just six words:
For sale: Baby shoes, never worn.