The Right to Love

My Dear Sisters,
   
     Women have such a capacity to love!  Every time I think about it (which is becoming increasingly more often) I am still struck with awe.  I can’t get over it, nor do I want to, it’s too gorgeous not to dwell on.   The incredible bond women have with each other, their friends, and their family is mind-boggling.  Just think of the tenderness a little girl shows for her doll, which is not even human, yet she demonstrates her desire to love and serve by brushing its hair and trying valiantly to feed it.  Conversely, when a woman’s femininity is poisoned by hate and fear, she can be exceptionally cruel.  I’m sure we’ve all heard of or witnessed these tragedies of girls tormenting their peers for no real reason other than they can get away with it or they “just don’t like her”.  Hate and fear can drive women to do terrible things, even going as far as to wage war against one of their most deeply ingrained instincts- a mother’s protectiveness of her child.  Abortion remains one of the most direct and vicious attacks against a woman’s femininity, and unfortunately the response from those able to help victims is often that of disgust and condemnation.  As we turn from the ugliness of the sin, let us not also turn from or forget the beauty of the women.
    These women are in great need of healing, not judgment or abuse.  Abortion was/is only meant to destroy.  Love heals all, and it is only through love and compassion that we may help heal and be healed.  Loving these victims is not condoning the evils of abortions, it is actually doing the exact opposite.  I have never heard of any account of an abortion where the mother skips away, perfectly content.  Whether they recognize it or not, these mothers intuitively know that they have lost something that can never be regained, that their choice has consequences they couldn’t imagine.  Their decisions were ruled by fear and pain.  Fear is not of God, for “there is no fear in love, for perfect love drives out fear”(1 John 4:18).  Through love we are fighting this overwhelming fear, this terror that drives mothers to kill their own children. 
    It’s easy to rave about how much we love Abby Johnson, one of the leaders of the Pro-Life movement.  She is fantastically inspirational and courageous and God is certainly working through her to change hearts.  But here is the question we need to answer for ourselves- did we love her when she was a clinic escort?  Did we love her when she was the director of a Planned Parenthood?  Did we love her when she had abortions of her own? 
    The love I’m talking about is deeper than just “hey you’re pretty cool, I think you’re fantastic”.  It’s not a, “well, you’ve sinned too, so you have no right to judge” blame/shame game.  The love I’m talking about, and the love that so many women long for, is beyond words, it is a presence.  It is someone speaking from their heart, “I love you because you are.”  It is a shoulder to cry on, arms to embrace them if they want to run to them.  It is the special force of prayer, being present to the women and asking forgiveness and healing from God on their behalf, even if you never meet or know their name.  It is a love that deeply imitates Christ’s love for all of us- loving the person exactly where they are, not because of what they have done, or what they will do.  Whether or not they have more abortions or fight for prolife laws.  The simple and beautiful fact that they were created and loved by God makes them worthy of all the love in the world.   
    Just look at Our Lady of Guadalupe, hear what she says to Juan Diego- “Am I not here who am your mother?  Are you not under my shadow and my protection?  Are you not within the folds of my mantle, in the crossings of my arms?”  Can you ever imagine her disgracing or shunning anyone?  Especially a grieving mother?  Our country is classifying pregnancy as a disease, that women are “oppressed” by their uterus.  Imagine the conflict within the victims’ hearts after they have aborted their children.  They feel the pain and the anguish of what they have lost, the magnitude and permanence of what they have done, but instead of being allowed to grieve, they are told they should be happy, even proud, that they have “liberated” themselves.  By mocking the pain of the women through ignoring it or waving it aside like a flu that will pass in time, society has wounded its daughters once again. 

    And so my sisters, I ask that you remember when speaking of abortion, whether in a debate or general conversation, always speak with love.  In this war against one of the greatest evils in this world, let us remember that we can only prevail if we love with such fierceness and such motherly tenderness that the world cannot help but gravitate towards it.  Let us show them how a woman’s love can change the world.
   
Your Sister in Christ,

Jenny

G.K. Chesterton and The Three Kings

I found this lovely poem/hymn that G.K. Chesterton wrote. I encourage you to read it slowly and thoughfully. I wish you all a wonderful Epiphany!

Love, Marta



G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936

The Wise Men

Step softly, under snow or rain,
To find the place where men can pray;
The way is all so very plain
That we may lose the way.

Oh, we have learnt to peer and pore
On tortured puzzles from our youth,
We know all labyrinthine lore,
We are the three wise men of yore,
And we know all things but the truth.

We have gone round and round the hill
And lost the wood among the trees,
And learnt long names for every ill,
And served the mad gods, naming still
The furies the Eumenides.

The gods of violence took the veil
Of vision and philosophy,
The Serpent that brought all men bale,
He bites his own accursed tail,
And calls himself Eternity.

Go humbly…it has hailed and snowed…
With voices low and lanterns lit;
So very simple is the road,
That we may stray from it.

The world grows terrible and white,
And blinding white the breaking day;
We walk bewildered in the light,
For something is too large for sight,
And something much too plain to say.

The Child that was ere worlds begun
(…We need but walk a little way,
We need but see a latch undone…)
The Child that played with moon and sun
Is playing with a little hay.

The house from which the heavens are fed,
The old strange house that is our own,
Where trick of words are never said,
And Mercy is as plain as bread,
And Honour is as hard as stone.

Go humbly, humble are the skies,
And low and large and fierce the Star;
So very near the Manger lies
That we may travel far.

Hark! Laughter like a lion wakes
To roar to the resounding plain.
And the whole heaven shouts and shakes,
For God Himself is born again,
And we are little children walking
Through the snow and rain.