Dear Joy.

Dear Joy,

I don't know what your parents would have named you, or maybe already did, but in my head I named you Joy because I knew you would bring them more joy than they would've imagined if they had decided to keep you. I am so sorry.

Their actions communicated that they didn't want you. That they saw down's syndrome as some sort of blight. I wish they hadn't. I can't understand how they did it especially when I know that being a mother and feeling a baby's movement inside one's own body is already the beginning of a bond, the fact that there is life in there no matter how much they argue it's just a fetus. How did they disengage from knowing you? How did they shut out the voice of God that tells them what is right and to not value a comfortable life over something more difficult but worthwhile and lasting? Dear Joy, it was not fair.

Dear Joy, we thought about adopting you. We were going to bring it up but they had already gone through with it and you were already in heaven. When I found out, my heart dropped and I asked the Lord to hold you in His arms, hold you close under the shadow of His wings. I know that's what He did but I had to ask anyway.

It's not fair my dear little Joy. I wish abortion had never been possible. There are millions of other little ones with you in heaven aren't there? I want you to know that you were wanted and you are loved. They may try to sweep you under the rug and act as if you never existed but you live on in my memory. Dear Joy, I wish they had given you a chance at life. We will meet one day in Heaven.

---

Satan Hates the Little Children of the World

In his book Adopted for Life, Russell Moore says that Satan hates children and always has. History would say the same. In Scripture alone, we see the slaughter of the infants in Pharaoh’s Egypt and Herod’s Bethlehem. Every time the demonic powers forcefully oppose Jesus, “babies are caught in the crossfire.” Moore explains,

Whether through political machinations such as those of Pharaoh and Herod, through military conquests in which bloodthirsty armies rip babies from pregnant mothers’ wombs (Amos 1:13), or through the more “routine” seeming family disintegration and family chaos, children are always hurt. Human history is riddled with their corpses. (63)

“There is a war on children, and we are all, in one way or another, playing some role in it.”

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Whether we look back over the pages of world history, or just around us today, the point bears true. Children are so often caught in the crossfire, so often hurt, so often the victims of a larger conflict in which they have no say, no influence, no responsibility. It happened back when primitive peoples thought slaying their children would appease the gods, and when war meant burning homes and sacking villages. And it happens still today when deranged citizens carry guns into elementary schools, or when abortion clinics welcome terrified teenagers with open arms, or when Boko Haram pillages another Nigerian village, or a young couple decides Down syndrome will disrupt their life plans. Moore writes,

The demonic powers hate babies because they hate Jesus. When they destroy “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40, 45), the most vulnerable among us, they’re destroying a picture of Jesus himself. (63–64)

There is a war on children, and we are all, in one way or another, playing some role in it. Every time we move forward as faithful parents (or care for kids in any capacity, including advocating for the voiceless not-yet-born, and volunteering for nursery duty on Sundays), we are wrestling demons — because there is little the demons hate more than little children. Read more here.

Just a Train of Thought.

Today was a rare day in that both my children napped at the same time. I used that time to prep dinner and make a marinade for the fish tonight. As I minced the garlic and ginger, smells from the sesame oil and soy sauce wafted over. Waiting for their compadres to join them. Garlic, ginger, and soy sauce are such staples in Asian cooking. I call them the holy trinity. Toss in something spicy like siracha or red pepper flakes and it's a winner. But anyway, I really enjoyed just mincing and prepping in the stillness of the kitchen and it occurred to me that I don't mind this home stuff at all-- it's just that I need to slow down and enjoy it.

Another thought I had today was how I wish all professions were paid the same. Yesterday I enrolled my son in the summer reading library program. They had three stations for us to sign up. The middle-school volunteers were so eager to explain the rules and how it worked to us. It was pretty funny because it's not rocket science or anything, but I let them talk. It was more because I could see how the responsibility weighed on them. To them, this was an important task and it's always good to respect what means a lot to people.  It also made me remember when I was a middle school-er and was volunteering at the library doing the exact same thing. It was what everyone else in my class was doing and we thought it'd make us look good for high school, then college applications. Seems silly now, but it was a good experience in responsibility and helping younger children.

At the library, they told us they were backed up with checking materials back in and I thought, "I wouldn't mind doing it." I love systematic things. I love functionality, organization, and putting things in order. When I was in 3rd grade, I wrote in my English essay about wanting to be a librarian and it's nice to know I still would. From grade school to college, I loved hanging out with the books. I'd spend all day in bookstores or libraries just reading. Alas, I miss you Borders! Maybe I'll volunteer there again when I'm older. Also it makes me happy to see my son start to love reading and I hope to cultivate that in our daughter as well.

Tangents. That's how my brain works.

But back to my point of all professions being paid the same. I think sometimes what holds people back from doing what they really want to do is the money because we need to make livings. If a teacher got paid the same as a professional athlete as the president as the garbage man, would they still choose that profession? Some things I'd love to do-- work in a flower shop and learn how to put bouquets together (and learn the names of all flowers), bake goodies in a bakery and get flour all over myself in the process, be a secretary and check out those beautiful staples while color coding things. What would you do if every profession was paid the same?

In the Valley.

Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly, 
Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision, 
where I live in the depths but see Thee in the heights; 
hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold Thy glory. 

Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up, 
that to be low is to be high, 
that the broken heart is the healed heart, 
that the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit, 
that the repenting soul is the victorious soul, 
that to have nothing is to possess all, 
that to bear the cross is to wear the crown, 
that to give is to receive, 
that the valley is the place of vision. 

Lord, in the daytime stars can be seen from deepest wells, 
and the deeper the wells the brighter Thy stars shine; 
let me find Thy light in my darkness, 
Thy life in my death, 
Thy joy in my sorrow, 
Thy grace in my sin, 
Thy riches in my poverty, 
Thy glory in my valley.

Eyes. Mind. Heart.

Article for myself: Turn my eyes from worthless things.

As Charles Spurgeon said, “It is the tendency of things that are gazed at to get through the eyes into the mind and the heart.” Worthless things in the eye, gazed at, become worthless things lodged in the heart. Our precious attention gets used for futile ends.

We understand this. Today we talk about “ingesting media” as though we eat it. Media goes inside of us, enters our bloodstream, and becomes a part of us. The Puritans used to call the eyes the “eye-gate,” an entrance into the heart. If you let worthless things linger in your eyes, you will inherently muse on their promises, the drawbridge of discernment will lower, and those worthless things will enter into your heart’s affections.

“Let not my eye betray my heart unto vanity” was a common Puritan prayer, echoing the resolve and prayer of the psalmist.

Ladybugs.

I was hanging a blanket out on the clothesline today and saw a ladybug. I let it crawl onto my hand and then it flew away. Moments are these are still magical to me. The elementary school I attended had these huge grass fields. I remember wandering through these fields in third grade at recess time with my friends. We would catch the ladybugs, see the different reds and oranges, count their spots, watch them fly. It was a lucky thing to find one. Silly as it may be, today is a good day because I found a ladybug.