It confounds logic. How does someone who was raised in a God-fearing home not fear God? How does someone raised by an abstinence counselor not abstain? How does someone sheltered from so many degrading aspects of our culture slip the protection to go wallow in the degradation?
If I knew the answers to each of these question, and moreover, how to keep these things from happening, I’d be publishing a book on the sovereign parent’s 12-step plan to raising your kids right … but we aren’t sovereign and we aren’t saviors … we’re parents … and God is the only one who ignites the fire in our kids’ hearts to love and obey Him. We can do everything right and the truth may still appear to elude them, so what’s the answer, and where’s the logic?
God is the only answer and He is the only logic.
“But God was merciful! We were dead because of our sins, but God loved us so much that he made us alive with Christ, and God’s wonderful kindness is what saves you. God raised us from death to life with Christ Jesus, and he has given us a place beside Christ in heaven.” [Ephesians 2:5-6, contemporary English version]
Two weeks ago, I posted “Chapter I” on how the Lord first prepared my heart to meet my future husband. Posting that story was also the kick-off of a much bigger endeavor — my story. Or rather, God’s story …
Two pink lines. The test was really just a formality. I’d known what it was going to tell me, yet my hands shook, disbelief raced through my brain. Is it possible to know something and be shocked by it at the same time?
Pregnant.
I was almost incapable of thought.
The words were a sing-song chant in my brain: “How did this happen? How did this happen? How did this happen?”
I could count on both hands the people who were aware of this man’s existence in my life, and I only needed one hand to count the people who knew that he was more than a friend.
How did this happen to me?
Compromise. When there is rebellion towards truth, boundaries are no longer necessary because everything appears relative, and selfishness, bitterness, and every other vice easily push aside whatever moral resistance should have been in place.
Days passed. I didn’t want to tell him. This couldn’t possibly go well and I had no answers to this problem, but it was the right thing to do. He deserved to know.
“Hey, we need to talk. Can I stop by?” Such a long car ride. What do I say?
I’m pregnant. There, the words were out.
While there is relatively little of this conversation I recall, I do remember the litany of insults … one doesn’t usually forget those.
Was I scheming?
Was this a grand plot to get him to speak of marriage? No, I thought. I don’t want to marry you. It was all wrong.
It’s funny how all that was so fun and seemingly mature was suddenly stripped away in a true crisis. The adult was gone and in his place was an angry, selfish man-child. …the first of many moments when I realized how totally blind I’d been.
More questions … Was this black-mail? How could I do that to him? And then, the final verdict … head in hands, crouched as if someone had just kicked him in the stomach, he uttered,“You have to abort it.”
Me: Don’t ask me to do that, please. I don’t think it’s right. It goes against everything I’m about! For goodness’ sake, it goes against everything you say you’re about!
Him: You have to do this! There is no other option.
Me: Don’t tell me that … as if I don’t know that already! But my family … your family, especially your mother… nobody believes abortion is right.
Him: Don’t talk to me about my mother! With this action, you have brought her one step closer to her grave.
Me: Alright! Fine! I’ll consider it.
More accusations … more argument … no conclusions.
Finally, emotionally spent, we decide that we’ll talk in a few days …
And still, the constant litany in my brain … but now, a different phrase; “What am I going to do?”
