Why It’s Hard to Believe Abortion is Wrong

Why It’s Hard to Believe Abortion is Wrong.

A really good post by a Catholic writer who was recently Freshly Pressed. I have always believed that abortion is wrong, and have only recently realised that as the daughter of a man who could be described as a “rape baby” I have personal as well as logical reasons to believe it.

And yet, I don’t do anything about abortion’s prevalence, apart from occasionally get into arguments with people. The thought of those seven holocausts a year sickens me, but so do my country’s child abuse and youth suicide statistics, and I don’t feel like I can do anything much about those either.

I feel a certain amount of pressure to write something “awesome” after my blog being so described by someone far too kind (here), and I’ve been thinking a lot about what he’s been writing about lately too. It’s true that there is an awful lot of evil and injustice in the world, and the Church needs to be responding to it. But is it the Church’s job to take on these problems head on (spending funds only on benefitting the poor and needy while pastors work as volunteers and the congregation all take turns at preaching)? Or is that up to specific organisations or groups connected with the Church – and us individual members – while the Church fulfils the mission of introducing people to Christ and helping us to mature in Him?

If we all, and I mean ALL, everyone in the whole world, believed in and were transformed by the love of Christ and the Holy Spirit working in us, that would solve ALL the problems. ALL THE THINGS!!! It’s not a cop-out, or a numbers game. It’s our Mission. As we work towards it, each of us makes the lives around us a little better, and the future a little brighter, and maybe brings a few more friends into the fold, and they start to make the lives around them a little brighter…

I’ve started from one person’s blog post and ended up answering another’s, which is probably bad etiquette or something. I have to confess that my blog is mostly stream-of-consciousness (which is never going to get me Freshly Pressed…) and here you see perhaps a little further into my soul than I intended. Ambitious, insecure, defensively self-deprecating…

Also I like ending sentences with three dots…

But God loves me anyway. And you. A lot.

Even, even, if you spell it alot.

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Us and them

I had a revelation last Sunday. I was singing in the choir for a friend’s ordination to the Anglican priesthood. There was incense. There was liturgy. There was lots and lots of heartbreakingly beautiful music. And as I was singing it, I was thinking, “Ha, at least believe what I’m singing.” You know, like that post I posted a little while ago?

And then I think God slapped me round the back of the head. “How the heck do you know,” He said, “that everyone else here doesn’t believe it too? Yes, INCLUDING all those other choir members over there who make risqué jokes and live together OUT OF WEDLOCK.”

“Um,” I said, “you know, I actually don’t.”

“And,” He said, “I suppose you never do anything wrong, like them.

“Um,” I said, “touché.”

“Remember that bit,” He said, “about ‘In Christ there is no Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male or female’?”

“Yeah…”

“How about, no Anglican or Apostolic, gay-marriage-supporting or non-supporting, liberal or conservative?

“In fact, how do you know if someone is ‘In Christ’ or not? Only I know that. Therefore, this applies to EVERYONE.

“You ready for this?”

(Actually, God didn’t say that bit. I just need a dramatic pause before the punchline.)

“THERE IS NO THEM. THERE IS ONLY US.”

I was rendered literally breathless by the force of this revelation. It’s probably old hat to some of you who’ve been close to Jesus for longer than I have, or who are just smarter than me.

There is no right-wing and left-wing. There are people who, like me, care about their children’s future, and about the health of those worse off. There is no rich and poor. There are people who, like me, have food to eat every day, and people who, like me, worry about how to afford all the things their family needs. There is no gay and straight. There are people who, like me, can’t always help loving people they can’t ever be with, and people who, like me, are blessed to have someone wonderful to live and share a bed with.

I am absolutely NOT saying there is no sin. But sinners, like me, sin. And try to do better next time. Or, like me, don’t.

I feel like a different person, on the inside. Let’s see if it makes a difference on the outside.

Retrospective

I just read back through my last few posts. I feel a couple of updates are in order:

I have stepped down from one of the music groups, my church worship team. It was a heavy commitment and required a lot of responsibility and practice. I didn’t have the time to give it all it needed to do a good job, and I refuse to do a bad job. The team leader agreed with me that my studies need to be a higher priority at the moment.

I feel so much lighter! There is room in my brain! Plus, I can sing and listen to worship music and worship without having to plan my next list or mentally rehearse the keyboard parts! This is good.

The choir concert went pretty well. I don’t get nervous about them any more. Or maybe I just didn’t get nervous about this one because it wasn’t just our choir performing, there were two other choirs as well. Less pressure.

My presentation on music therapy went well as well. Well well. One of my classmates told me afterwards, “you’re a really good speaker!” And I had fun chatting with the kindy kids picking up and later returning their musical instruments. About four of the kids helped me, and had goes trying on my glasses. As you do.

As for the exercise, I’ve kind of, um, stopped completely. I got really tired, probably from overdoing everything, and then decided I looked frumpy going to class in my comfy but butt-ugly gym shoes, and then I got busy, and now they’re doing up my lab so I don’t have anywhere to leave my HEAVY bag to go to the gym, and the weather’s getting cold, and I have a cold, and, and, and …

Apparently if you come up with more than two or three reasons for doing something, you don’t really believe what you’re saying and are just trying to convince yourself.

It’s Mother’s Day today (or should that be Mothers’ Day?) and I got breakfast in bed, four hand-made cards and a cute plush stuffed neuron. I think it’s a pyramidal cell. I’m thinking about attaching it somehow to my backpack.

I like my life.

A new me?

I just entered the new millennium, only 13 years late. That’s right! I bought skinny jeans! They will ONLY be worn under dresses and tunics, I promise. Husband and I are going to a gig at a pub together tonight for probably the first time… ever, actually. This chick was FANTASTIC live on New Zealand’s Got Talent, and I am so delighted she’s made it this far south. So in honour of the occasion, I decided I should probably try to look a little more trendy. The jeans are green. I’ll let you know how it goes. Maybe.

I’ve had a dreadful cold which meant I couldn’t sing Allegri’s Miserere for Ash Wednesday at St Paul’s Cathedral (Dunedin, not the famous one…) because I sounded like either a teenage boy or a 90-year-old chain smoker, or both at once. I was very sad. But now I’m getting better – I woke up this morning keen as mustard to get to the gym. I’m liking this new energetic me.

When I was getting ready for bed last night I discovered I had lost my ear spike. It has a narrow centre piece (so it’s not really a stretcher) with about a 2cm long metal spike screwed onto each end. I went looking in body-piercing shops today to see if I could replace it and they didn’t have anything identical, so I’ve bought a real spike instead. It’s not hurting, so I assume it’s not going to stretch the existing hole too much. It’s 2.5mm at its widest. I would have preferred something longer though. There is something, some very deep, rebellious, difficult, spiky aspect of my character which is appeased by wearing dangerous-looking jewellery. When I have my ear spike in I’m much less inclined to rebel against things that actually matter. Like housework.

Theoretically.

On a side note, Husband and I have been asked to speak briefly this evening at a couple’s Valentine’s Day dessert night our church is putting on: two minutes each on the main things that have contributed to our marriage (fourteen years and still going strong!). He’s going to talk about our similarities, and I’m going to talk about how good we are at fighting and dealing with the difficult stuff. I might get into it here some other time.

Pretty Murderous Today

I’m in a bad mood today – or at least a bad mood seems to be very close to the surface, prepared to break through at the slightest provocation.

It seems to be a day of being told off by people who don’t usually tell me off. My song choices this morning for leading worship at church were a little controversial, and my Aspie twin brother made several digs while he was here this evening for tea and choir-music practice. He normally just rolls his eyes at me.

I have a bad cold so I can’t sing properly, which made both leading music at church and practising for tomorrow’s choir rehearsal difficult, and now DH is getting to read Harry Potter 7 to Mr 9. It’s the chapter where they end up riding a dragon. Darn it!

I haven’t had any decent amount of exercise for a long time.

It’s still another month and a half until I quit work, so my motivation is low but I still have to get stuff ready for my successor. At the same time, as I wrote about yesterday, I’m nervous about next year and all the stuff I have to do for it.

The house is a mess as we try to fit the same amount of furniture in a reduced amount of space so the fire can go in. The tiler hasn’t finished his job – the hole in the carpet is still raw-edged. DH finally got round to finishing painting the boys’ bedroom skirting boards today, so their room was also a complete shambles, so they had to play either in the untidy living room or in their sister’s room, as it was cold, wet and windy outside. Which means we have a rack of laundry in the living room as well.

And it’s that time of the month.

But I’m sure that has nothing to do with it.

Warm

Why is it called a “cold” when it makes everything feel hot? Eyes, inside of nose, throat, and I think someone was having a go at my left tonsil with a potato peeler while I slept. The brain is fuzzy and the energy is low.

With a day off work, and no facebook account, I have spent my day muzzily pondering things. Like:

Is it actually possible to have sex accidentally (barring rape)?

What is the reverse of a she-male? (DH suggested he-fem. What do you think?) Was my friendly bus driver actually trying to look like a man, so would it count as such?

Will having dark grey tiles, a red wood-burner and an off-white wall panel behind it add too many additional colours to a room that is predominantly green and pale yellow and rimu? Should we go with tiles to match the carpet?

Is a lively, informal church by its very nature inimical and unfriendly to shy people? Is it possible to make friends by means of a system?

Three of those questions are topics in themselves, to be covered perhaps when I’m not so muzzy. The tile question can only be answered by samples.