Solstice

I have never celebrated the Solstice in any sort of formal way. I am a Christian, and that means that my meaning for this time of year is different, and the solstice, while forming the impetus for choosing this time of year to celebrate, is very much subsumed in Christmas.

The first year, the year we buried Gabe, I was content to do so in the dark. Last year, I lived in the middle, and this year, I chose to live for tomorrow, and not yesterday.

Part of that living has meaning in finding the parts of life, the parts of the world that we interact with, that balance, precariously. It has meaning in finding the parts on the edge, the parts where the margins are thin. It is almost possible that pragmatic me is becoming more mystical. (But only almost).

I understand that there are parts of the world where the lines between heaven and earth, death and resurrection, birth and sacrifice are thinner. Yesterday was one of those days.

I had hoped to be more cheerful yesterday, to have, using my new word, more equanimity. I didn't do as well as I had hoped, but on a day that for me at least, marks an end to the year, I am content to leave that in the past.

I am content to focus on time with friends, and egg nog latte and an engaging discussion about a book. I'm content to focus on shopping for Christmas dinner, eating dinner with Mr. Spit, and the joy of curling up under a flannel duvet cover, after a hot bath with bubbles.

I am content to recognize the very purpose of margins, of edges. They divide. This from that, past from present, and yes, bitter from sweet.

To gently whisper, alleluia.

Googling a Better Life

A few weeks ago, Mr. Spit and I had a BBQ in our back yard. And a group of us were sitting around, and the children were playing, and we were talking about information. We were talking about living in the information age. We were talking about all of the things we know now. I made reference to googling how to put some stuff up on vinyl siding. And I posed the question to the group - what would we have done before google?

Google seems like it has been with us forever, but truly, I've only been using it for a little bit less than 10 years. And it's the nature of electronic change to assume that Internet institutions have been with us forever. I started my undergraduate degree in 1997. I hadn't used the Internet much before I started. And there was cool stuff online, but it was in the vein of hamster dance.

In 2005 I finally went back to the U of A, to pick up my last 3 credits - History 105 - a History of the Middle Ages. And I arrived to my first class from work, in my suit, and there was this, well girl-child next to me. And when the prof was talking about the essay we had to write, she was incensed we couldn't use wikipedia.

In 7 years, the library became obsolete. The periodical reading room in Rutherford South had people typing on their laptops the last time I was there. There were fewer periodicals, because periodicals publish online.

And now, google is a verb. We speak of googling things. For heaven's sake, my mother talks about googling. I was wondering what Safeway put in their 7 grain salad, and my mother said "google it".

Odd, when you really think about it. Rather than go back and ask the deli clerk, and compliment them on a great salad, I google it. Rather than go to the hardware store, or my neighbours, and ask them how to hang something on vinyl siding. Rather than even asking Mr. Spit, who is handy, I walk over to my lap top, and I google "hanging stuff on vinyl siding".

Then I spend 20 minutes refining my search, to get to where I want to be. Think on this for a second. It's lunacy. 30 minutes to find a bit of information: yes, there's a product to hang stuff. Several in fact. But in the end, I can't tell you if it's what I want, based on size and looks. I can't tell you how much it will be. I can't even tell you if my local hardware store has it. And I can't tell you if it would be better than my original solution, which was a penny nail. 30 minutes spent, and I have no real answers. But, I've clicked on a link that sells hanging baskets for vinyl siding, I've seen pictures of different siding types, and I know how to install vinyl siding (if such a thing can be learned in 5 minutes).

And I suppose, what this rambling rant is saying is simple. We have information. And if you believe information is knowledge you get to a bit of math.
information = knowledge
knowledge = power
power = control
control = a better life

And yet. I don't know what Safeway puts in their 7 grain salad, in spite of about 65,000 results. I can tell you about 3 products to hang stuff off your siding, and my stars are still on the table, and while I've been typing this, I've been reading up on the life cycle of a slug.

And this is a better life. . . .

Every Day Ethics with Mrs. Spit

The Scenario:

You go to the local big box hardware store, and you find a patio set - a table, 6 chairs and an umbrella on sale, for about 50% off.

You can afford said table, and while it doesn't spin you right around, and form your every dream, it is more than adequate, and much better than the old white plastic one, with the artfully engraved four letter word on one side.

So, you, after some confusion with the teenage boy cum store clerk, who doesn't seem to have any sort of grasp of basic requests, manage to get a hold of your 3 boxes.

When you arrive at the checkout, the clerk scans the bar code. As she is hunting, and you are schlepping 100 pound boxes around, you are extremely convinced it is the only bar code on any of the boxes.

When the price rings up on the till, the price is $100 less than the price on the display model.

Do you say anything?

Village Children

I actually wrote this a few days ago, and then I got stuck. Because I could identify the many reasons why I thought we should care for others, even when there was no obvious reason for us to do so. As it happened, the other night, I was reading Alexander McCall Smith's The Full Cupboard of Life, and in it, the main character Mma. Ramotswe is reflecting on exactly this, the notion that it takes a village to raise a child. And she makes the both simple and breathtakingly beautiful point that we - the village - raise children, because when these children are older, we will have taught them - by our very care for them - that they are responsible to care for the village.

And frankly, that seems to make the point better than anything I could say. But, because I've put all this time into it, you might as well read my musings anyway.

****
I got to thinking about the whole "it takes a village" thing last Friday night, as Mr. Spit and I took The Girl Next Door (TGND) to dinner, to celebrate her marks at the end of grade 10. You will note, those of you who know us, we are not TGND's parents, but we do seem to find ourselves doing things with her. (and I am compelled to add that TGND is a lovely, remarkable young woman, and this is not a hardship)

I heard someone remark, a few weeks ago, that they don't think it takes a village to raise kids, that this job is best left to parents. And I was a little harrumph-y about the statement. At least in part because the person making the statement has derived a great deal of support from the world around her, and I thought that it took real moxy to suggest that in spite of the support she got, the help, the assistance she received, she was perfectly fine on her own, doing fine raising her own son, without our help. Harrumph.

But, rather more than that, I would posit that most people who argue it doesn't take a village to raise a child, don't actually believe what they are saying. Hands up, anyone, who thinks that I should ignore the child of 3 who runs into the street, because the child isn't mine. If it doesn't take a village, I have no responsibility to your child, the child is, after all, yours and not mine, and it's not my job to grab your child. It's your job to watch your child. I think we can all agree that we would prefer I ran out into the street after the child and grabbed it by the arm. That's rather enough said about that.

And if we can accept that, I think we can all accept, particularly in Canada, but even in the US, that when you have a child, on the whole of it, the government bears a rather larger burden for the financial cost of your child, system-wise, than your taxes happen to pay into it. And if that's true, I think we can say that in my end of the village, I am paying your child's bills, and even if it doesn't take a village to raise your child, it would seem to take one to pay for a child.

Rather, it seems to me that the parents above, they are fine with the village, until the village wants to do something with their child that they don't want to do. And sometimes they might be right to object. It equally occurs to me though, the rights of a village and the rights of a parent might not always be mutually exclusive. There is, at least according to my mother, more than one way to skin a cat. And there is always room to respect the rights and concerns of each other.

The whole story of the dinner out starts a few weeks ago, when I came in from a board meeting, and Mr. Spit told me that TGND had finished her exams, and figured she hadn't gotten a mark below 75%. I think there are probably lots of reasons that we decided to celebrate TGND's marks. We have something invested - not much, but something - in them. I've helped with Macbeth, Mr. Spit assisted in the construction of a roller coaster thingamijigy for Physics. But really, that's not enough to explain a celebratory dinner, a gift card to her favourite store, and a card that told her we were proud of her hard work. After all, that's not our job if it doesn't take a village.

But more than that, it seems we have a responsibility to be involved in TGND's life.

And this is where, as I noted above, that I ran out of steam.

So, in the thoughts of Mma. Ramotswe, there are lots of reasons for us to take TGND out. One of which is so that 20 years from now, she can take another young woman out, and tell that young woman she is proud.

Perhaps what Mma. Ramotswe is getting at is this: the investment required in a child is huge, massive, it beggars belief. It is both selfish and foolish to think that one or two people can invest deeply enough, without the assistance, the support and the aid of others around them. The village.

And in turn, I'll look back, at Sherry, and Cheryl and Gary, Lynn and Joe, Otto, Simon, Lori, Jenny, Kate, Howard, and I will remember the time they gave me, the village that surrounded me, and surrounds me even now.

prostitution

I have been thinking about writing a post about why prostitution is wrong. I have been thinking about the ways I could engage you all in my passion for the subject, in my quest to make a difference for the girls living this life.

And the problem is that I don't quite no where to begin. But maybe it's by saying this:

When I moved into my neighbourhood 4 years ago, I didn't know much about prostitution. I knew it existed. I had a classmate that put herself through University working as a call girl. But street level prostitution, well, I knew it existed, out there somewhere. If you asked me about it, I might have said something like "Well, I don't like it. I don't think it's a good idea, but really, it's between the women who do it, and then men who hire them."

And then I moved to somewhere.

Just the words I have used give me pause now. The women who "do" this, and the men who "hire" them. As easily and casually as if they were hiring someone to clean their house or watch their children. Except, not really.

One of the things that astounded me about the entire subject was to realize that prostitution isn't about sex. Mostly it's about possession and control and power. It is exactly what those John's say it is - it's about buying a woman. That's the term they use "buying a woman".

Now, I know someone will come along, sooner or later and point out that maybe selling sex is a viable economic prospect for these women, and who am I, with my moral puritanical-ness to tell them what they can and cannot do with their bodies.

And I suppose that's why I haven't written a blog about it. Because I know, deep within me that selling sex may be big business, but it's not ever going to empower women to sell their bodies and not their minds. I think we can all agree that men aren't hiring any woman: be she on a street corner, in a massage parlour, in a high priced hotel, or in a yellow pages ad for "escort services"; for her mind. Frankly, if they wanted someone for her mind, they could go and strike up a conversation with a woman. You know, have a relationship.

No, there's a problem with saying that it's ok for women to sell their bodies, but frankly, I'm still not sure how to articulate it, other than to call it a form of slavery.

But really, that's not what strikes me most about prostitution. You see, when someone asks me why prostitution is wrong, I think of the woman I saw, standing on a street corner 2 years ago, on Christmas Day.

She was standing kiddy-corner to my house, at about 8:30 am. It was cold, I think. She was standing there, waiting for a man to pick her up. On Christmas Day. Now, you can tell me that women might consider this to be empowerment, a valid way to make a living, but the truth is, did you work outside on Christmas day? When I was going to open presents and have eggs Benedict, she was standing, looking, waiting for a John.

Did you stand outside, looking for work on Christmas?

And lest you start thinking of this as a terribly Dickensian scene, she was standing there, freezing, stoned out of her mind. Frankly, the girls in my neighbourhood usually are stoned. I hardly wonder why, I'm sure I would have to be too.

Could we all just agree, irregardless of what you think of women's rights, irregardless of your position on empowerment, that she probably, in whatever lucid bit of her was left, she probably didn't want to be there either.

Could we leave the issue of whether she should be there, or wants to be there, or even if this is an economically viable method of supporting yourself aside. Could we say that when you have to be stoned out of your mind to do a job, when your job supports being stoned out of your mind, and when that job has you performing risky work on Christmas Day, that we have an obligation to stand up and help you?

Irregardless of the politics, could we make it about the people - the women? And could we be their voice?

The Kingdom of God

Thanks for listening to me complain yesterday. I appreciated your ears, and your care and compassion. Sweet Camden Lass reminded me that Kings College does a lovely Festival of Lesson's and Carols, well they should, having originated it. At any rate, a quick search on iTunes, and I shall be listening to Once in Royal Davids City and the words of John and Isaiah - iTunes carries the 2004 Festival.

I will be honest, this is not my first choice. I'm forcing myself to remember about making choices and choosing attitude and re-joining the world of the living. I'm forcing myself to remember that just because life isn't how I imagined it, how I wanted it, doesn't mean it can't be good. As I downloaded the service, I thought about my words yesterday:

I have accepted that grief is a thing that takes just a bit from us each day,asking us, reminding us, forcing us to surrender a bit more of our hearts each time it comes to call.

I was accused a few months ago, of not showing grace to someone. No, that's not quite right. I was not accused. Someone told me I didn't show grace, and they were entirely correct - I didn't. And those words have stayed with me. They have bothered me. In quiet moments, I have taken them out and held them up and looked at them.

My first thought was to look at this person, and think "Grace? You have the audacity to speak about grace? Well, let me tell you about grace." And truthfully, if we got the same amount of grace that we showed others, this person would be into negative grace. It is particularly galling to have your sins pointed out to you by one of the coldest and most thoughtless people you know.

And then I thought about humility. You see, I have learned a lot about humility in the last 12 months. In fact, the last 12 months have been, in one way or another, all about humility. Humility has been Gabe's lessons to his mum - I am learning a lesson about cost and pain and grace.

I learned something shortly after Gabriel died. We are all broken. All of us. We all carry about pain and sorrow and tragedy in our lives. In every life, something is less than perfect. It just so happened, on the 10th of December, 2007, Mr. Spit and I became visibly broken. Beyond all semblance of holding it together, broken. Beyond trying to fake it until we made it, broken. Just plain, completely and utterly broken.

But, in actual fact, Mr. Spit and I are no more broken than many others. No more broken, no more deserving of grace than all of us are. No more broken and no more in need of grace than all of us.

As I search for meaning, struggle to understand why my baby died, and why I have to keep giving up dreams, I have been thinking about the words in Luke 12:48. Essentially, they say that when someone has been given much, much will be required of them in return. I do not often, or easily, think of Gabriel's death as giving me something.

The loss, I will dryly admit, seems to suggest that much more has been taken away.

And yet, out of my own pain and sorrow and tragedy, I have learned how the pain and sorrow and tragedy of others feels. My eyes are opened to the Kingdom of God that is within us. To the need for mercy and grace. Much has been given to me, even though I didn't not want it. Indeed, this gift, it rests uneasily within me still. The Kingdom is still touch and go with me. You will note that I was far from it yesterday, even as I was searching for it. I am, though, aware of the Kingdom of God, and my need of it.

I read Mark 12 this morning, thinking about the Kingdom of God. In the verse, a teacher challenges Jesus, asking him what the most important commandment was. Jesus gives us 2: to love the Lord our God with all our hearts and souls and minds, and to love our neighbour as ourselves.

The teacher asking the original question goes on to note that this love was more important to God than all the sacrifices in the world. Indeed, Jesus tells this teacher and us, that when we hang on those rules, we are not far from the Kingdom of God.

In the Kingdom of God, I am learning there is both the strength and the serenity to go and buy the Festival of Lessons and Carols on iTunes, and listen on my couch. I am learning that grace matters more than I could ever say. Thank you all for showing so much of it to me.

Magic

I must confess a secret (or not particularly secret, if you look at my bookshelves) liking for Harry Potter. Many of my Christian friends were wholly opposed to the books, and I understand why (although I think they missed the boat). They understand this though: magic is dangerous. It reminds us that parts of the world are secret, hidden, not part of ordinary reality. Harry Potter reminds me to believe in the unexpected. "There are more things in your heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy".

I have always been fascinated with magic. I'm not talking what we might call the occult, the real practice of magic, or pan-pagan religions. Those are real, and as a Christian, they make me distinctly uncomfortable. No, I'm talking about the magic of fairy tales, the magic of mythology, the magic of magicians - what I would call everyday magic. The ability to make something seem like something else. The ability to take one thing, and turn it into something else. The ability to make the brain disbelieve what it knows it must be seeing.

I have always considered the process of creation to be a form of magic. We take an idea, a seed, a blank canvass, an ovum and sperm, and something comes out of it. We can describe the process through biology, through chemistry, through words, but when we do that, when we bound our thoughts or actions, or the process of a growing thing, we perhaps lose the magic. This is every day magic magic Harry Potter made me aware of. The idea that secret things are happening all around us. Things that we don't control, aren't aware of, and influence in ways that we don't understand.

I remember crossing the river that runs through Edmonton on the subway. It was dark. And I looked around me, and I wondered what a settler from Fort Edmonton in 1795 would have thought of this city of a million that had grown up around where they camped. I'm sure it would have been incomprehensible. Lights on posts. With no candles. Cars and not horses, a train that travelled across the river, not along it. I'm sure they would have not been able to understand it. I'm sure it would have looked like magic. Things we don't understand always seem a bit magical. I think that's why children are so inclined to magical thinking. They don't understand the way the world works, they aren't bounded by physics and chemistry, and they can make up their own explanations. They aren't stuck in everyday, ordinary life.

I have been reading about the hope vs. not hope idea in pregnancy and infertility. Is it better to hope each cycle, hope each pregnancy, or to not? And for the record, I don't know which is best. I'm always in favour of hope. I'm always in favour of believing in the best, and preparing for the worst. But hope, it is a tenuous thing. A belief in something, that exists outside the bounds of what is normal. Hope, by my definition of magic above, is an idea we don't completely understand. We can't understand. I'm not even completely sure that you can control it. But I tend to believe it's always a good idea to step away from the ordinary.

I read a blog about someone choosing hope for this cycle, choosing to believe in the best, (and I can't remember who it was, I'm sorry.) And I thought of the words of Anne of Green Gables. Marilla told her that she set too much store in worldly things. Anne would get all excited, and then she crashed down, and her whole world ended. And Anne, with tears streaming down her face, said yes, but the flight of delicious anticipation made up for the crash.

yes. That's magic. Everyday, ordinary, complete magic.

I Don't Like Losing

I was at a women's luncheon on Thursday. The key note was a great speaker, a prominent Edmontonian. I left shrugging my shoulders. She's very much a "If you believe it, you can do it" kind of lady. She has, through her own drive and determination, taken a single hair salon in a very tiny town to a multi-million dollar chain in two provinces. She's worked hard, and she truly has made it happen, largely through her sheer force of will. She has made herself a success, and she deserves credit.

Last year, a friend asked me what the hardest part of infertility was. And I thought for a second and said: "I don't like losing." I don't often lose. I'm reasonably smart, I'm driven, used to success. I have a good job, a nice-ish house and a fantastic husband. I make good money, I'm articulate. But, there is nothing in the world I can do to make God give me a baby. There is nothing I can do to make sure my baby lives. Nothing I can do to reduce my chances of pre-eclampsia. I can't control life. I can't make anything truly important happen. I lose, because I can't win the fight by my sheer force of will.

Infertility taught me another of life's lessons: the biggest things in life, the best things in life; you can't make them happen. You can set the stage, you can pray, you can be open to things, but you can't make marriage, birth, love, conception, joy happen in your life. Humans are simply not that powerful. We control very little of our destiny. I wonder if we should keep teaching drive and determination and sheer force of will as good character traits, if we should keep prizing them so, given how very little we really can make happen, and how unimportant what we can make happen really is.

I look at people like the speaker, those who still believe in their own power to achieve big things, and I cock my head to the side and wonder "So, what will you do when you can't make something happen? When you discover that the sheer force of will that made you a millionaire, it can't keep the seasons from changing, it can't thwart tragedy, it can't add a single second to the life of a loved one? What will happen to you when you discover that the principals of grit and determination and hard work don't work?"

It was not sheer force of will that got me through the days after Gabriel's death. It was not drive or determination or grit that made me get out of bed, talk to people, plan a funeral, cook meals, pick up the pieces of my life. Sheer force of will fled, drive and determination meant nothing. Drive and determination for what? Another empty day without Gabriel, full only of longing and pain and sorrow?

I used to snowshoe. My final race was 40km, (25 miles), and the very end of it was a series of brutally steep hills. There are two ways to run up a hill. There is the sheer force of will method: Saying: "I will overcome, steamroll, kick and shove and use elbows in the corners. I will focus on the top of the hill, and I will get myself there."

The other method is far less glamorous, attracts less attention. You get up the hill by putting one foot in front of the other. You let everyone go past you if need be, you just keep putting one foot in front of the other. You don't focus on the top of the hill, you focus on the next step, and the next after that. This method, this is called endurance, patience.

You get up the hill either way. You get up more hills, using the second way.

You see, my drive and determination, they burn out. I get distracted, I decide if I can't win the race on my terms, I'll go play somewhere else. I get to the top of the hill, and I realize that life is just a succession of hills, and there is another, steeper one, for tomorrow. And I've already spent all my energy on the first hill. And if, perchance, I lose the race, it is a great crises of self.

Endurance is boring and mindless and repetitive. I suppose that's why we should call it another name, a name that is more indicative of what it really is. A name that speaks of patience and fortitude and stamina and hope.

Let's call it courage.

How Should a Christian Deal With Infertility (Mrs. Spit tells us all how to be an adult, again)

Hem, Hem, Hem.

I got in a big debate in a seminar, when I was in university. I was in second year, and somehow I wound up debating with 3 grad students. And I lost. It was a sad, debilitating and humiliating loss. As I was packing up my stuff, and leaving the room, the Prof. called out to me. He stopped me and took me into his office. And he offered me 2 bits of advice:

1. No one had ever defeated John Rawls' Social Contract theory, once they bought into the veil of ignorance. (if you aren't a poli sci geek, you are just going to have trust me. Or, go here and read this.
2. Never start a debate by accepting the premise of a dumb question.

A nasty, vitriolic person posted on CLC's really very beautiful post about missing Hannah and her grief over seeing pregnant women. The poster was mean and rude. She (or at least I'm assuming she) wrote a couple of things, but the last one was a lovely little response to infertility and how a Christian should deal with infertility.

So, back to Prof. Carmicheal, and his second bit of advice: Never accept the premise of a dumb question. The question: "how should a Chrisitian deal with infertility?" my friends, it is dumb question. Anonymous may not be dumb, but her question about infertility, it's really, really, really dumb.

I had originally planned to go through all of the biblical references and comment on why they were inappropriate, and moreover, I was going to pull out all the verses that emphasize the need and appropriateness of grieving and mourning, and point out how much better they were at grieving. Yep, the old youth pastor in me was going to get right up there and preach herself a little sermon. I'm not going to do that. (I know, you can thank me later) That would be accepting the premise of a dumb question, the wrong question. Instead, here's why anonymous has a dumb question:

Reason Number 1

It is rude to give advice when you aren't asked for it. CLC has lots of people in her life, and if she wanted spiritual guidance, she would ask for it. She wasn't asking for advice, spiritual or otherwise. She was expressing her feelings. In fact, she didn't need to be fixed, she needed to be heard. It is, among other things, just rude to fix someone without their permission. It is cruelty to suggest that CLC needs her feelings fixed. She doesn't. None of us do. We are grieving. Grief is appropriate and normal, and if your spiritual beliefs are bent this way, Godly. We are not broken for mourning, quit trying to fix us.

Reason Number 2

The problem of infertility is part of something called the problem of suffering. And the problem of suffering is an entire technical discourse. People write their dissertations on it. Profound thinkers spend an enormous amount of time examining it. Bright minds examine this problem. It's large, big, hard to understand. And I'll give you a big lesson - cost me 40k to learn this: No one has the only answer. No one. We understand the problem of pain and suffering. Every disaster, natural or man made, every death of a baby, every child left abused, abandoned, neglected, we understand, there is something very wrong with our world. Things aren't fair, they aren't right, they aren't just. And as a Christian I have a particular answer to this and to the notion of original sin and death. And I believe my answers are right. But - the cry of our hearts, the pain of a dead baby, that isn't answered with a formula. The bible offers an answer to the problem of pain that is counter intuitive. It simply reminds us that God loves us. Which actually doesn't answer the question. It just provides comfort for the pain.

The real challenge of the problem of suffering is that there is no answer. At no point in suffering will I reach a point where I say "This, this is the reason that Gabriel died". It just doesn't happen. We may reach our own part answers. God may show me good that has come from Gabriel's death, but surely we can accept that there is no good reason for a baby to die. Finding the good in the tragedy does not make the tragedy ok. More bearable perhaps, easier to accept, but not ok. The problem of suffering is not answered in 428 words with seven bible verses. And if you don't believe in God, Jesus, the bible, the ressurection and christianity, my words and anonymous's seven bible verses, they are totally useless.

Reason Number 3

My third problem with the response of anonymous was this: the trite and shallow responses she gave suggested that she didn't want to engage. She didn't want to abide, she just wanted to make the nastiness out here in Lost Baby Land go away. She wanted apple pie and motherhood and shiny happy people. I have to say, I really hate people like this. Life is painful. It is unfair. It is messy. Pain and sorrow and anguish are human emotions. They are as much a part of the human condition as breathing and sleeping and eating. Part of what makes us human is our ability to feel great pain. We become more human, we grow, we develop stronger families, communities, churches when we feel great pain together. We become more fully human through pain. Anonymous, if you aren't willing to abide with those in pain, I would suggest that it would be prudent to stay away from them. And to live your life in cotton wool, as I can't see how you would prevent tragedy from striking your life.

Reason Number 4

Anonymous was answering the wrong question, solving the wrong problem. If you are going to fix someone who doesn't need fixing, you are going to solve the problem of suffering with a few trite bible stories, you are going to substitute bible verses for your care and concern, could you at least have the decency to attempt to solve the right problem? CLC doesn't have infertility. To the best of my knowledge, she had no problems getting pregnant. CLC lost Hannah. She grieves because she is here, and Hannah is not. That's not infertility, it's death. Quite a different problem, wouldn't you agree?

Here endeth the lesson.

Mrs. Spit Tells Us All How to Be an Adult

Hem, Hem

The Definition of Insanity:
Doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result.

or, to to put it another way:

If it didn't work last time, and it didn't work this time, chances are extraordinarily good it won't work next time.

At some point persistence begins to resemble stupidity, to the rational person. And rational people loose any ability to express sympathy.

Here endeth the lesson.

(I just needed to get that off my chest, thanks)

The Virtue of a Moral Imagination

This Issue about an "art experiment" has been making it's way through the IF and PL blogoshpere, and I commented a little bit about it yesterday on the mothership.

I was laying in bed, and I was turning over what in the story was so objectionable. What hit me in the very pit of my stomach and left this horrible bitter feeling in my mouth? I think part of it is this:

We lack moral imagination in our society - we are unable to identify, to understand, to empathize, to demonstrate compassion for others, unless we have walked in their shoes. We, foolishly and childishly insist, that unless we have experienced a thing, we cannot fully know anything about it. We must drag every painful, sordid or angst laden detail out, and then we need to hold them up, and examine them closely, and then, only then, are we able to say - "Yes, I agree that this is painful". This is how you become a certified "expert".

I am willing to chalk this horrible art experiment as a natural consequence of our fallen condition. We, who are so alienated from each other, from God, from our families, from creation, from our communities, from our natural world. And if we are this alienated from what we should be so connected to, is it any wonder that we have lost a bit of our collective imagination, our collective ability to feel sorrow or empathy for others?

I begin to understand Mr. Hobbes' assertion that "Life is nasty, solitary, brutish and short". What I'm not so willing to do is say this is ok. I'm not so sure that we shouldn't aspire to more. The gut reaction isn't empathy, it's aversion. It's the mental equivalent of throwing your hands in front of your face and retching. I don't think art like this connects us, it makes us run from each other.

I don't wonder that Ms. Shvarts feels isolated, empty, and maybe disconnected from other women. Perhaps the "art experiment" is a way to feel, to be connected to the world around her? In a world that glorifies raw brutality, demands the right to view naked pain, is it any wonder that none of the project would give her pause? That, in her mind, the only legitimate way to understand the pain of loss would be to undergo one?

I set up such rules and labels. I assume that everyone is so terribly different from me. I often lack of ability to leave myself behind when I attempt to understand the motives and reasoning of others. I cannot look at Ms. Shvarts' work around miscarriage and abortion without walking through my own experiences. I read her comments, and I carry my dead son into the conversation. I hold him in my arms. I think of the blood in her art work, and I think of my blood on the hospital room floor, on my son. I say "This is the pain you would understand? Why? How would you ever think you could?".

In my stubbornness, I maintain that no one can understand my pain. I hold it to myself, a cloak that is only mine, and I deny any attempt to share this cloak, or to even let others look closely at it. This is mine, mine, mine, I proclaim. I remove myself from my community, marking myself as different.

I read the blog of an Anglican Parish Priest in my own diocese. Joe's second daughter has Downs. I thought of Joe and his wife and his daughter as they gave us the news about Gabriel. I wondered, questioned myself intensely, did we not save Gabriel because there was no way he could have been perfect? I so admired the decision they made to have their little girl. In a place where we didn't know quite which way was up, we struggled to know what to do. I thought, very briefly of phoning Joe, but it was late, and there was no time.

We want experts, that person who has the knowledge that I lack. A person who has walked this same road before us. We have those terrible media interviews, when one child is killed, we search out the parent of another child who died, and we ask, we poke, we prod. Society says, "Tell us Mrs. Smith, what do you think the other family is feeling". And here's the astounding thing: when I hear those interviews, I am never surprised by what Mrs. Smith says. I am never perplexed, and if I allow moral imagination some place in my life, I can at least get a good enough picture to imagine what this family must feel.

And this is the problem with Ms. Shvarts. This is what gives rise to the bitter taste in my mouth, the twisting in my stomach. It doesn't take much moral imagination to understand what the death of a child must be like. You don't have to wallow in blood, you can simply close your eyes and imagine. I can imagine what Joe might have said to us that night. He's a kind and compassionate man. And I can imagine that he would respond that our situations were really quite different. And that he could give me direction on "Anglican Morality" but that we would have to make our own decisions. And others would have to close their eyes, and imagine our circumstances.

But, there's a trick to that statement. I must accept the moral imaginations of others. When someone says sorry, or attempts to provide comfort through whatever failing words they have, I must allow that they understand my pain, and share a tiny bit of the cloak. I must not hold on to it so tightly. I must not allow the garments of mourning to so define me, that I am unwilling to allow any portion of the fabric to go. And this is hard.

And so, Ms. Shvart, in all humility, I do so wish that you had never decided that this was a pain you needed to experience. I suspect you could have imagined everything you needed to. That's what left this awful taste in my mouth, and the twisting feeling in my tummy - we live in a society that requires us to roll in the agony of others to understand pain.

edited: I'm sorry, apparently my ability to write clear, coherent prose with no typo's or missed words is lacking on Saturday's. I've made a few changes to make sure that the sentances flow and there aren't random workds left out.

Everyday Ethics with Mrs. Spit

I'm at a tea place, having tea with Kuri, to knit. (And I forgot to give her the prize she won, but I digress)

I go and pay for my tea, and the samosas, which I pick out at the counter, pay for at the counter, and pick up at the counter.

I hand them my debit card, and go through the process until I come to the "tip" screen. Tip? For what? You stood at a counter and you took my order. I did all the work.

I keep wondering? Should I be tipping? When? Did Kuri tip? What should I do here?

For the record, I tip at restaurants, I tip my hairdresser, my paper boy at Christmas, taxi drivers, hotel bellpersons. . . I might even throw some coins in the jar at the local Second Cup Low Altar of Caffeine. Especially when they automatically pour my usual for me. (Not that I'm an addict, nope, not me. Nuh uh).

But really, do I need to tip, when a service person has provided essentially no service? Just doesn't make sense to me.

I keep wondering, what does everyone else do?

Help.

And . . . . We're back to the abortion debate

I did promise that I'd post the Boundless Editor's response, and Matt Kaufman's response, so they are below.

I guess I get to editorialize a tiny bit, since this is my blog. I was perplexed that they seemed to be granting me permission to have an abortion.

I have to confess, it seems funny that we could both be Christian's, and feel so differently. It's not that I don't think Mr. Kaufman has a right to his opinion, or even that he is entirely wrong, it's just that I'm perplexed by Christians who use such destructive language to pursue their opinions. Abortion matters. I'm just not willing to rip and tear people to get a point across.

I think, in the end, they both missed my point. (Or maybe I didn't make it)Abortion is large and complex. There are no single answers. We need to accept that there is a multitude of experiences and reasons why women choose to end a pregnancy. And really, words have power. We should choose them very wisely.

I also don't read the partial birth legislation the same way as Mr. Slater, and I have become acquainted with a few women who were unable to be induced before term at the hospital of their choice. I don't know who's right.

So, without further ado, here is Ted Slater's Response.

Mrs. Spit

Please know that I'm very sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how painful it is to have lost a child, and to have been put in the difficult position you were in.

Also please know that we believe "self-defense" is a legitimate reason to have an abortion. A woman who is expected to die as a result of an ongoing pregnancy is free to either continue with the pregnancy or bring it to an end. An excruciating decision, but biblically defensible. Neither we at Boundless nor our author Matt Kaufman condemn you for your very difficult decision. I'm sorry the article was written in such a way as to imply otherwise, and I understand how you could thereby find it offensive.

I do need to correct something you wrote. You said that:


... the current partial birth abortion legislation contains no exception for the health of the mother. I suspect you support this legislation sir, and you need to know that you would have killed me.


You should be relieved that that's factually incorrect, a misconception promoted by those who favor abortion for any reason throughout the entire pregnancy. The wording in the legislation is clear:


This subsection does not apply to a partial-birth abortion that is necessary to save the life of a mother whose life is endangered by a physical disorder, physical illness, or physical injury, including a life-endangering physical condition caused by or arising from the pregnancy itself.


See this article -- http://www.citizenlink.org/FOSI/bioethics/A000001313.cfm -- for more information.

Again, my heart goes out to you, Cheryl. May the Lord grant you peace and instill in your a joy that one day you will see your son again, a child who's been dancing with Jesus and experiencing glory, and who holds no grudges against his mommy.

Ted Slater
Editor, Boundless

And here's Matt Kaufmans' response:

Dear Mrs. Spit,
Ted Slater relayed your message, and I want to add my sympathies to his. Please know, too, that I never intended any condemnation toward your decision. Ted said it already, but I feel I need to say it for myself: In those rare cases when your very life is at risk, and when the terrible choice is between one life or another, there's no iron law to say which life must be chosen. There's only prayer to do what's best and to come through it with healing.

I could say a great many things to explain what I intended with my column. But suffice it to say that it was addressed toward attitudes about situations very different from yours. It was responding to attitudes holding that a pregnancy itself--a (for want of a better word) normal pregnancy--is not blessing but affliction, and that the infant be seen not as having precious worth in his or her own right, but as having worth (positive or negative) conditional on other people.

Perhaps I should say something, too, about the language I used in my desert-island analogy. I was talking about the case of a basically strong, healthy person faced with a case of caring for a weak, totally dependent infant. That person--knowing full well that he or she was caring for an infant (as McDonagh et al's argument is willing to grant), not a "potential" human being--would have to become someone truly awful to justify abandoning the infant, much less to assert that abandonment as a "right." In our society, there are many factors that can confuse people (men as well as women) about just what abortion is. I intended the desert-island example as a means of dramatically illuminating what's wrong with counting the preciousness of life as conditional, much less as "the enemy." Absent that example, I fear, it's easier to fall into a habit of philosophy-class rationalization, fed by the general relativism of our time. ("You have your truth, I have my truth, everyone has their own truth" ... that sort of thing.)

I regret that reading my column brought up such pain for you. And I pray that you and your family are comforted through all these years, secure in the knowledge that your Gabriel is in the arms of the loving God, and that in faith in Him we will all one day join in the land where there are no more tears, only everlasting joy.

God's blessings to you,
Matt Kaufman

Violin Players, Kidney's and a woman's right to choose

Ann threw down the gauntlet (in the nicest of ways) She asked me to comment on her comments. So, for reference, here are her comments:

"That said, I read the article differently than you did. Did I miss something? The writer didn't specifically say his logic applies in cases where the mother's life is in danger (incidentally, your situation is generally considered to be higher on the "socially acceptable" level than mine is, and I've found that even mine is more socially acceptable than I thought it would be--because while my life wasn't in danger, my son could never live on his own). He seems to be talking about the women who view the pregnancy as an inconvenience, not a "my life vs. his" debate. "

There's a lot to unpack here. In my typical over organized fashion, I'm going to break the responses down.

Firstly, Ann notes that Mr. Kaufman was talking about what we might call general abortion. I think the definition is problematic. Abortion is abortion is abortion. As in my first post, I make reference to the young high school girl pregnant out of wedlock by her foot ball playing boyfriend. (Now, out of strict intellectual honesty, I'm compelled to tell you, most women who have abortions are in college, they are between 20 and 25, and they are in longer term, stable relationships. Having said that, I seem to recall that a statistically significant number of women from ethnic minorities have abortions. I found my info here. You may not agree with the aims, but the research is well done)

So, people look at my circumstances and say "Mrs. Spit, You didn't have an abortion". Well, yes, I did. When I look at a dictionary I see:

Termination of pregnancy and expulsion of an embryo or of a fetus that is incapable of survival

Induced termination of pregnancy, involving destruction of the embryo or fetus.

The ending of pregnancy and expulsion of the embryo or fetus, generally before the embryo or fetus is capable of surviving on its own.

the termination of a pregnancy after, accompanied by, resulting in, or closely followed by the death of the embryo or fetus

But, invariably someone says to me, "you were going to die". Yes, I was. But I still signed the consent to induction. The perinatologist told me exactly what was going to happen to Gabriel. I knew that induction and delivery were going to save my life, and kill my son. I suppose you could call Gabriel and inconvenience. I'd be inclined to call him a wanted, loved baby, who was going to kill me, but the underlying idea is the same. In the purest sense, I didn't want to be pregnant any more, if being pregnant meant that I was going to die. I'm not sure how I can call what I did anything other than an abortion.

Mr. Kaufman, I suspect unintentionally, willfully calls all persons who would make this decision evil, a monster. He makes no distinction about why one might choose to end a child's life, only that if you do, you are a monster. My argument yesterday was that he was way out of line to use words like that, particularly when things relating to abortion are anything but black and white, in spite of his assertion that he can clearly determine what's at stake in any abortions.

Mr. Kaufman didn't say that if you are pregnant out of wedlock, you are regarding a foetus as an inconvenience, no he said that any woman who would have an abortion should be aware that things are very black and white:

The principle is very basic: If you are a baby's only hope to survive — if there's no one else who can do the job — you could never walk away, much less invoke your "right" to do so. Period, exclamation point.

I was my son's only hope to live. I was the only one who could do the job of carrying him. I invoked my "right" not do so. I'd call that an abortion by any terms, and particularly by the words Mr. Kaufman chose in his article.

Invariably someone brings up the next issue, mitigating circumstances - "Mrs. Spit, you were going to die". Well, yes. If I did not deliver my baby, I was going to die. There was, as our perinatologist suggested, the faint hope of a miracle. Maybe, it was possible that God would suddenly avert the course of pre-eclampsia, Gabriel would have suddenly gained 200 grams in a few days. Maybe. Seems to me that expecting this is like jumping off a cliff and expecting God's Angels to catch you. That's not about trusting God, it's about testing him. As a Christian, I believe that the instructions on testing God are really quite clear.

The discussion highlights another an interesting part of Ann's comments - the notion of the socially acceptable abortion. So, you can have an abortion if you are going to die. If your baby has a diagnosis incompatible with life, if you are raped, if you are a victim of incest. Many of us "get" this. No woman should be held accountable for something she didn't plan. I got pregnant, I expected to have a happy, healthy baby. Ann got pregnant, she expected to have a baby that could live outside her womb. Ms. X. walked down the street, she didn't expect to be raped by a complete stranger. She didn't expect to be pregnant. So, we get to this idea about abortion, sometimes it's acceptable - if we decide it's not your "fault" you are excused. That doesn't work for me.

There's a really big problem with this sort of thinking. The idea of a socially acceptable abortion isn't clear. Just what is it? I have become particularly aware that there are many who felt that I should have let God/Nature/the Universe take their course, and if both Gabriel and I died, well, that would be God's will. There are some who would suggest that Ann should have carried her son, at whatever personal pain that would cost (which I am quite sure would have been beyond my ability to comprehend) and deliver in God's time. Socially acceptable varies from person to person, and from time to time. It can be explicit - "our society permits no abortions, under any circumstances), it can be implicit "If you were truly allowing God to be in control of your life, you would have trusted him in all circumstances, and accepted his perfect will for your life, even if that meant dying, or undergoing this pain, or being pregnant as a result of rape, and becoming a single mother, or giving up your baby)

For the rape victim, some Christians can be particularly galling. I have heard more than a few suggest that no child should suffer for the sins of their father. This is likely true, but probably the most horrific thing about this sentence is what is *not* said - if you are truly a Christian you will pursue this path. It's the implicit idea of "See, there's no real reason to allow abortion. We've dealt with that particularly pesky problem of rape, we can make it all better, so let's just outlaw abortion once and for all."

And that's why I have become pro-life. On December 8th, I didn't want to have to beg for a doctor, a lawyer, a judge, a priest, my peers, to decide that my circumstances met whatever test one used to be socially acceptable. Let's be quite clear - that would have required me to quite literally beg for my life. I can't think of anything that would have been more de-humanizing than to have to beg to be able to live. I am ever aware that if I had get permission from some Christians, or Pope Benedict XVI, they would have denied it. And I would have died.

That's the danger of limiting abortions to what we believe is socially or morally acceptable - there is no universal definition of what is socially or morally acceptable, even on what we might consider to be the ideal test case. If we allow abortions based on the feelings, inclinations, moral judgement of society, women are entirely dependant upon varied and changeable emotions to decide what should be done with their lives. If, in my case, I should have died in one person's mind, and I should have ended my pregnancy in my mind, we can see that there are no clear answers. And honestly, given Mr. Kaufman's assertion that I'm a monster on her way to hell, I really don't see how we can possibly reach any universal conclusion about any sort of abortion.

And this is where we step away from Mr. Kaufman's certain universe.

As far as I'm concerned, there were three people to ask in the decision about giving birth to my son, me, my husband and God. I had their permission. I'm a Christian, that's who's opinion I think matters. I believe in Truth, with a capital T. I believe I can know it, but after Gabriel, I'm sure a lot more willing to accept that I can't know it for everyone. Sometimes, women have to search out what God is saying to them. It's not always clear what the answer is. I'm not God. I have no idea what all the answers are. I know what the answer was on December 10th.
For the record, I think as a society, we could do a lot better of a job about valuing children. I think they are a gift. But I'm humble enough to admit that six months ago I would have told you that I would never have an abortion. Not for any reason. Can't tell you that now, can I?

So, here's my problem. I ethically believe that I had to ask the wishes of my husband and search out God's will. How can I require that any other woman needs to justify her circumstances to me? Or to her doctor? Or her priest? Or a judge?

Either she has a right to ask and search, and possibly receive different answers, or she doesn't. If this is an issue of God, God will tell her what he wants her to do. She can listen or not. Her choice. Either the right to decide what to do with my body is mine, or it belongs to society. We can't both have the right to decide what to do about my body. I don't want to be the person telling a woman what she can and can't do with her body. I might urge her to a particular choice. If she is a Christian, she's likely to search scripture, seek pastoral counselling - but really, not all decisions about abortion are universal, they aren't black and white, they aren't two plus two, however much Mr. Kaufman tried to make them so.

And there's a bigger problem. I hold a particular set of ethics about my pregnancy, my son's life, his death and what happened to me because I believe in Christ. I believe that He died for my sins. I believe in the bodily Resurrection. (Somehow I don't think this is going to come as a surprise to all of you out in blog land) But what about those who don't believe what I do? Those who don't believe in God at all? Can I use my faith to tell them what happens to their body? It seems to me that I use my faith to tell me what to do with my body. That's my Christian obligation. The rest, well, that's up to them and God. Seems to me that my job is to proclaim the Gospel. His job is to do the rest.

What I want more than anything is that we let women make their own choices, even when we don't agree with their choices. That we acknowledge the sad and private tragedy of a fallen world, and that we treat them with love and compassion, and we choose our words to them carefully. That we accept each of us make different decisions, and what is right for you isn't always right for another. Finding right and wrong isn't always like flipping a coin. Circumstances alter cases, as my father used to say.

And Kuri, if Mr. Kaufman still insists on sending us to hell, I'll bring the chocolate if you bring the beer! I'm sure we can find a warm corner to knit in!

As an update: I received a thoughtful, really well written email back from both the Boundless Editor (Ted Slater) and Mr. Kaufman. Both suggested that the article was never meant to imply that I was evil, a monster, or anything else of the sort, instead, as Ann suggested the article referred to what I called "general abortions" above. I have asked their permission to publish their email, if they are comfortable. For the rest, we are going to have to agree to disagree.

Kuri, we may have to meet in some place other than hell to knit now.

An Open Letter to Matt Kaufman

Dear Mr. Kaufman:

Some months ago, I was listening to CBC radio, and I was struck by something. CBC was doing a year in review article. One part was a follow up interview with one of two lesbian partners who had appeared before the Supreme Court of Canada, so that they could both be listed as their child's mother.

The interviewer asked how their child had been affected by the case and the decision. Mum one pointed out that up until the decision was made by the Supreme
Court, their son had been completely unaware of his parent's court case, of the controversy surrounding his two mums. When the radio announced the court's decision, the family was in the car coming home from a vacation. They were listening to the radio.

One of the mum's attempted to turn the radio down, before the son realized that the radio was talking about him. The young boy insisted on listening. I remember CBC played some of the comments from Christian groups in the story. I remember the horrific vitriol spewed out by one of the Catholic commentators. She suggested that these parents were monsters, that they were evil, that this young boy must be badly damaged.

And suddenly I wondered, if this commentator knew that this young boy was listening, would she have said what she did? Something in me changed that day. I began to understand, when we have debates about the profound moral issues of our day, we need to do so assuming that the other side can hear us. We need to watch our words, be kind and humble.

So today I read your article. And I saw red. Really red. Not pink, light orange, but sheer blood red. Because I am so tired. Tired of those who reduce profoundly complex and painful debates to simple fairy tale stories. Who suggest, either implicitly or explicitly that every single woman who has an abortion is a terrible, awful person. Who deserves no mercy, who is right up there with the scribes and the pharisee's. (Oh, wait, isn't that all of us?)

Your post was based on a reader question about a "new" way of defending abortion - looking at abortion as requiring a woman to carry a baby to term, that she may not want to carry. In short, the state can't require us to donate our kidney's to someone, so why should it require us to keep a baby alive? Actually, the argument isn't at all new - It's Judith Jarvis Thompson's argument, from A Defense of Abortion, which she published in 1971. Indeed, the organ donation reference is directly taken from her thought experiment associated with the article. I wish you were able to identify the source of the argument from this book, rather than the much more controversial book Eileen McDonagh published in 1996. In highlighting one "thought experiment" that of rape, I think you quickly managed to polarize the debate on abortion, yet again. Both articles contain some interesting philosophical ideas, and while you might disagree with the authors, both are well credentialed author's, who put significant thought into their arguments. They deserved rather more respect and consideration than you gave them.

I think the language that you used was deliberately explosive, and I think that you shifted the ground of the argument to make your point, but what I'd really like to talk about is how we have debates about abortion in our society.

For me, the problem is intensely personal. My very beloved son was, quite literally, killing me. In my case, Gabriel was "the enemy". He was loved, adored, and very much wanted, but the fact that I was pregnant was killing me. Such is the very nature of Pre-eclampsia. Trust me, the irony that the baby my husband and I longed and prayed for was going to kill me, has not escaped me. It suddenly became the will of my husband and I, that I should no longer be pregnant, lest I die. In making the decision to end my pregnancy, I gave birth to my son 15 weeks early, at a time in his gestation that he could not hope to survive. I had an abortion. Sure, I wasn't a 20 year old unwed mother in a planned parenthood clinic, pregnant by her football playing boyfriend, but I had an abortion. I ended my child's life, when I chose to give birth.

And suddenly, after having to choose my life over my unborn son's, I find myself a champion for a woman's right to choose. I am suddenly aware that in many times and places in history, I would have had no choice. That the current partial birth abortion legislation contains no exception for the health of the mother. I suspect you support this legislation sir, and you need to know that you would have killed me.

Mr. Kaufman, you have blindly suggested that pregnancy is never the enemy, that "The preborn are seen chiefly as afflictions" by people who advocate for abortions, and that anyone who holds the view that the state should not be permitted to force you to carry a baby against your will is "a monster". Matters are quite clear in your world "The principle is very basic: If you are a baby's only hope to survive — if there's no one else who can do the job — you could never walk away, much less invoke your "right" to do so. Period, exclamation point".

Mr. Kaufman, you suggested some very awful things about women who choose their life over their child's. You said:
You'd have to become a monster to do something like that. If you even found yourself thinking seriously about it, you'd be horrified. You'd feel your own humanity, your very soul, slipping away. You'd be flirting with pure evil, and you'd know it.

Wow. Those are brutal things to say to anyone. And I'd like you to know, I heard you. So that you know where I'm coming from, I'd like to post this response. It comes from another debate on abortion, where yet another person tried to make abortion look black and white. I'm quite willing, Mr. Kaufman, to bring you into the most painful and horrific time of my life, to ask, are you still so willing to call me a monster? Are you still willing to tell me my soul slipped away? Are you still willing to suggest that I'm pure evil?

I'd like to bring you to my hospital room on December 2, 2007, if you are willing to come with me. Please imagine that you are in a major teaching hospital here in Alberta, Canada the best of its kind for this situation, there’s you, a perinatologist, your husband and your mother. It’s a Saturday, in the evening, you have been waiting for hours. The window looks out on a concrete wall, you can’t concentrate on the hat you are knitting. The perinatologist comes in, she runs another ultrasound. The resident wasn’t pleased about the results of the first. Wanted a second opinion. You hear the words "you are dying and the baby is not doing well". There's an ultrasound machine, the floor is littered with strips of fetal monitoring paper. The room is cold and cramped, and you are frightened beyond where you have ever been. They can't give you any guarantees. Is there a few days? Maybe, but your kidneys are starting to fail. They will start giving you aggressive drugs but you could seize any moment, you could die of a stroke. If left untreated, you will die. There is no doubt. The baby is underweight for gestation, the odds of survival for a baby this size are very slim.

Would you like a c-section, that's the best way to get the baby out? Yes, you will always have to have a c-section now, because the incision will have to be so low. No, the baby is very likely to have significant neurological defects, not just blindness. Spina Bifida, Cerebral Palsy, possibly no brain function. That means that the baby will likely never come home, would have to be in a place that could handle the care of a baby with a feeding tube, a tracheotomy, could perform almost constant manipulation of muscles to try and stave off atrophy, can't give pain killers to those kids, that depresses respiration. Well, 6 weeks after a delivery, when babies make it that long, we do an ultrasound, most of the time there are no brain waves. We ask parents if they want to remove the respirator, hold their baby, often for the first time, while they die. No, you wouldn't see your baby right after it was born, Mom would have to be anesthetized for a c-section. No, an epidural isn't an option with your blood pressure. Well, we would bring the baby back to you if it died. You can see it in NICU otherwise. Well, chances of survival, if I have to give a number, are about 10%.

Let me tell you what we did:
We laboured to give birth to our son. His midwife caught him. I rocked him, and sang a lullaby, told him how much he was loved. His father rocked him, carried him around, we phoned our families’ who spoke to him, and told him they loved him, and told him they would see him in Heaven. Our parish priest drove like the wind to be at the hospital before he died, so that she could baptize him. He died in his daddy's arms. His grandmother bathed him and dressed him in the smallest clothes she could find and tucked in a newborn cap that I had sewn. Everything was far, far too large for him. We prayed as a family, thanked God for the life that had been Gabriel, for the gift of 30 minutes, for the prayers and compassion of others. My husband and I kissed him goodbye, told him that we loved him and that we would see him at the Last Day. His grandmother walked him down to the morgue. We gave him back to the Creator that gave him to us.We choose a funeral home, tucked white roses in with him, brought his tiny urn of ashes to his funeral, with the book his father read to him in utero, the stuffed bunny I bought him, a small vase of roses from mummy and daddy. Our family, our friends, our church community, our co-workers gathered together to mourn the short, sweet life that God gave us. We gave him back to the creator that gave him to us, proclaiming the bodily resurrection and that our Redeemer lives.

Say you don't agree with my choices, say that would have tried any and all measures to save your child, say that you would have died to try and give him the faint hope the last days might have given him. Make that decision with your family, I respect your right to do that. Know that I would have sat with you and your wife in that room and allowed you to make the choice that you felt God meant you to make, that you felt was the best path for your family. Know that I would weep for you, for the tragedy that has taken over your life. Know that whatever choice you make, I would believe that you made the choice with thought and care, and made the best choice you could.

I have tried to bring you, a complete stranger, into the most painful, raw time of my life. I hold this pain in two hands to try and show you, there are no easy answers, life isn't a quick fix, there are no test cases in real life. It's not always so clear about what our moral imperitive is, is it?

We can have a dialogue, and we should talk about abortion, about euthanasia, about welfare, about genocide, about poverty. But please know this, there are words that are so cruel, so cutting, so mean spirited, that they shouldn't be used. That they rip, and tear and mutilate and destroy. Please, choose your words wisely. Acknowledge that others bear burdens and pain that are so deep, and so vast there are no words to describe it. Deal kindly with the broken. There but for the Grace of God go all of us.

And please Mr. Kaufman, remember, I can hear you.

Update: I can't find an address for Matt Kaufman at Boundless. I have forwarded the letter to their editor, and received an automatic reply indicating that they read every letter personally, "but regret they are rarely able to reply personally".

Eliot Spitzer Resigned

Anyone else followed this story?

Mr. Spitzer was involved in prostitution. Interestingly, he hasn't been charged, and the information wasn't publicly released. Spitzer willingly acknowledged his failings, and has now resigned. Now, don't get me wrong. You don't have to know much about me to know how passionate I am about prostitution. I'm appalled that anyone would purchase another human being.

And, I wonder. Newt Gingrich, who is not the most stellar of role models, in spite of his time "dedicated to calling America back to our Christian Heritage", has managed to divorce 2 women, discuss details of his divorce settlement with number 1, while she had cancer and was in the hospital, and then had an affair with a woman young enough to be his daughter. . . He tries to run for presidency. And Christians support him. George Bush got the US into a war they had no business to be in, their young minorities are dying and they can't get out, but we'll crucify and try to impeach Bill Clinton.

I don't get Americans. I don't get their tawdry fascination with the private/sexual/religious/family lives of their politicians. I don't get why they expect their politicians to be perfect and without sin, but aren't like that in their own lives. I don't get why Eliot Spitzer is nailed to the wall, in spite of the tremendous good he has done, and the American public looks on, applauding, in between wallowing in the morass that is the Desperate Housewives/CSI/Grey's Anatomy - which glorify anything but the "christian' values that they expect their politicians to hold. I don't get why they call their fellow citizens hypocritical, but assume that as individuals they are right with God. C'mon USA today says that desperate housewives is the second most popular show - 22.8 million people watch it. Surely some of them are sitting in church nodding their heads and shouting AMEN as they go home to wallow in affairs, half naked pool boys and consumption crazy suburbia.

Newsflash: Politicians are people. They fall down. I'll let Mr. Spitzer say it best: "Our greatest glory consists not in never falling but in rising every time we fall."

Seems to me, if he's honest enough to admit he fell, admit he was wrong and is willing to try better the next time, that's the kind of politician you would want running your state.

Maybe it's just me though. I'm not sure what religion any of my elected officials are. I don't much care either. I expect spiritual counselling from my priest and my bible. I expect good public policy from my elected officials. The two aren't always one and the same. Seems to me that you can "fall down" and still pursue truth.


People always ask how Americans and Canadians are different. There's way number one.

Now I know in part. . . .

All major life experiences changes us. To follow up on my post of yesterday, we often develop our lives into before and after - Before this job, before I got my university degree, before I was married, before my divorce. . . .

There is a before and after in my life. Today was another marker of that - it was supposed to be my last project management class; my last official "work" thing before going off to have my baby. My last "on call" day. Adjustments are the strangest things. I have so few answers and so many more questions. So many questions I don't even know all of them.

Life is much greyer now. DH and I were talking today about grief and anger. I reflected that I am much less able to flex, roll withe punches. I can't find something, something doesn't work, plans change at the last moment, and I have a hard time coping. I'm like a violin string turned a half turn too tight. Strum to hard and there's an explosion.

Part of this anger stems from injustice of the universe. Not God, but that I live in a universe where things are patently unfair. As the perinatologist was telling us that Gabriel would have to be born, there was a mother across the way from us. No prenatal care, no prenatal vitamins, didn't really know how pregnant she was, she had been drinking and smoking. All I could think was "what the hell - I didn't even take Tylenol".

I was talking to someone at work - her niece lost a babe recently, at about 20 weeks. It seemed like I should be able to provide better advice, more information, more comfort. I couldn't think of much, mostly just to say "there's life afterwards". This is an anguish so deep and so wide there are no words to describe it.

I am perplexed at people who say "God must have needed Gabriel home", or "It just wasn't his time." I'm perplexed at a a view of God who is so callous as to take a much loved, much wanted baby. I'm perplexed that the "universe" decided to let me get pregnant, feel my son move, be delirious with joy at this pregnancy, and then would decide "whoopsy. wrong time. big mistake. we'll just take the child back now. Sorry for the inconvenience".

But I know, I must have said these stupid, foolish, unthinking things to grieving people. So, back to the topic at hand - I'm different now. One of the ways is this - silence and compassion. I don't have all the answers. Not even sure that I always know the questions.

As a Christian what I need to know has been distilled to very little - you could say almost nothing - God is God, and I am not.

That's all. Seems like it should be deeper, or more profound, or have more depth. I understand how the crowds in Ford Prefect's universe felt when the computer deep thought said the answer to life, the universe and everything was 42. You do wonder - what was the question?

PS - for the non bible readers - the title is taken from 1 Corinthians 13:12 - "Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

I suppose, and this is the part that matters, this is good. Certainly it makes debating practical philosophy more interesting. Enough for now, I'll get into the abortion debate later. ('cause that's never controversial!)