I didn’t post about the sad anniversary of Roe v Wade on the 22nd because it was EJ’s birthday.  Wednesday marked 41 years since abortion has been legal in all 50 states of the U.S.A., and over 55,000,000 babies have been legally murdered since then.  That doesn’t include the legal slaughter of the unborn in states where abortion was already legal before 1973.

So you get a rare Friday post on the topic!

Some friends of mine released a movie on Wednesday called Babies are Murdered Here (#bamh).  If you are already pro-life, but don’t know what to do about it, watch that film.

If you’re not pro-life, I’d recommend the movie 180.  This is Ray Comfort’s documentary on abortion as an ethnic Jew.

Both movies are fairly short (both under an hour) and worth your time.

Abortion isn’t a political issue, though people try to make it into one.  At least no more political than whether you ought to be free to speak your mind or travel where you want to.  It’s about whether children have the right to survive in the womb, and whether we’re willing to protect them from being murdered.  I know there are many that think using the word murder to describe abortion is over the top.  To those I simply ask:  what would you call it if the father of a 4 month old baby willfully killed his child?  Just because the child is still in the womb, doesn’t making killing her any different.  Being pro-life and anti-abortion isn’t about who I vote for (though it includes that!) it’s about rescuing defenseless children from those who seek their death, and rejoicing in those children as a blessing from conception through their whole lives.  (My passion for this issue, by the way, is the key reason why we started the Morning Center, which is providing free maternity care to women in Memphis, Tennessee right now).

This is a letter I wrote last year to Ezekiel before I knew he was going to have such a traumatic experience:

Dear Ezekiel:

It seems likely that by sunup tomorrow you’ll be in your mother’s arms, nursing at her bosum.

As I type, it still seems strange that I write this from beside your mother, her resting in bed, in a dark and quiet hospital room.  You are the first child in just shy of 13 years in our family to be born in a hospital.


Because we love you.

I hate hospitals.  I haven’t smelled anything in over a decade, but I still, in my imagination, even hate the smell of hospitals.  I have never left a hospital thinking “wow…so glad for that time there!”  Even when I have been sure that it was the right place to be to save or preserve a life, I have not enjoyed being there.  And it is a distinctly awful place to have a baby.  Hospitals are for sick people, not for laboring mamas.

And yet, tonight I will spend a sleepless night in a hospital room because we love you.

We can’t be sure, but at this moment we think you mother has a not-all-that-rare liver condition called ICP.  It’s completely harmless to her, but for unknown reasons 5-10/1,000 babies die unexpectedly before birth…babies who seem perfectly healthy just hours or days before suddenly dying.  So even though the right place for you to be born is at home, we wanted you to be born alive, and so here we are, just to be safe.

It’s the right decision.  It won’t likely be the last time in your life that a decision that is best for you is inconvenient for us.  And we will always choose your life and health over our convenience and comfort.

Tomorrow is also the 40th anniversary of a horrible date in our nation’s history.  On January 22, 1973 the United States Supreme Court declared that laws against murdering children in the womb were to be stricken down and that children like you have no rights, especially not the right to life.  And after 40 years of legalized murder of in utero children, we have seen the death of over 55 million children.  The place you are as I write, your mother’s womb, is designed to be the safest place on earth for children.  And we have made it, especially for inner-city poor children, the most dangerous place to be.  And it makes me sad.

And angry.

And this sorrow and anger has caused us to start something that will make your childhood complicated: the Morning Center.  Getting a new project off the ground takes time and effort, and our family will continue to pour time and energy into the Morning Center until it takes off and is self-sustaining.  We are behind schedule getting our first mobile care unit running in Memphis, but we will continue to labor until we see women in the city hear the Gospel and see their children as the gift from God that they are.

Welcome to the world, Ezekiel.  It is both a sad and happy place.  May you never know a day when the joy of The Lord Jesus is manifest in your heart and life.  And may you someday know a day when the murder of children in the womb is not only illegal, but is known far and wide as the evil it is.  May you see the new morning we long to see in our world where abortion dies its own death.

I love you, my son.  May your days be filled with love and grace, and may you never know a day without faith in Jesus, and may your life shine forth that same grace to others.

Your papa

May God rid our land, and every land, of this love of death.

One thought on “Someday….

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