Semantics (Part 1)

I don't know when or if there will be a "part 2," though I have a feeling there will be.

I just can't bring myself to say that I'm "pro-life."  It's not that I in any way agree with abortion.  I don't.  In fact, I can't think of a single instance in which I could personally justify terminating the life of an unborn child unless the mother's life is in immediate danger, and even then I'm not okay with it, I just believe that it might be only slightly less of a tragedy if one of two deaths could be prevented.*

The problem lies not with the belief, nor the term itself.  My problem is that "Are you pro-life or pro-choice?" trivializes an enormously complicated issue down to a single-sentence answer.  For one thing, this question, regardless of who's asking it, is always a trick question, whether or not they intended it to be so.  "Pro-life" has all sorts of nasty connotations attached to it: you're anti-woman, you're a religious zealot, or worse, you're not actually pro-life.  Yes, I've heard the argument made that pro-lifers aren't actually pro-life; they're simply against abortion.  And the sad fact is, there is a tiny but far-too-loud minority who truly is all of those things, and they create an ugly cultural association with those of us who believe that all life is sacred and worth protecting.

Which leads me to my second point.

Creating a "culture of life" goes far deeper than the pro-life/pro-choice argument.  It goes deeper than legislation and bureaucracy.  Criminalizing abortion is like damming a flood after it's already destroyed the town.  We can't start with trying to convince a teenage girl to protect the new life holding court in her belly.  We need to go further back than that, to teaching our young daughters that their bodies are worth more than the first cute guy who's willing to buy them a drink.  We need to start setting the bar a little higher for moral standards for men and women.  We need mothers and sisters to set an example of Godly femininity, and we need fathers and brothers to demonstrate how women should be treated.  We don't need more grotesque pictures of aborted babies -- we need learned medical practitioners to tell the beautiful truth about what really happens during and after conception.

And what we really need (you'll notice I made this a separate point) is Christians willing to show Grace.  We need to stop standing outside abortion clinics, screaming hateful obscenities and waving morbid signs.  We need to stop labeling, stop browbeating, stop guilt-tripping, and especially stop condemning.  However tempted we might be to look down on these women, they are still our sisters and we must still pray for their salvation.** Look at it this way: when was the last time you saw an abortion protester offering to adopt one of those unwanted babies?  When was the last time any of us was willing to sit down with one of these women, hear their story, make them feel like they matter too?  Convince them with proper Christian love and prayer that their baby was not a burden but hope for the future?

Just saying, I think we could stand to re-think our strategy here.

For the record, I think "pro-humanity" has a nice ring to it.

*This does not come close to describing how not-okay I am with abortion, even in this scenario.  I don't know how common it is for pregnancy to threaten a woman's life, and I don't think I'm in a position to argue.  And I most certainly do not want to get into a debate about whose life is more important when that is the choice to be made.  That's a dangerous place to start making generalizations.


**I've said this before, I know.  But I think it bears repeating.  And repeating, and repeating, and repeating ad infinitum.

Hoo Boy!

Erm... pardon me while I brush some of this dust off...

It's been a long time, I know.  And boy, do I have a story to tell.  Here goes:

My request got to the very last step in the process... and got denied.  Yep, that's just how it goes sometimes.  My immediate higher-ups, including the Commanding Officer, tried to fight for it, but the Very Importants in their fancy offices decided that it was a no-go.  I could be angry about it if I wanted, I guess.  I could be angry at the Navy, angry at God, angry at anyone... but what good would it do me?  If I can't change the situation, then I can learn how to gracefully (and Grace-fully) deal with disappointment.  This is no one's fault, and with the right state of mind I will come out stronger.  I did, however, get an interesting offer at work, which leads me to a bit of a conundrum.  I now have two options:

1. I can spend the last three years of my contract in Augusta.  My financial situation being what it is, I still can't afford overnight daycare, so I'll probably still have to send the not-so-Little Lion Man up to Grandma and Grandpa's house every three months while I work the obligatory night shift.  I'll also see my husband for about 4 days every month.  The upside of this is that I won't ever deploy.
2. I can move to Baltimore in April of 2012 and spend a year learning a new language.  That's a year that I'll get to spend with my husband and the babe, with all weekends and most holidays off.  After that year is up, I'll spend the next THREE years deployed to North Africa for 3/4 of the year.  The upside of this is that I'll make a metric face-ton of money that can be saved up to give us a considerable financial cushion once I get out and get to do the mom thing.

So you see that I'm in a bit of a pickle -- three years in Georgia alone with the babe, or three years seasick?  I've already made my decision... sort of... so any prayers sent this way would be immensely appreciated.

I've also been seriously evaluating and re-evaluating (and re-evaluating, and so on and so forth) my faith -- in a good way! -- but that's a whole post in and of itself.  Which I promise will come sooner than two months from now.

God bless!

-- Birdie

Night Owl

During a meeting at work yesterday I found out that I'll be switching to the night shift a week after I get back from leave.  At first I was thrilled -- working the night shift means I don't have to get up early in the morning, I'll have more time to walk the dog (less chance of her going potty on the floor!), and I'll get to spend more time with the Little Lion Man.

...except... What am I supposed to do with him during the day, while I'm asleep?  I can't just leave him in his playpen unsupervised; that's not safe and besides, he won't stay quiet for more than an hour or two.  And I can't to send him to daycare for 20 hours a day; it's an extra $1000 a month that I don't have, and I would basically be visiting him at the babysitter's house while she kept him for almost 4 days straight.

I talked with my supervisor about it.  She was "sympathetic."

"You know, I'm a single mom too, and I make it work.  I had to have my mom move down here, and it stinks, but you do what you have to do.  You can't just blow off your responsibilities at work."

I am increasingly aware of the fact that as long as I am in the military, my family will always have to be my secondary priority.  There's no getting around this.  They have every legal right to expect me to dump my kid off with a stranger at a moment's notice so I can come to work.

In the end my mom offered to come down here to help out for a while.  She'll be here until the end of the month, at which point (hopefully) my co-location request will be approved and I'll move up to where my husband is stationed.  Unfortunately, there's no guarantee of that, and my mom can't stay here forever, so I had to make a painful decision: if the request hasn't been approved by the end of this month, Little Lion Man will have to go live with Grandma and Grandpa for a while.  In Wisconsin.  On the other side of the country.  It feels like being kicked in the chest by a large hoofed animal, but I know that all things considering it's the healthiest situation for him to be in.

In all likelihood I'll hear back pretty soon about the request and this will be a non-issue.  But until then, the only thing I can do is pray hard and do what I can not to worry about it.