Perhaps my favorite genre of fiction is the short story. If I could write one or two good short stories before I leave this world, that would be so very nice. I like a tale that can be told in one sitting, with enough color in it to have me thinking about it for an entire week, or longer. The short story...in the beginning of my life...was a bedtime story, though I cannot remember too often at all, my mother reading them to me. And of course, my father never read to me. Suddenly knowing that makes me very sad. I wish my father had read to me.
The theme this week always seems to be drawn back into "blessing." In all the conversations about the Pro-Life marches, I am forever drawn back into that reality: whether or not abortion is available and safe just doesn't seem that important to me. I would prefer it to not be necessary, to never have to be a consideration in people's lives...but as long as we continue to use or exploit each other, abortion will always be around. But don't try to convince me that abortion is more horrible than war. Death is death. The deliberate killing of another because they are interfering with your lifestyle is wrong in any situation. But that is not why I write.
The Pro-Life movement should be focused on life, not death. To define itself by fighting against something rather than fighting for something is just not good use of energy. Calling it Pro-Life, but speaking out unceasingly AGAINST abortion...is kind of contradictory. And choosing life, that should be at all stages, for all people. Pro-life means health care, education, safety, community, respect for ALL people. Pro-life means that wars will stop...because people will stop fighting.
And most importantly, this week for me at least, pro-lfe means Blessing.
Into each life, a blessing must come. A promise of commitment and hope...and unconditional love. A blessing for each of us. A blessing for all. That is true pro-life.
What I have found, is that women, who do not receive that blessing from their fathers, do not really know in their hearts that their life is precious, valued, and a gift. If the blessing does not come from the father for the daughter, the daughter will seek the blessing wherever she can find it...in whatever form it comes. And often, it arrives in a good-looking swaggering older man who will tell her anything to get what he wants in that moment for the moment. And then, when she trusts in that little bit of what she thinks is light, he wanders off to find the next piece of candy.
What is true also, is the man who wanders from woman to woman, has never received his blessing either. And my heart breaks.
A man shows up at the house where I stay, for the little girl, who is pregnant again...and I look at him with stern eyes, hoping he can read my mind: "Treat her with respect." And I pray that he does. He holds a look of humility, at least in my presence.
Not so the woman who sits in the chair, talking with another woman, who is lying on a bed. The woman in the chair holds a book, "Fifty Shades of Gray." I look at it. I look at her. I try to make a joke out of the pain of seeing her with that book causes me. "The Sisters would not be happy if I told them you were reading that book. " "Oh, please don't tell them." she asks. Her friend on the bed asks me, why I object to the book.
"Because it is the story about men who hurt women on purpose and how women like it. It teaches that it is okay to abuse women. It is a lie. I haven't read it. I simply know about it. It is not a good book."
I think about the poverty in front of me. These women do not yet know they are daughters of God. They are still slaves to the hungry one who will never love them. I don't know how to help...and I think my words will just make them laugh at me. I don't care. They'll remember what I said. Maybe they will wonder.
Last month, I found another young girl with a book, from the library, about how to please a man in sex. I confronted her, too. "Why do you want to do this? Where is he now?"
And I hurt inside as I understand. This is the only blessing these women have ever known: the lie from the snake: it will not kill you. It will make you like God.
Chaos.
The idea of the House is to create order in the lives of women who have never known order, or safety. They fight it at every turn. The gripe at me when it is time to go upstairs, to lock up the phones, no more cigarettes for the night, and then, in the morning, the gripe at me again...telling me their little lies: no one else makes up wake up, why are you setting the alarm now, you are doing it wrong...
And I remind them, if you keep breaking the rules, the house might be shut down. Do you want that? The other places they know about: some don't take pregnant women, some have only a mat on the floor to sleep on, some don't have hot meals at night and in the morning. Yes, there is no TV here...but you have enough to eat, and bars on the windows, to keep the bad people out. Here you can get your vitamins, your medicine for your babies, a private room with a bed, a bus pass...
Some catch on eventually...at least for a little while. I have worked there enough that the ones I saw in the beginning have returned, to sleep until their next child is born. This is pro-life. And it is hard, unceasing, sometimes discouraging work. But it is a step out of chaos for many women...it is the beginning of trying to accept a blessing...even if it cannot come from that very important "father."
Order.
Not to withhold life, but to set it truly free. I offer hints as much as I am able: Don't let them ever tell you you can't, you are not good enough...you are smart, you are beautiful, you are important. That is the blessing. And if it can't come from the father...then it must come from you.
Love, Cindy
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