Unconditional Love

Quiet times in my house are rare, so on a summer morning after some have left for work and the others are still asleep, I enjoy being able to think. I know that mothers with big families and/or small children can relate! The other day, though, the silence felt heavy and made me start thinking about my mom. It will be 20 years in December since she died at the too-young age of 64. I still miss her terribly and hope that someday I’ll see her again, but I really have no idea about that.

Thinking about my mom made me think about how much mothers (some – the normal ones, anyway) love their babies. The ones I’m thinking about – like me and the women I know – love their babies before they’re even born, before they’ve even seen them. They love them unconditionally, which means that this same child can (and probably will—maybe more than once) rip his mother’s heart out and although she may be very sad and angry, she will still love him. This parent* – child relationship is the only time humans love this way. This is the only “unconditional” love.

Thinking about unconditional love made me think about abortion and how it’s changed human relationships. If you know me, you know that I am passionately prolife. I cannot understand abortion or the people who support it. It seems obvious to me that it’s the murder of an innocent human being and therefore wrong. I recently read an excellent memoir about prolife activism – Abandoned by Dr. Monica Miller – in which the author explains that abortion is not only murder but the vilest form of rejection. Aborted babies are ripped from their mothers’ wombs – what should be the safest place in the world – and stripped of their humanity, even considered less than human. They are implicitly declared not worthy of inclusion in our human race; they are nothing -- rejected, unloved, unwanted.

Making abortion legal 40 years ago not only didn’t make it rare or safe, but it also permanently altered how we view each other. What was once generally assumed to be a sure and unconditional love – that love between a mother and her baby – is now not unconditional at all. In fact, this love is so conditional  that a mother has the right to not only not love, but to hate to the greatest degree – by arranging for the murder of her own child.

Now, “sacrifice” no longer necessarily means giving up something in order to benefit another. Rather, it’s been twisted in the most evil way. Sacrifice now may not be the mother giving up something in order to love and care for her child, but possibly sacrificing her child so that she doesn’t have to relinquish anything.

It’s hard for me to look at pregnant women and mothers of babies and young children without recalling the statistic that one out of three women will have had an abortion by the age of 45. When I see a young mom or one with a big belly, it makes me wonder…..did she ever have an abortion? And if she did, how then can she really love her other children? What if they find out that their mother aborted their sibling? Will they wonder, “Why not me?”

Abortion is murder. It’s a sad and harsh day, but a great day, when people who’ve participated in this atrocity finally acknowledge what they’ve done. While unspeakably difficult, acknowledgement is the critical first step. Thankfully, there is a great, healing Physician who is able and willing to forgive all sins when one truly repents. If this is you, it is my most sincere hope that you will recognize Jesus Christ for who He is – the Messiah. He is “the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” As He said, no one can come to the Father except through Him. He can and will save you and heal your broken heart if you ask. It will take time and support is strongly recommended. Visit http://www.rachelsvineyard.org/ or http://www.silentnomoreawareness.org/. If you live in Livingston County, Michigan, there is confidential group and individual support available at Pregnancy Help Clinic http://www.pregnancyhelpclinic.com/

*Normal fathers love unconditionally, too.

I'm a Wimpy Mother

You hear this from almost the minute your baby’s born: “Enjoy every moment because before you know it, they will be grown and gone.” I used to hate hearing that when my kids were little. It was almost always well-intentioned older ladies who would utter those words. Yet even then I was sure that they were speaking from personal experience, and I understood the painful truth; I just didn’t want the reminder. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about it, the inevitable has come true, and I am now the mother of four adults and three more who will be soon.

Just yesterday, my oldest was building things with Legos; he now lives in Argentina and we only get to see him once or twice a year. The sister he used to tease by misbehaving in the historical plays she would put on with her younger siblings is now in a PhD program six hours away by car. Even though I’ve adjusted to the concept of my kids coming and going since the eldest first went to college more than eight years ago, it still feels unnatural when they say goodbye and leave.

A Letter to Young Christian Women

I’m finally at an age when younger Christian women might look up to me for “wisdom” and advice. That is a daunting thought and I don’t feel at all qualified to be that person. Somehow, though, in spite of what I know are major flaws and weaknesses, I have been through enough trials and struggles to be able, perhaps, to provide some insight and perspective. After having been around for so long, I have made some observations and come to certain conclusions that no one would have been able to explain to me years ago. Some things you have to see, experience, and understand for yourself. For instance, the following is a great truth that is becoming more powerful to me as time goes on: One of the most important things a newly-married Christian couple will ever hear is that their marriage is triangular. God is the top “point,” and the husband and wife are the others. The spouses will stay connected and their marriage will be a healthy one if they acknowledge God in His proper place; He is not only an integral part, but most importantly, He is at the top. The more the couple draws near to Him, the closer to each other they will also be.

A Visit to See Amy

I visited my sister, Amy, today for the first time in months. I was a bit over-generous with my belated birthday presents for her since the occasion was almost three months ago and I had missed it. Buying a couple extra things helped assuage my guilt, which was forgotten the minute she joyfully ripped the packages open before I even had a chance to get them out of my car.

My sister turned 50 on May 25 of this year. She’s not quite sure, but she thinks she’s about 16, which is the age her mental illness first became apparent. Perhaps I should say that that’s how old she was when we had to drop everything and try to get her some help.

She lives in a group home in Ortonville, Michigan with about 20 adults who all have some kind of mental problem. They seem pretty peaceful, but maybe that’s because they’re heavily medicated. When I was there today, there were several residents sitting around the t.v. watching something insipid featuring a hairy puppet I didn’t recognize. The show had the look of a cheap Sesame Street knock-off.

Bread-Making and Pickup Trucks

I still remember the poorly-concealed shock on my friend’s face when she found out that I didn’t know how to make bread.

“It’s only water, yeast, oil, some kind of sweetener, salt, and flour….” she said, trailing off at the end.

I was thinking (but didn’t say), “Yes, but I’m a half-J.A.P.* from Southfield who broke up with a perfectly nice boy just because he arrived at my house to pick me up for a date driving a pickup truck.” Neither half-J.A.P.s nor the full-blown variety would have been caught dead in a truck in the seventies -- at least not any that I knew of.  In fact, pickups were a very rare sight in Oakland County at this time. Try telling this to a practical Nebraska farm girl who had been transplanted to a rambling farmhouse on acreage in Livingston County. Needless to say, I didn’t bother trying to explain. Instead, I quickly accepted her offer to come over to her house one afternoon and learn how, hands-on style.

Twenty years later, I am still making whole wheat bread, six loaves at a time in my Bosch multi-tasking kneader, mixer, and blender. First, I grind organic wheat berries, purchased from a nearby co-op, in my Grain Master Whisper Mill. If you are like most people who hear this about me, you are probably wondering which commune I used to live on. Am I a hippie? A health-food nut? Some kind of fruitcake who should really be living somewhere in California or on a kibbutz in Israel? The truth is much less intriguing. I like to challenge myself by learning new things that I find interesting, and making bread was on that list. I also like the health benefits and the fact that I am feeding something really nutritious to my family for about 50 cents per loaf. You can’t beat that.

The Art versus Science of Bread-Making Have you ever heard someone say that break-making is part science, part art? That’s actually quite accurate because it’s one thing to be able to follow a recipe and another to be able to “read between the lines.” Nothing can replace experience when it comes to knowing just how much flour is the right amount. The recipe will give you a close idea, but after that, it’s a matter of looking and sometimes touching. When the dough cleans the sides of the kneading bowl, it’s time to stop adding flour and just keep kneading. If you are still not sure after looking carefully, stop the machine and poke the dough lightly. It should be slightly sticky, but dough shouldn’t stick to your finger. This is what I mean by “art.” It gets easier and easier with experience to know when there is enough flour. Too little flour leads to dough that is so sticky that it is almost impossible to work with; too much leads to heavy, crumbly bread.

The other artistic aspect to bread-making is having enough experience and knowledge about the process to be able to tinker with the recipe. It took me years to get to this point. For the first several years, I added a little all-purpose flour so that the dough would rise more and have a lighter consistency. I have since figured out how to make light, moist bread using only freshly-ground whole wheat. I also discovered that we prefer a little more honey and oil than the amounts my friend first gave me, and I also now add one cup of flaxseed meal for the nutrition benefits.

The Road Less Traveled  I am glad that I decided to learn this ancient art of bread-making and not take the more populated Wonder Bread route. It’s been beneficial and positive in every way. Oh, and after making that mistake with the nice young man in the pickup truck, I threw out the vehicle standard and ended up marrying a man who, as a college student, drove a VW beetle with “manual” windshield wipers (they operated by having the passenger – or driver if he was by himself – pull on a rope attached to the wipers). There was also a convenient hole in the floor on the passenger side for quick exits of bad dates…

*Jewish American Princess

Whole Wheat Bread (makes 6 loaves):

6 cups water (about 110 degrees)

2 T. Saf-Instant yeast (only one rising is necessary with this yeast—available at food co-ops and Gordon Food Service)

¾ c. canola oil

¾ c. honey

1 T. kosher salt

Whole wheat flour

1 c. flaxseed meal

Knead in Bosch for 6 min., then divide into 6 loaves and place in prepared pans (I use Pam). Let rise in slightly-warm oven for 40 min. and then bake for 35 min. at 350.