tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77578456744120684572024-03-08T01:07:48.865-08:00Simple Little KitchenInfrequent Posts by Megan FeraUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757845674412068457.post-6674104764996449402017-01-20T05:29:00.001-08:002017-01-20T05:29:13.392-08:004 Things To Tell Your Children About AbortionIt's late afternoon. My kids and I are jostling up the freeway in our minivan to hit a bookstore before dinner. I've already spent the day reading them stories, teaching them to count and cleaning up their sticky little snacks. So it's time for a quick check-in with the grown-up world: 10 minutes of NPR while they eat Goldfish in the back seat.<br />
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I forget they are listening. And then, "Hey mom, what does that mean? Reproductive rights?"<br />
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It's code for abortion. So I tell them that. The conversation that follows is a good one. Even though they are small, they can handle it. They must handle it, because this is the world they are living in. If I don't tell them what I think, my silence will equal assent. So we are doing this now, swerving around construction cones and looking for the turn-off. My brand of apologetics.<br />
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How should we approach this difficult topic, when they are so young?<br />
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<b>1. Celebrate LIFE before discussing abortion.</b><br />
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God's ways are good. (Psalm 18:30) If He forbids something, it's because the alternative is better. (Isaiah 59:9) No matter how a woman gets pregnant, God sees, knows and designs every baby that is made, in His image and for His purposes. (Genesis 1:27; Psalm 139:13; Jeremiah 1:5; Luke 1:41; Romans 9:11) Even a toddler can delight in these happy truths! It's lovely to be told that you matter to God. So remind them when you're kissing toes, giving baths, handing out crackers and tucking them in at night. God loved you before you were born, isn't He awesome?<br />
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The arts are extremely helpful in getting this message across. Children's literature sings LIFE, if you will take the time to enjoy it. When you read, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Horton-Hears-Who-Dr-Seuss/dp/0394800788" target="_blank">Horton Hears a Who</a> 8 million times, you don't just get better at saying, "Wickersham cousins." You get to remind your child, "A person's a person, no matter how small." When you read <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Charlottes-Web-B-White/dp/0061124958" target="_blank">Charlotte's Web</a>, you can savor the rightness of Fern's plea: "If <i>I</i> had been very small at birth, would you have killed <i>me</i>?" Every painting, building and sculpture is a chance to remember that we are the product of a creative God, who delights to protect His workmanship. (Ephesians 2:10) So look around and remind them.<br />
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<b>2. Delight yourselves in babies.</b><br />
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Our culture despises children. If you don't believe that, Google the statistics on neglect, abuse and child trafficking. Watch some, "family" sitcoms where you can learn that children are loud, rude, expensive and absent from the best parts of the show. Or just take a trip to the grocery store with me, and hear some snarky lady ask, "are they ALL yours?" as if my cart is full of weapons.<br />
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If you want your child to reject this ethic, you've got to impress the opposite. When a baby cries at Target, lean over and whisper, "Oh do you hear that? The sound of new life!" When you see an infant sleeping at church, slow down and admire - his new little fingers! Her plump little lips! Display your child's ultrasound proudly, if you have it. Tell your daughter you're so glad she was born. Tell your son his birth story. Celebrate adoption. (Psalm 68:6)<br />
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<b>3. Be frank (but not graphic). </b><br />
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When we want to conceal evil, we keep it in the dark. (John 3:19) In the case of abortion, obscurity is the devil's playground. That is why we say things like, "products of conception" and "a woman's right to choose" instead of, "killing a baby." We file this act away in a neat little pocket called, "Women's Healthcare." We can't expect a better outcome if we won't tell our kids the truth.<br />
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So, that day in the minivan, this is what I told my kids:<br />
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Not everyone is excited when they find out they're pregnant. Sometimes, it feels like very bad news. Maybe the mother is very young, too young to really be a mother. Maybe she was having sex when she wasn't supposed to, and now people will find out. Maybe she doesn't have anyone to help her and she is scared, or she doesn't want to work together with the baby's father. Maybe she doesn't have enough money for the things a baby needs, or maybe she is afraid she won't be able to do the things she was planning to do, if she has to take care of a baby instead. Maybe she found out that the baby's going to have a disability (like <a href="http://simplelittlekitchen.blogspot.com/2011/05/lets-talk-disability.html" target="_blank">Uncle Dustin</a>). When that happens, there is a procedure she can have called an abortion. Abortion is where the mother gets medication or a surgery to kill the baby that is growing inside her. I know that is so, so hard to hear about. It is very sad to God, too. I'm sorry that I had to tell you about it today. But I want you to know I will always tell you the truth, the very best that I can, and you can always ask me anything. I love you. <br />
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Devastation. Discussion. Tears. Silence. Now they know what abortion is.<br />
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<b>4. Look for the Helpers.</b><br />
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I've delivered some ugly news. What can I do to comfort them? After their questions that day, I let them just be quiet. They stared out their windows and I prayed for God's work in their hearts. Then I remembered <a href="http://www.fredrogers.org/parents/special-challenges/tragic-events.php" target="_blank">what Mr. Rogers said</a>: when you hear scary news, it's best to look for the helpers. Knowing there is help around makes children feel more secure. So that is what we did. We talked about a family friend joyfully raising a foster child. We recalled our visit to a local pregnancy center. We talked about the church, how it can be a soft landing place and brainstormed ways our family could help. And of course, we talked about Jesus. He makes all things new, and forgives even abortion. In the end, there is no other answer I can give them. Thankfully, He is enough.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757845674412068457.post-48256690177780085912016-12-28T17:32:00.000-08:002017-01-07T20:24:44.927-08:00Learning by Repetition <div class="MsoNormal">
When I was little, the deepest longing of my heart was to
see <a href="http://simplelittlekitchen.blogspot.com/2011/05/lets-talk-disability.html" target="_blank">my brother</a> walk. At night I’d lie on my back and try to think back before that
invisible moment in the womb when things changed. And then I’d think back even
farther. Back to my dad being a kid, back to dinosaurs, back to the Earth
covered in water, and the Spirit of God hovering over. And I’d whimper a little
child’s version of Martha's prayer: “Lord, if you had been there… but I know God
will give you whatever you ask…” (John 11:21).<o:p></o:p></div>
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Once when I was about 8 a lady at church told me if I had
enough faith God would heal my brother. Was that what was holding God back, I
wondered? My pathetic faith? Around that time I asked my dad if he thought God
could heal Dustin. His answer was calm, kind, and final. “Yes, but I don’t
think he will.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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From that point on, I began to make an awkward peace with disability.
Nothing less than heaven will make this right, but it will be made right,
because of heaven. It’s a truth I must repeat each day, over the stove when my
mind wanders. With time, it has hardened into something useful I can depend on.
Christ in you, the hope of glory. (Colossians 1:27). <o:p></o:p></div>
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In college I began to fear this need for repetition was a
fool’s game, a sad attempt to steel myself that showed my faith was misplaced. I
gave in to sorrow there for a while and had a bumpy road. But I’ve come to understand
that grief demands we learn by repetition. And like most areas of study, if your
repetition is correct it will eventually give way to mastery. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This is the pedagogy of Jesus in John 9. Think what monotony
the blind man experienced, before he met Jesus. Every morning when others saw
the sun, he did not. All day long while others worked, he begged, reaching out
again and again until it was night – and he did not see the stars. I can only
wonder how often his heart cried out for a miracle. Had he too made peace with disability?
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Maybe he had, but Jesus had not. Jesus gave the man sight,
and a new lesson to repeat. I am the man who used to sit and beg. (v. 9). And
then I could see. (v. 11). Jesus put mud on my eyes and now I see. (v. 15). I was blind but now I see. (v. 25). Jesus opened my eyes. (v. 30). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In time he gained the greater truth: none less
than Messiah can give life, but you will have life, because of Messiah. (verse 38).
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It’s been 30-plus years of repetition for me. Where grief
once waged a war, I’ve gained a tiny fortress. So if I have to fight a hundred
times a day to keep it, let me keep on repeating: Christ in you, the hope of
glory. Because the day is coming when I will not live by faith, but by sight.
(2 Corinthians 5:2). And if I must keep on
repeating until then, it will be worth it.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757845674412068457.post-11031377265865838912016-05-06T11:21:00.002-07:002016-05-06T18:26:31.067-07:00Tell it to my BrotherLet me introduce you to my personal crap detector. He's a 35-year-old man with Cerebral Palsy. I grew up with him, five years apart in age and basically on par in sarcasm. My brother's physical appearance can be off-putting, if you're not used to the trappings of severe physical disability. If he senses you're trying, he will help you out by flashing his gigantic grin. If he senses you're uptight, he will flash you "the Hairy Eyeball," which basically consists of clamping his lips together and rolling his eyes back in his head. Then you feel like a jerk for being uncomfortable, even though he's purposefully contributing to your sorry state. His assessment is instant and infallible. Many a cute guy bearing mix tapes and youth pastor bearing Silly String have have been bested by the Hairy Eyeball. One boyfriend passed immediately, overcoming the fear of meeting a person who can't speak by the power of an earnest heart and natural propensity for doing all the talking. They are brothers now.<br />
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Growing up, we got a lot of laughs out of the Dustin Test. But now I'm learning that the test was philosophical too. Just like new friends, the ideas we encounter must be tested to see if they'll prove false. Yes, we can use our logic and our knowledge of the world to filter out some bad ones. But some others require a road test. If put to reality they simply don't work, then we know their attraction is folly. This is why Jesus told us that merely hearing His word is like building a house on sand, but actually doing it gives your house a firm foundation. If you want to know the truth of the Bible, go on and test it out. </div>
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When I hear, "I choose to be blessed!" or, "Suffering is a state of mind," I always want to say, "Tell it to my brother." So many of our philosophies just don't ring true in the face of hard realities. I don't dwell on this aspect a lot, but guess what: it's nuts to have a prognosis that you'll never walk, never talk, and never escape daily physical pain. It's a lot of mental work to accept that it's for real, and won't be overcome in this lifetime. The ideas, and friends, that I adopt must be ones that pass for this kind of circumstance. This test weeds out a lot of crap, and a few simple truths remain. Does your worldview work this way? </div>
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https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%206:49</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7757845674412068457.post-52789363448352835862011-05-28T10:28:00.000-07:002013-04-13T09:34:31.927-07:00Let's Talk Disability and Siblings.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7ZqOJi3ark/TeEv1IU-8_I/AAAAAAAAAE4/lg3cVpHr2nU/s1600/sc001ea7cf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X7ZqOJi3ark/TeEv1IU-8_I/AAAAAAAAAE4/lg3cVpHr2nU/s1600/sc001ea7cf.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me & My Dustin.</td></tr>
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My brother has Cerebral Palsy. If you’re picturing the kid from your grade school who wore leg braces, or the guy at DMV with slightly drooly speech, that isn’t him. My brother is the one-in-a-million guy slumped over in a wheelchair typing out genius thoughts by a stick attached to his hat. That is to say, his case is severe. And miraculous.<br />
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I’m often asked what it was like for me when Dustin was born. I'm sure that it was a big deal (my therapist has told me so). But, honestly? It kind of also wasn't. I was 5. We lived in a small Midwestern town. There were Fireman’s Parades and the public pool had a gravel lot. “Bette Davis Eyes” was always playing and my greatest desire was to get the KISS Colorforms Set (denied). So there you have it, the early '80's.<br />
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This was way before ultrasounds and amnio. I don’t think anyone knew he’d be a boy, much less a boy with very significant brain damage and a stomach malformation that would critically endanger his life. There were emergencies and surgeries, a move to California. An arsenal of tragic prognoses: Dustin will die, Dustin won’t walk, Dustin won't talk. Dustin won’t recognize you, to operate would waste space. Warnings of divorce, urgings to institutionalize. The exact words “let nature take it’s course.” A spooky oracle concerning dysfunctional siblings. How my parents, mid-20′s, endured this I don’t know except to say that the love of a parent (and the grace of God) can really take your breath away.<br />
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But if that was the storm, Dustin was the eye. Adorable, kissable, dressable, huggable, squishy and naked. So small and soft. In his sister's medical opinion? Perfect. I remember he cried a lot and I had enormous satisfaction in thinking I was the only one who could soothe him. I rocked him on a pillow, singing personalized versions of oldies’ tunes. I put caterpillars on his tummy and propped up toys for him to stare at. I remember feeling confident and proud. I see my nieces now with my son, and I know their sense of ownership. I fully considered Dustin to be MINE.<br />
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People ask me about these memories because they think bringing a disabled child into their family might be a horrible burden on his siblings. Ignorant people with degrees have told them so. They look at his sister and think, “poor thing, she’ll be neglected, she’ll be so sad.” They don’t consider that her brother’s weakness might make him all the more loveable, his accomplishments all the more worthy and his life all the more special. I thank God that my parents made a choice to shelter me from prejudice, but not from disability. I pray more parents will do the same.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2