Undone

“‘Woe to me!’ I cried. ‘I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.'” – Isaiah 6:5

After liberating Nazi Germany, US General Walton Walker started a tradition of taking German citizens of death camp towns and marching them through the camps (often at gunpoint). The aim was to show the Germans the utter inhumane horror of what they had done. By most accounts it was quite effective. People have a tremendous ability to deceive themselves; to push the pain of reality away from their eyes and cover it over – just to be able to get through the day. But, they will remember quite clearly when the facade is stripped away.

When the prophet Isaiah was confronted with the presence of God he was utterly undone – because he was most acutely aware of his own sinfulness. This is the way of light; it makes the darkness appear so much the darker.

I had planned on writing a different post today, but a story caught my eye that I felt opened an opportunity for expression. Expression of something I’m not sure I’ve ever quite brought home.

In France today, a woman in the small village of Villers-au-Tertre confessed to killing her children. She had killed eight newborn children by suffocation. Police found the bodies wrapped in plastic bags. They were her children.

Now I have no idea why or when she carried out this gruesome act. But there it is, posted by Reuters for all the world to see.

Why would I bring up such a horrid story? In a moment. First, let me ask you, dear reader, a few questions. How does this make you feel? Are you shocked? Are you dismayed? Do you feel regret or painful compassion for the children? What must have been going through their little newborn brains as they were suffocated by their own mother? What pain were they able to realize – could they even know fear at that age? Surely they would have tried to cry out in pain, at the very least.

For my friends who don’t understand the vehemence with which I oppose abortion – this is it. I see no distinction between these eight newborn babies slaughtered by their own mother (or father, we don’t really know), and the millions of babies aborted in this country and across the world every year. I see no difference. Your shrieks of horror and gasps of disbelief for these poor eight babies … those are my shrieks of horror and gasps of disbelief for slaughtered pre-born children in this country.

Perhaps you don’t agree with me on the issue. Fine. My goal is not to convince you of one truth or another. My goal is only to let you understand what I see. This has nothing to do with “freedom” or “choice” or “keep your laws off my body” – it has everything to do with slaughtered children.

Do you cry for these French babies? Does your heart sink for their lost lives? I cry for the pre-born children who have fought for their lives and lost. I cry for their last moments of fear, of dread.

You feel different? Fine. But you won’t accuse me of being flippant or uncaring – indeed my heartfelt position is one of deep, intense caring. I am not willing to run from the pain, from the horror of it all. I prefer open, honest confession before God. I prefer crying to my Creator, my Savior, my Redeemer … my Comforter.

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