On Bacteria and Abortion

One of the more useful classes I had to take for my college degree was Microbiology. For my term project, I studied the bacteria found in public restrooms. I carefully swab the toilet seats, faucets, and door handles in every (female) bathroom in the dormitories. I then grew the bacteria on Petri dishes and examined them under the microscope. What (nerdy) fun.

Here is a summary of my findings (according to the number and grossness of the bacteria):

Toilet seats < Door handles < Faucets

Ew to faucets indeed.

That was nine years ago. Since then, I have not touched a single faucet or door handle or toilet seat in public restrooms without a paper towel or something to shield my skin from that thick, slimy, invisible layer of microorganisms.

My belief in bacteria dictates my action. Oh yes indeed it does. In fact, it even governs a sick feeling I get just thinking about faucets.

Years ago, around the time when I took that Microbiology class, I learned that much of the abortion debate centered around the question "when does life begin?" At conception? First trimester? Second trimester? Third? One's judgment on this issue depended on their answer to this question, that was what they said.

Belief dictates action.

Emeth at 14-weeks

Since then, I've had conversations with women who had abortions, and more importantly, had two pregnancies of my own. Thanks to technological advancement, we now have reliable windows into the womb. Faces. Heartbeat. Movement. A separate genetic code from the mother. The fetus is clearly not "part of the woman's body." The question is no longer "when does life happen?"; we know we are carrying human life. Yet, people still choose to abort children.

We are a generation who believes murder is permissible.

My actions betray my beliefs. Every moment, every day. When I do not spend time in God's Word, when I am not living a life of obedience, when I do not fear the consequences of my sin — I am proclaiming:

The Lord and Creator of Heaven and Earth < Bacteria

Grim indeed.

Somebody at the Door

The boys and I were playing at the table this evening. Out of the blue, Emeth pointed at the door and in his urgent voice, he said, "Jesus knocking!" My mind was scrambling, thinking about how I should respond. He interrupted my thoughts and cried again, his finger still pointing, "Somebody knocking! Jesus! Mommy open door!"

"Mommy should get the door?" I asked. He nodded furiously. "Jesus is at the door?" I asked again, just to make sure I understood him. He nodded again.

I know this is silly, but fear shot through my heart. I was afraid to open the door. Afraid that I would find Jesus standing there, staring back at me.

I couldn't do this by myself.

So I knocked on Hans' door. He was in the room studying at the time. "Honey! Jesus is knocking at the door!"

Hans, my dear, sweet husband, rushed out and headed for the door, "Well, why is Jesus standing outside? Let him in!"

He opened the door.

Hans preached a sobering sermon last Sunday. Most of the time, he said, we live for the things of this world as though they are real -- wealth, stuffs, beauty, recognition, respect, the attention and affection of others, even the comfort and health of our earthly bodies.

We worry, we labor, we love, we hang onto them for life. But these things are imaginary. They are fleeting. They are not real. They will not matter.

Yet, towards the One who is real, we speak and act as though he is -- imaginary.

The hallway was empty.

"Where did Jesus go?" Emeth asked, disappointed. I was a little sad too, I think. I was half expecting Jesus to be there. Hans replied, "Jesus is here, sweetie, he is always here. Jesus is in mommy and daddy, and someday, we hope Jesus will be in you and Hanan."

Emeth pulled up his shirt and stared into his belly button for a while.

Hello, Lord.

No space

This day marks four years and four months since our wedding. Hans said his vows to a very different person that day. I have a hard time recalling who I was, mainly because I cringe at the thought of her. Be assured that I am still that selfish little person, but she was a lot worse.

We had not lived in the same city before getting married. So, those first few months were very sweet. Every meal was a date, every dinner an event. The phone seemed especially repulsive. Its one worthy function was no more. I think I am just beginning to recover from my disgust towards that object.

I enjoyed exclaiming silly things like "No space!" Sometimes because his presence was too good to be true. Sometimes because I was feeling insecure. Either way, I wanted to be with him.

I liked clinging to him, I still do. I even made him miss Emeth's birth because I was clinging to his neck. But that's a different story.

In Hans' sermon this morning, this was his illustration for Matthew 11:28-30. It was no more than a few sentences at the end, but it made me cry, because I knew exactly what he meant.

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden,

and I will give you rest.

Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,

for I am gentle and lowly in heart,

and you will find rest for your souls.

For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Having a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light? How is this even possible? The utter abandonment of the world and all its pleasures? A sword between parents and children? When is following Christ "light and easy" like the fat-free butter in the refrigerated section at Target?

Yet, it is.

It is the easiest thing in all the world

when we desire nothing else

but to be married to him.

Set me as a seal upon your heart,
as a seal upon your arm,

for love is strong as death...

(Song of Songs 8:6)

"I will be praying for you..."

I am beginning to think that I need to have a "Hans' sermons" label as I am noticing a trend...

OK. Done.

Matthew 9:35-10:15
Scene One.
Jesus had compassion upon the crowds, seeing that they are like sheep without a shepherd -- harassed and helpless. He instructed the disciples to pray that the Lord will send laborers into the harvest.

Scene Two.
He called his twelve disciples and gave them authority to cast out demons, and heal every disease and affliction.

Scene Three.
He sent them out.

Conclusion.
The disciples are the laborers.

Note to self #1:
The next time I say "I will be praying for you,"
there is the possibility that I would be the answer to my own prayer.

Note to self #2:
Do not use "I am praying for you" lightly and without commitment.

Note to self #3:
Before even telling people this, I need to ask myself how I can serve them in their situation.

p/s His sermon had an entirely different emphasis. He only merely mentioned this in the passing.

Are you praying about ketchup stains too?

Did you know that it is possible to begin a conversation with a digression? Because that is what I am about to do.

When I was younger, I told a fellow PK (pastor's kid) friend three things I would never do:
1. I would never go to seminary
2. I would never go into ministry as a profession
3. I would never marry pastor

I have learned since to not make statements that begin with "I would never." They are dangerous.

Technically, ministry is not my "profession," but having invested ourselves in years of theological education, I can't promise it will never be in our future. Besides, mommy-hood is quite the ministry. My mom used to call the four of us her sheep.

And technically, I am not married to a "pastor," but I am married to a preacher. And I love being married to this preacher. For one thing, he gives great illustrations.

End of digression.

In my previous post, I recycled Hans' ketchup stain illustration. Originally, he used it to explain the scenario in Matthew 9:1-8. Seeing the faith of his friends, Jesus healed the paralyzed man -- by forgiving his sins.

What's that? The guy can't um... move? In Jesus' eyes, apparently, that was secondary. Jesus' main concern was the sickness of his heart. He declares, “Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven” (Matt 9:2). In the following narrative, while "sitting with tax collectors and sinners," Jesus identified himself as the physician to those who were sick.

Too often, my prayers must sound pretty silly. They go something like this: "Dear Lord, please remove the ketchup stain from my hospital gown, and please remove the mustard stain from so and so."

Yes, Jesus was able to cure the man of his paralysis, and he did. But the concerns of this body and this life are like ketchup stains. Temporary. Superficial. To God, the sin of the heart is our true death, incurable except by his mercy and forgiveness.

Years ago, when I was teaching inner-city youth, delinquent girls in the juvenile justice facilities and schools for pregnant teens, I was feeling pretty useless toward the end of the year. They were dead and dying before my eyes, and I was teaching them futile things like "your need to love yourself," "feel good about the way you look," "please, don't get into abusive relationships." Ketchup stains!

Lord, teach us to pray.

Rampage

Looking through our pictures on facebook, friends wonder why the refridgerator is next to Emeth's crib. Now, if they look at enough pictures, they would realize that the dining room, Emeth's nursery, my study, our library, and our kitchen (separated by a counter) are all in the same room.

This is our world. Our first home as husband and wife. The place where we had our first child, where we will welcome our second child. And it is precious to me.

In preparation for our new arrival, I've been on a rampage! I've been digging through closets, rummaging through shelves, opening boxes, and uncovering carpet. Most delightfully, I've been donating and throwing things away. I am learning to be ruthless. Clearing clutter is serious business.

I mean, I had food hidden deep in my shelves that expired back in 2007. GROSS.

At church, Hans is preaching a series on the Gospel of Matthew. We've been dwelling in the Sermon on the Mount for a few weeks now (Matthew 5-7). Last Sunday, concerning laying up treasures in heaven (Matt 6:19-24), he asked us what our treasure were.

What do we love? How do our lives reflect where we place our affections?

Our time is limited. The space of our lives is confined, and is precious. To have an orderly home, we must be ruthless when it comes to what needs to stay and what needs to go.

There is much clutter in my life. There are things hidden in dark corners that had expired back in 1985. GROSS. Am I really going to eat that?

Grudges and youthful infatuations,
Rotten, infested sins,
Useless expensive things,
Things that do not even fit anymore,
Stubborn habits, bloody stains.

Lord, enter my heart like a whirlwind and make me clean.