The argument for Planned Parenthood is basically, "Hey, wait a minute, 90% of what we do is good, preventative health. Let's not get carried away. We don't want to just throw the baby out with the bathwater..." Exactly, atleast not until we've had him or her on the table long enough to harvest their brain. I mean, c'mon, that's just foolish...
Here's my question. We get so upset about that living baby boy or girl on the table, heart beating, long enough to remove the brain...Why is that any more atrocious than the full on assault that is already happening, in the one place meant to be the safest haven for any helpless child, inside the mother's womb? Whether dissected on a cold stainless steel table or still inside mom, isn't it the same? Taking a life is taking a life. Stopping a heart from beating is what it is. Why is that such a hard thing to define today? When we choose for that doctor to end a life, we deny that child any rights, any choice. What would happen if this unfolded just a little further down in the course of that child's life. Now no longer on that cold steel table, but in the crib at home, under the mobiles of giraffes and sheep. If we picked up the phone and called a doctor to say, "You know, we've really just changed our mind. Can you come and take care of this?" What might they say? Who might show up at your door, Child Protective Services, the local Sheriff?
On the other hand, if it wasn't our choice, we would fight to the bitter end if we knew someone was coming to take our children from their beds and end their lives, and we wouldn't care a bit whether that person had some initials after their name. Our society would condone any such act as self-defense. No policeman in the world would throw you in jail for the unalienable right to protect your child. So in the end, it must really come down to choice. You choose to end a life, or you choose to protect.
It is so disheartening to think we must put labels and definitions on what exactly "life" is, because it is no longer a truth that we hold to be self-evident. Today there is no discernible line between a mother's womb and a steel table. What might tomorrow hold if we don't start standing up for those who cannot stand up for themselves?
The photo of the little girl holding the cross, that's my baby. Once she was an infant in her mother's womb. Then she was a child whose little fingers clutched onto mine as she took her first steps. She was 5 years old the day she cradled that white cross, in a sea of white crosses that were meant to represent other children whose lives had been taken from them. Today she is 12. She plays the piano, rides horses, and she just walked some fresh tomatoes over to our elderly neighbor to spread a little joy. She sings all the time, even on the rainy days. She loves life, and her life is precious. At what point do you get to decide it isn't?