Seth Lewis's Blog, page 19

Life Is Precious

Last week our family attended the first birthday party of a little girl whose parents waited and longed and prayed for six long years, wondering if they would ever be able to have a child of their own. To say it was a joyful occasion is an understatement.

Also last week the Supreme Court of the United States reversed a decision from almost 50 years ago, finding that there is not actually a right to abortion in the US constitution, so individual states are free to legislate as they please on the issue. Some states have kept abortion legal, others have not. Some people rejoiced, others mourned. Some said the judgment was a gain for life, others that it was a loss for personal autonomy.

Are children a limit on personal autonomy? Yes. There’s no getting around it. They take resources. They need help, care, support, food, time, energy, and the list goes on and on. They need everything supplied to them for a long time. And is there a better way to use autonomy than this? Our one-year-old friend was carried everywhere at her birthday party and I saw her fall asleep in the arms of her father who had worked so hard to make her party a special occasion. She never even said thank you—but both of her parents were smiling. The whole scene reminded me of just how precious children are, no matter how small and helpless. Of how precious life is.

My friends at the birthday party prayed for years to be able to give up their personal freedoms for the sake of a child. They longed for the gift of giving up their autonomy. But not every child arrives in circumstances like theirs. Life is hard, and it’s complicated. Some women wait years for children, and some never have them. Others are shocked to discover that a baby is coming in a way or time they hadn’t planned, and never would have chosen. But is a child who comes in a difficult circumstance worth less than a child who was longed for? I say no. Life is precious. Even when it’s hard.

In the middle of the difficulties, isn’t it possible that we could find better ways of supporting women than simply offering to dispose of their children for them? Is our best option for unwanted or unplanned children really to treat them the same way we treat cancer—using our skill and resources to destroy them like a disease? Don’t we owe it to women to give them better options than this?

I think we can do better for everyone involved. In fact I know we can do better, because I’ve seen real, practical, sacrificial support in action that highly values both mother and child for the long term. It takes more work that way, and a lot more time. We need more support structures than we have. But life is precious. Isn’t it worth the time and effort to work out the best path for everyone through the difficult situations of life? What if we built a culture that valued every woman and every child as much as my friends value their one-year-old daughter? What if we did that?

He Speaks To Everyone The Same Way

Last Sunday was Father’s Day, and one of the things that stands out to me as I think about my own father is how he has always spoken to everyone the same way. My mother used to point this out to me as a child every now and then, which helped me realise from an early age that, 1) this is important, and 2) it is not something everyone does. As I’ve grown older, my conviction of the truth of these two points has only grown stronger. 

My childhood in Alabama straddled two worlds. On our side of the mountain, our house was tucked away in what the long-time locals called Possum Holler, where the culture and speech and ways of living were very different from what my parents had grown up with in the midwest. On the other side of the mountain was a city bursting with specialised engineers and scientists and doctors and such. In different ways at different times, I saw my Dad regularly interacting with a wide variety of people in both of these worlds, and I saw over and over again that my Mom was right: he really did speak to everyone the same way.

In the space of one day, I could hear my Dad speaking to people with impressive-sounding credentials then hop in the car and use the exact same voice with his children as he took us to the local barbershop where he used the same thoughtful tones and respectful pauses again with whoever happened to be there chatting about politics or the weather. The people and topics of conversation changed dramatically. The respect in his voice remained the same. 

Some people pride themselves on treating everyone with equal contempt. Others are chameleons, constantly adjusting their tone and manner to the relative social status of the people around them. My Dad doesn’t worry about any of that. He just treats everyone with the same honour, no matter who they are. 

Thanks, Dad, for showing me how it’s done.

(Photo above is of my Dad and my son, Daniel)