Tag: parenthood

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Risky Business

By Amy Spiegel

As Christmas approaches, this mother’s heart is humming with anticipation. All four of our kids, Lord willing and the creek don’t rise, will be spending the holiday break with us this year. As they grow up and out (of the house that is), I am learning not to take being all together for granted. Gone are the days of me hiding in the kitchen pantry, eating chocolate and trying to get five minutes to myself. Most of the time I’m lucky to have more than one of them sitting at the dinner table and last Christmas we suffered an emigration mix up getting Andrew home from his semester in Bolivia and ended up with only half the crew celebrating with us.

Earlier this week, I was listening to Megyn Kelly discussing the case of Kate Cox. If you haven’t heard of the case, Cox is suing the state of Texas for the right to abort her baby. Texas’ recently enacted laws prohibit abortion once a fetal heartbeat is detected with some exceptions. Despite the fact that Cox’s baby has been diagnosed with Trisomy-18 and is highly unlikely to survive to full-term or the birthing process, the lower Texas courts have denied Cox’s application for an exception to be made. Kelly expressed her belief that forcing a woman to carry a dying baby was a form of “torture” and condemned the Texas law as too extreme, a position I strongly disagree with but not, perhaps, for the reasons you might think.

Surely no one who hears this story can fail to sympathize with Cox, although extremists on the left would have a hard time selling their sympathy to me as genuine. Many, though not all, abortion advocates have moved well past the argument for “legal, safe, and rare” and into the space of gleeful celebration at the death of a helpless unborn child. Those on the opposite end of the spectrum should most definitely offer their condolences to Cox and her family; if you are pro-life, you certainly should seek to comfort those who face such a dreadful diagnosis. But for myself, I believe that in seeking an abortion Kate Cox is not escaping “torture,” as Kelly put it, but rather inflicting further wounds to her psyche. She is already the mother of a dying child and having an abortion will not erase that fact. Being the direct cause of her child’s death, rather than allowing her child’s life to unfold, in my opinion, will only add to her grief. The risk of heartbreak is an inherent part of motherhood and a medical procedure cannot remove this from the job description.

We, as mothers, are all the mothers of dying children and our journey through parenthood is a tortuous one. We bring them into this world knowing that one day, hopefully many decades from now, they will leave it. Not only do they face certain death, we also know there will be many pains and traumas along that path. We hold our breath from the moment we feel that first stirring deep inside our wombs, through their first tottering steps and watch with anxiousness as they are off to school and have their first disappointments and heartbreaks and failures. As their worlds widen, our fears only increase. As they grow, so too do the dangers they face.

But so too do their joys. And through them, our joys increase as well. As they say, with great risk comes great reward. There is no joy in mothering without the sorrow; to love is to venture heartbreak. There is no escaping the tortures of motherhood, whether it be carrying a baby you know is destined to die early or carrying a baby you know will face untold perils as he or she grows. Just as in the throes of labor there is no escaping the pain of birth; all you can do as a mother is grit your teeth and know you are giving birth to something worth the pain.

Years ago in my early days of parenthood, I was complaining about not getting a moment to myself, and a friend wisely shared an insight that pierced my heart. He looked down at one of my toddlers and said “If I had known the last time I held my son or daughter was the last time, I would have held them five minutes longer.” We never know when that last time will be so we should cherish each time as if it is the last.

From the news reports I have read, Kate Cox won’t get that last time, or a first. She has pursued an abortion in another state. For that loss, I grieve for her. I’m sure that this Christmas will be a challenging and sad time for her, to say the least. I will certainly pray for her to experience repentance, forgiveness and healing during the season which celebrates not only Jesus but also his mother Mary. Not only Mary in the stable but also Mary at the temple, dedicating her baby to God and being told by Simeon, according to Luke 2, that He would do great things but at the cost of a sword piercing, not just His side, but also her soul. I think of Michelangelo’s Pieta. Mary holding her son for just five minutes more; the pain of His death and her sorrow bring us who believe the greatest of joys.

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Unplanned Parenthood

By Jim Spiegel

Seeing as yesterday was my mom’s birthday and today is the 50th anniversary of the notorious Roe v. Wade decision, I thought I would share a few stories that both affirm the sanctity of human life and honor my late mother, Phyllis Moore Spiegel.

When my mom became pregnant with me, she was already the busy mother of three boys and thirty-six years of age. Although my parents were not planning to have a fourth child, they didn’t exactly take a rigorous approach in trying to prevent this, as they later informed me that at the time they were using a rather unreliable spermicide contraceptive. When my mom discovered she was pregnant, she was somewhat apprehensive because, being in her late thirties, she thought of herself as too old to have another child. At some point she shared her concern with her dad who responded by offering to pay for an abortion. My mom obviously declined the offer, essentially telling my grandfather that just because she felt anxious about being an older new mother (at least relative to those days), she had no thoughts of terminating the pregnancy. In fact, she was disturbed by the very suggestion.

Still, my mom continued to struggle with anxiety about having another kid at her age. This continued even after I was born and wasn’t put to rest until she heard some wise words from our pediatrician, Dr. Stopman. One day when she took me in for a check-up, Dr. Stopman asked her how she was doing and my mom shared her concerns with him, saying “I was sitting there in the waiting room, looking around at all those young mothers, and I just feel like I’m too old to be doing this again.” Dr. Stopman looked at my mom and, pointing at me, he said, “he doesn’t think you’re too old.” My mom would later say that after this she never thought about it again. And Dr. Stopman was right. Never once did I think of my mother as “old,” even when she was in her 90s. She was always just my mom—my insightful, kind, good-humored, sometimes curiously enigmatic mom. She remains one of the two most interesting women I’ve ever known. (I’m married to the other one.)

One day when my grandfather was visiting our house a few years later, my mother noticed him pensively staring out the window at me as I was romping around in the backyard. My mom asked him what was on his mind, and he replied, “I look at Jimmy playing and I just feel horrible about the offer I made you to get an abortion.” With the frank honesty that was so typical of Phyllis Spiegel, my mom replied, “Well, Dad, you should feel horrible about it. And you know what? I should have taken your money and used it to pay for a good trip somewhere.” My grandfather smiled and said, “You’re right, honey. That would have served me right.”

As I have reflected on these stories over the years, I have been struck by the profound impact that a simple conversation can have, deciding the direction—or even the existence of—an entire life. I also contemplate the fact that although, from a human perspective, the fate of any one of us might seem uncertain at times, we are all securely in the hands of God—from the moment of our conception until the day we depart this world. As the Psalmist says, “My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Ps. 139:15-16).