Fear of life
I keep thinking about Mei Fong’s heartbreaking article in the Wall Street Journal from a few weeks ago about Chinese parents who lost children in the Sichuan earthquake. One part in particular has stuck in my mind, filling me with sadness whenever I think about it:
[Zhu Jianming] and his wife Lu Shuhua, 45, had battled hardships: their first child, a son, was mentally disabled, so they were legally allowed to have a second child. Their son, Yinshui, drowned at 20. Daughter Xinyue, 14, perished in the quake…The Zhus said neighbors were avoiding them; Mrs. Zhu thought it was because of fears the now-childless couple would increasingly depend on others.
Hearing about their neighbors’ reaction reminded me of something I’ve noticed over the past couple of years:
One of the most obvious differences I’ve seen since I’ve gone from running in mostly nonreligious to mostly religious social circles is how much more life you see among religious groups of people. When I think back on the almost thirty years I spent in secular social networks, I’m struck by how comparatively quiet and sterile everything seemed. In religious circles I see so much more marriage, more adoption, more biological children, more people letting friends or relatives live with them — more crazy, messy, loud life.
In particular, the most striking difference I’ve seen in this area is when it comes to helping people in need. I’ve seen a sincere desire to help others in both my old and new social networks, but it plays out in very different ways. In the secular crowd people might volunteer at soup kitchens or organize aid programs for the needy, the most dedicated might even join the Peace Corps. The Christians, I noticed, volunteered and did aid programs and went on international missions as well, but they crossed a line that I almost never saw crossed in the secular world: they were willing to help others by letting them become intimately involved in their own lives.
The first time I noticed this was when my husband and I observed that since our conversion we knew of so many people who were considering adoption not only as a way to bless their own lives with a child, but as a way to help a child in need. Adoption of older children, adopting children when there were already multiple biological children in the family, adoption of children with special needs were all virtually unheard-of in my old secular circles, but not uncommon at all in my new religious circles.
For many months I was puzzled by this distinction. The people I knew in both social circles were “good people,” but there was a level of serving others that I almost never saw among nonbelievers that I regularly saw among believers. Then, one day when I was thinking about that Wall Street Journal article, remembering what it was like to be a nonbeliever myself, I realized what it was:
Fear of life.
When I was an atheist and hung out with mostly atheists and agnostics, the way we helped people was through controlled circumstances, systems that ensured that there was a clear line separating their lives from our own. We wanted — in fact, needed — our interactions with others to be safe and finite, with clear parameters on what we were expected to give.
This mentality makes perfect sense: after all, our biggest problems in life often come from other people. The more you allow someone else into your life, the more there’s the potential for them to screw it up. What if you adopt a child and they end up behaving badly and costing you tons of mental and financial distress? What if you mentor a troubled child and he ends up being a bad influence on your children? To use the example from that article, what if you’re very poor yourself and you offer to help a couple who has just become childless but they end up latching onto you and taking too many of your resources?
It’s too risky. The safest, most reasonable thing to do is to allow just enough people into your life so that you’re not lonely, and to carefully guard the intermingling of any other lives with your own after that point.
Based on the way I have changed since my conversion, and observations after living in both heavily atheistic and heavily religious circles, I’ve come to believe that to live any other way is virtually impossible without God. To use a very small-scale example from my own life, when I first met the neighbor girls, even after I got over the anger about them ringing my doorbell, I was hesitant to let them into my life. I would peer out the window, see them meandering down the street with no place to go, and tell myself that I’d love to help but I just can’t. I know they need love, but there’s only so much love I have to give. Besides, what if they end up at my house all the time and I can’t get them to leave? Too risky.
And I was right. I saw what everyone sees when they consider welcoming new life into their homes: on my own, there is only so much love I can give; there is so very little that I can offer to other people, and there are so many things that could go wrong.
But when you turn to God, you find that you have access to the very Source of infinite love, that, through him, you have more love to give than you could have ever imagined. And, as many believers can attest, you find that God blesses few things as much as he blesses the addition of new life to your own.
I believe that this is one of the reasons, as Jason Berger pointed out the other day, that willingness to accept all different sorts of life was one of the main things that made the early Christians stand out from their pagan neighbors. The fact is that, by default, we fear new life, especially “imperfect” life, and we fear it for good reason. On our own it’s just too difficult to let other people wander into our lives under anything but the most tightly controlled circumstances.
From my own experience, I believe that some of the most compelling evidence of God’s work in the world today is that, with few exceptions, it is only people who have faith in God who have overcome fear of life.
When Less is More: Finding Inspiration in Severe Disability
I recently became familiar with the story of Jason and Angie Berger, whose daughter Sunni (pronounced “Sunny”) was born with a disorder causing her to be severely disabled. I was so touched by their story that I asked if I could do an interview with them. I hope that you find their answers as inspiring and thought-provoking as I have.
Q: Tell us a little bit about your daughter, Sunni.
She has Mitochondrial Disease, an energy disorder affecting her at a cellular level. She has stalled at less than one year of development, cognitively and physically. This means she is unable to sit up on her own or bring food or drink to her mouth. She is blind, diabetic, and suffers from seizures that are kept under control with medication.
She has no real means of communication, although we have learned to decipher her different cries or vocalizations. Until recently, she suffered from bouts of severe pain, as is common with other children having this disorder. We were in and out of the ER every two to four months trying to isolate a cause. It appears to be due mainly to general neurological pain and to gastrointestinal pain due to very slow “motility” (digestion) and frequent constipation. A local pain specialist has been able to help us reduce the intensity of these episodes.
On the other hand, she is a beautiful child with her angelic face and striking blue eyes. She often looks skyward in the pose of a medieval saint. Sometimes, for no apparent reason, she giggles and laughs with glee. It is pure, unadulterated joy!
Q: Give us a glimpse into your daily life. What are some of the challenges you face as a result of Sunni’s medical condition?
We rely heavily on our Personal Care Attendant/Nanny, Melissa, who has been with us for over 4 years. She takes excellent care of both girls, along with Angie, who works three days per week. I work full time, but mostly from home, which allows me to take breaks to play with the kids and help Melissa from time to time.
Sunni requires continuous care, as she is unable to do even the most simple thing for herself. We constantly battle constipation, and keep a running “Sunni Poop Log.” She is classified as a brittle diabetic with blood glucose ranging from 30 to 600+. We have a pump now so that helps. As Sunni grows older, it becomes more difficult to bring her along in every situation. She can cry or laugh and carry on very loudly, which can be very disruptive, depending on time and place. Frankly, we end up doing a lot of “tag team” parenting. This has the effect of separating us so that we can run errands without having to bring Sunni and all of her gear, or spend time with our other daughter, Ava, in situations where we can’t leave her alone.
We have a volunteer one night each week who takes care of her while we spend special time with Ava. Sunni goes to school every day at one of the best school districts in the country for special ed. Not long ago, and today in some areas of the country, she would have been institutionalized, or at the least not be included in these programs, due to her low functional state. She receives various kinds of therapy and interaction with other kids. Although her actual interaction is limited, she just loves hearing the sounds of other kids playing. She has also become a distinct favorite among her teachers. We hope that this will plant seeds in their hearts as well.
Q: You mentioned in an email that you used to be staunchly pro-choice, but that after you had Sunni you became pro-life. Tell us about that process.
So dedicated to the pro-choice cause, that as a Senior in high school and freshman in college, I and a friend vandalized a “Choose Life” bill board out on the interstate that had been sponsored by the Knights of Columbus. We attacked the thing three times, as they kept putting it back up.
This attitude continued for years, despite growing more conservative politically. I was active in the local Republican Party and spoke out against the “abortion litmus test.” Angie was liberal enough to have voted for Al Gore in 2000. Since that time, she has become much more conservative and active in local politics. The best way I can explain it is this: Our dear little girl is probably one of the best arguments for abortion available. She is completely dependent, with a low quality of life that represents a tremendous burden to her parents and society in general. We were fortunate to have received a small revelation of sorts. It became clear that she was a powerful witness to the beauty of life, and certainly didn’t deserve to die. If she should not be aborted, then to argue for killing a beautiful, healthy child is a monstrosity.
When asked how he created such stunning works of art, a famous sculptor once said that he instills in his mind a clear image of the form and then removes everything that is not a part of it. In a way, God has shorn from Sunni nearly all of the adornments that would be considered part of a basic human life. She cannot act on her own, communicate, or possibly understand even simple concepts. She is left as a nearly pure example of human life without anything to distract us from its elegant beauty.
My wife and I both ended up converting to Catholicism. We could no longer stay in the Lutheran church, because they did not stand out against abortion. When you make the decision to leave the mainline Protestant churches behind, you are left with the two major, pro-life groups: Roman Catholic and Protestant Evangelical. I had been part of an Evangelical church (Assembly of God) in my youth, with the laying of hands, speaking of tongues, gifts of the Spirit, etc. It has become clear to us that the “born again” churches can offer no guarantee that they will not drift in the same direction as the mainline Protestants. I honestly don’t know what they will believe in another 20-30 years. There is no authority or hierarchy that is empowered to conserve the truth.
Another thing that attracted me to the Catholic Church was the rigor of its thinking. Writers like G.K. Chesterton and Fr. John Neuhaus really helped me along the road. Catholics aren’t simply submitting themselves to an all powerful, out of touch Pope with a list of antiquated rules. There are not only highly developed reasons for everything they believe, but they fit together into this seamless garment. I’ll have to admit that my view of Catholics wasn’t very high to begin with.
Q: There is an argument out there that sometimes abortion is the best thing to do for unborn children who are diagnosed with serious physical disabilities, on the grounds that it would save them suffering. What would you say to that?
In objective terms, yes, it would save a great deal of suffering for us as well as her. Had she been born healthy, there is much we would not have learned. Some of what it has revealed has been awesome, some of it ugly. Regardless, this suffering is redemptive.
It has already lead us to the Catholic Church, the one institution that would reliably fight for her right to life. Sunni, and the way we care for her, is a witness to others. I sense in people a revulsion to seeing a person, especially a child in so damaged a condition. That is a natural reaction, and one that most labor hard to conceal. But it is important to Angie and I that Sunni be seen by others and that we be seen caring for her and enjoying our lives despite the sadness that it can bring.
Q: Unfortunately, our society might look at your daughter and say that she’s a “burden.” Some people might even imagine that your lives are worse for having had her. What would you say to that?
In objective terms, she certainly is a burden, emotionally, physically, financially and so forth. In subjective terms, she is our beautiful child and this is a burden we will carry for as long as we are able.
We are very grateful for the medical assistance, special ed, and other programs we may qualify for in the future. It has opened our eyes to the generosity of our culture. I think our lives would have been easier, and probably more shallow in some ways. I suppose we would have gone on to suffer other hardships, but they may not have brought us closer to God or caused us to ask the questions that we have.
Q: What would you say to any parents out there who have recently received a grave medical diagnosis for their child and are feeling scared about what the future might hold?
That this child will bring you closer to the mystery of life; that he or she can bring to you a deeper joy. If they were Christian, I would point out that this regard for human life, even damaged or limited, is what set early Christians apart from the pagans that came before them. In the more enlightened parts of the world, children like Sunni may be aborted or simply allowed to die in the hospital.
Q: Would you choose to have a child like Sunni?
I have a hard time answering this truthfully.
You may remember when Christopher Reeve became paralyzed, and word came out from his publicist within the matter of a couple weeks that said, basically, that this crippling incident was a great gift, that it taught him so much, and that he looked forward to whatever the future had to hold. I was skeptical when I heard this. Just once, you’d like to hear someone say, “This is obviously the worst thing that I could have imagined, I’m angry at God, and I wish I were dead.” That’s something we can all empathize with.
Hopefully, I’ll come to feel, deep down, the same way that I’ve been writing about it. No, I’d never willingly subject myself, my wife, or other child to the hardships that we’ve seen. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. But it happened, there’s a reason it happened, and our job now is to do the best we can to live it out and let it be a blessing to our family and others.
I want to thank the Berger family again for sharing their thoughts with us. I pray that their story will be a blessing to others, and please keep them in your prayers as well.
8 Ways to Talk to Your Pro-Choice Friends about the Pro-Life Position
My post from yesterday reminded me that I never linked to my latest article at Inside Catholic.
8 Ways to Talk to Your Pro-Choice Friends about the Pro-Life PositionI once said that I’d die to keep abortion legal and easily accessible, and I meant it. I was vehemently pro-choice, as were most of the women in my social circles. We believed abortion was a critical right for women and could not imagine how anyone could be pro-life. [read more]
A day at the Texas March for Life
Friday night I told my husband I probably wasn’t going to go to the Texas March for Life with him the next day. My husband, who also used to be staunchly pro-choice, really wanted to go, but I had a million things to do and it was going to be cold. I said a little prayer asking if I should go (assuming that I’d skip it unless I felt strongly prompted otherwise), and went on about my business.
A couple hours later I accidentally stumbled across a picture of an infant killed by abortion at 27 weeks gestation, an age where babies are old enough to cry and gasp for breath and live outside of the womb (if you dare look, it’s on the bottom right of the sidebar here). It was a moment of the closet where I stuff inconvenient facts getting overloaded and bursting open, burying me in the dread of the cold realization that we live in a society where something terrible is happening. Infanticide is already legal under many circumstances (some currently-running ads for late-term abortions here), and may soon become legal under all circumstances. Sometimes I wonder how we sleep at night.
So I went to the march. Not that marching is a substitute for taking real action (I also reconfirmed an appointment to talk to someone about getting more involved at our local crisis pregnancy center), but I just couldn’t sit home. My heart felt so heavy about the issue that it was somehow cathartic to stand outside with numb fingers in the stinging cold wind just to add one more drop to the bucket of the gathered masses.
I felt bad for the organizers in advance because a cold front had blown through and the wind chill was in the low 30′s — unbearable by Texan standards — so I assumed it would be a sparse turnout. Boy, was I wrong.
I’m terrible at estimating numbers, but there were thousands and thousands of people there. When we walked down Congress Avenue the crowd of wall-to-wall people stretched for more than eight blocks. (Below is a picture taken from the middle of the group, looking back on the crowd turning the corner.)
I’d never been to a march as a participant. I never really quite understood their purpose. Do marches really ever change the opinions of fellow citizens or legislatures? It seemed unlikely. But having been there yesterday, it was hit home to me on a gut level why marches are effective.
It’s a way to generate energy. So many bodies in one place, passionate about one cause, leaves a certain electricity in the air that makes you want to jump up and take action.
It sends a message. When I was pro-choice I didn’t know anyone who was pro-life. The pro-life movement to me was nothing more than a bunch of shadowy figures who were up to no good. I would have found it interesting to see so many thousands of my fellow citizens, maybe even some people I recognized, gathered for a cause that was so completely foreign to me — as perhaps it was for the countless passers-by who stopped to stare at all the marchers while fumbling for cameras and cell phones.
It’s a way to meet other likeminded people, to exchange ideas and information and get involved with organizations. This was one of my favorite parts of it. I met some great folks like Fr. Michael Buentello, who was there with the students from St. Thomas University in Houston. (I told him I just had to take his picture since a priest in a cowboy hat is just so “Texan Catholic.”)
I got to chat with the founders of the New Wave Femmes, a powerful pro-life feminist organization that’s doing a lot of exciting stuff. You can see some pictures of what they’re up to here. (Baby New Wave Femme is in the sling there on the left.)
…And I met folks from the tons of other organizations that were there, including Silent No More, Texas Lutherans for Life, Texas Abortion Recovery Alliance, Concerned Women for America, and many of the various crisis pregnancy centers throughout the state.
I’m so glad I went. The pro-life stance doesn’t get a lot of coverage in the mainstream media and society at large, so it was inspiring and invigorating to see such a force assembled to fight for this cause. Walking amongst thousands and thousands of pro-life marchers sent a loud, visceral message to all involved. For the women who have been personally touched by the trauma of abortion, for anyone who’s ever lost sleep at night after seeing pictures or video of what really happens to those “fetuses,” for anyone who sometimes looks around with deep concern about the increasing erosion of respect for human life and wondered, “What are we going to DO?”, one message was loud and clear: You are not alone.
RELATED:
- How I became pro-life
- How would you know?
- Abortion and Holocaust comparisons
- Abortion: What can we DO about it?