The controversy surrounding the Planned Parenthood/Susan B. Komen connection brought this subject to mind. I knew a couple years ago about it, because my mom participated in the Race for the Cure 3-day event and afterward learned about said connection. She afterward wrote a heartfelt email expressing that this saddened her as it’d prevent her from participating again. She later learned that the race money didn’t go to the abortion funding, but still. Abortion is a touchy subject at our house. It always has been. My parents couldn’t have kids. My sister and I are both adopted. The troubling part of of the subject is that there is no pro-abortion argument you can make that doesn’t say my sister and I should be dead.
Before you think I’m overreacting, understand that our placement for adoption can mean one of many things. The birth mothers could have been abused and/or assaulted. They could have been teenagers or in some other situation that prevented them from being able to take care of a baby. They could have simply not wanted a baby at that point in time. As a matter of fact, the only arguments that can’t apply in our cases are the mother’s life being in jeopardy or the possibility of some disease or birth defect (and, who knows, maybe it was, but it’s a harder one to make). The point is I have no idea (nor desire to know) which scenario it was, and every possibility is considered a viable option for infanticide.
I find it disturbing that the only time we get confused on biology so basic a child can understand it is when it comes to human procreation. Dogs have puppies. Cats have kittens. Deer have fawns. Humans have…what?
So, all you adopted kids, sorry. We really should be dead. All hail women’s rights.
Now, “women’s rights,” there’s another subject… I digress.
This sounds like rambling–it’s definitely ranting–but I let it play out to make the point: Passion cannot be hidden. I cannot hide my tone of voice when I write about this subject. I can’t. And I won’t. I don’t know how. There’s a vindictive streak in me a mile wide that simply will not allow for the degradation of one life in favor of another. Old, young, sickly, healthy, male, female, brown, black, or white – human life is precious, and it is purely evil to manipulate, oppress, or destroy someone for our own devices. I believe that as passionately as I do that my God is in the Heavens and that he makes his home with men. The glory of man is infinitely surpassed by the glory of the Holy One, the God of gods, the I Am — eternal, magnificent, our life, our hope, and the source of our very identity.
And by now you’re likely asking what in the name of all that’s holy and profane has gotten into this girl, and what in the name of The Two Hearts does this have to do with speculative faith?
It was already inside me, though. I’m just letting it come out. The downside of the written word is we’re bound to something that, at first glance, is void of human emotion. But I think what makes the great writers amazing is that they funneled their own passions into something that worked itself naturally onto the page, so much so that when we read or hear commentaries and interviews later, we’re not that surprised when the writer actually says “I was working out this particular theme.”
Yes, I said theme.
It’s not that I don’t think stories have themes. It’s that I think that once you try to force what’s going to come out naturally, people notice. I still marvel that the one story in which I was going to have absolutely no spiritual/supernatural influence or reference has turned out to be the most supernatural/spiritual I’ve ever written and likely ever will write. And remember, I was working actively against that.
But passions can’t be buried. And, truthfully, they shouldn’t be. That story void of those elements is lifeless. To force passion into a story is to burn it alive. To remove it is to starve it to death.