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Showing posts from January, 2015

Sanctity of Human Life

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Photo unrelated to post, but thought it was timely since the Seahawks are playing in the Super Bowl. Adam took this photo right after we lost Thomas.

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As national sanctity of human life month comes to a close, my heart focuses on my two sons in heaven.  What precious lives we were entrusted.  Both Simon and Thomas are reminders that every life matters, every life counts, and every life should be given an opportunity.  I am learning from speaking to many women who have experienced perinatal loss that we all have a few things in common: it seems that mourning and grief come and go but never really leave us; that there is someone missing in our family; that our baby’s life is worthy of discussion and the question “how many children do you have?” can be a hard one to answer. 
I am passionate about all life and am convicted that life begins at conception.  The anthem of Simon’s life seems to be one that speaks for the unborn – for the child in utero who is wanted but terminally sick a…

The Giving Tree: Simon's Tree

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Once there was a tree…
and she loved a little boy.

My mom used to read Shell Silverstein’s “The Giving Tree,” to me and my brother and sister very often when we were growing up.  The poem is a beautiful modern parable of grace.  The boy (who has clear similarities to the prodigal son) takes as freely as the tree gives.  In his childhood, the boy’s admiration and appreciation of the tree keep him coming back to visit her.  He loved the tree and spent time with her because he understood the tree had a deep and abiding love of him.  She offered rest, acceptance and a safe place.

And when he was tired,
He would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree…
Very much.
But time went by…
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.

When the boy entered into the grown-up world, he realized the world could offer far greater pleasures than the tree.  Power, sex, money, and a good buzz - the tree was a distant memory during the good times.  But in his solitude - in his places of regret - he lon…