I should never have been born.
As I drive by a country knick-knack store named Gloria Jean's, I dwell upon this solemn fact: I should never have been born, at least not accordingly to the wisdom of this world. You see, my mother had seven children, which is by itself to some a remarkable fact. After six children the doctor told her not to get pregnant again. She ignored him. The doctor told her to abort this seventh child. She promptly found a new doctor. Having had six C-sections already, on December 13th, 1989, she had her seventh and final.
Any sane women would've stopped at six or fewer, and, frankly, I don't know if I could blame them. 99 out of 100, no, 999,999 out of 1,000,000, women would have stopped. My mother eschewed worldly wisdom and had one more. My mother may not have been sane, but she was Godly, and I thank God for that.
Not only was I born, as this post should sufficiently prove, but I was blessed to be born into covenant with God. The name of God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--was placed upon me by my father and mother in baptism before I could even hold up my own head. Throughout my childhood my mother ensured that I was constantly reminded of what God did for me and expected of me. I was reminded that I was named Josiah for a reason. This is how my mother raised all seven of us. We were not like other kids. We couldn't live like the world. We had to live as those who were saved by Jesus Christ and indwelt by the Holy Spirit. We had to be faithful to the covenant.
Skip ahead to December 25th, 2003. After a decade of failing health, Gloria Jean goes to be with her Savior and the day on which the Christian Church celebrates His birth. I am a young and naive 14-year-old, entirely unable to comprehend the significance of what had just happened.
Always concerned for her children, my mother's dying wish was that we, particularly those of us who were still minors, would be cared for in her absence. This provision she desired certainly included our emotional and physical well-being, but her chief concern was for our spiritual condition. She had spent her entire life acquainting children, her own and many others, with God's Word and nothing was more important to her than for us to grow up faithful to God and to His Church.
That final thought guided me through many temptations and doubts. A motherless teenager is the epitome of spiritual vulnerability, and I was no exception. As I wandered aimlessly for the next few years, God used my mother's memory, along with a few good friends and a really good pastor, to keep me from straying too far from the straight and narrow. What would mom say about this? I was forced to think at crucial moments in my life. You see, for me to abandon myself to licentiousness, to abandon the God of my deceased mother, was to say that my mother wasted her 47 years on this planet, at least the last couple of decades. My mother didn't have seven children simply because she loved children. She had seven children because she was raising arrows to employ in spiritual warfare for the cause of Christ's Kingdom. To join forces with the enemies of Christ would render her sacrifice vain.
I don't really know if those seven C-sections contributed to my mother's premature demise. As the beneficiary of that final procedure, that thought that has crossed my mind occasionally. I have trouble conceiving that her choice to bear seven children in this way didn't at least exacerbate any health issues she would have otherwise had. It was, however, her choice, and that is what I always cherish. She chose to have me, and I believe that she would have made that choice 100 times out of 100. So as tears roll down my cheeks, I have no other recourse than to remember why she did it, and that the best way to honor her memory is to love God and to be faithful to the covenant into which I was born. I pray that I arise to some semblance of worthiness of this sacrifice.
As I drive by a country knick-knack store named Gloria Jean's, I dwell upon this solemn fact: I should never have been born, at least not accordingly to the wisdom of this world. You see, my mother had seven children, which is by itself to some a remarkable fact. After six children the doctor told her not to get pregnant again. She ignored him. The doctor told her to abort this seventh child. She promptly found a new doctor. Having had six C-sections already, on December 13th, 1989, she had her seventh and final.
Any sane women would've stopped at six or fewer, and, frankly, I don't know if I could blame them. 99 out of 100, no, 999,999 out of 1,000,000, women would have stopped. My mother eschewed worldly wisdom and had one more. My mother may not have been sane, but she was Godly, and I thank God for that.
Not only was I born, as this post should sufficiently prove, but I was blessed to be born into covenant with God. The name of God--Father, Son, and Holy Spirit--was placed upon me by my father and mother in baptism before I could even hold up my own head. Throughout my childhood my mother ensured that I was constantly reminded of what God did for me and expected of me. I was reminded that I was named Josiah for a reason. This is how my mother raised all seven of us. We were not like other kids. We couldn't live like the world. We had to live as those who were saved by Jesus Christ and indwelt by the Holy Spirit. We had to be faithful to the covenant.
Skip ahead to December 25th, 2003. After a decade of failing health, Gloria Jean goes to be with her Savior and the day on which the Christian Church celebrates His birth. I am a young and naive 14-year-old, entirely unable to comprehend the significance of what had just happened.
Always concerned for her children, my mother's dying wish was that we, particularly those of us who were still minors, would be cared for in her absence. This provision she desired certainly included our emotional and physical well-being, but her chief concern was for our spiritual condition. She had spent her entire life acquainting children, her own and many others, with God's Word and nothing was more important to her than for us to grow up faithful to God and to His Church.
That final thought guided me through many temptations and doubts. A motherless teenager is the epitome of spiritual vulnerability, and I was no exception. As I wandered aimlessly for the next few years, God used my mother's memory, along with a few good friends and a really good pastor, to keep me from straying too far from the straight and narrow. What would mom say about this? I was forced to think at crucial moments in my life. You see, for me to abandon myself to licentiousness, to abandon the God of my deceased mother, was to say that my mother wasted her 47 years on this planet, at least the last couple of decades. My mother didn't have seven children simply because she loved children. She had seven children because she was raising arrows to employ in spiritual warfare for the cause of Christ's Kingdom. To join forces with the enemies of Christ would render her sacrifice vain.
I don't really know if those seven C-sections contributed to my mother's premature demise. As the beneficiary of that final procedure, that thought that has crossed my mind occasionally. I have trouble conceiving that her choice to bear seven children in this way didn't at least exacerbate any health issues she would have otherwise had. It was, however, her choice, and that is what I always cherish. She chose to have me, and I believe that she would have made that choice 100 times out of 100. So as tears roll down my cheeks, I have no other recourse than to remember why she did it, and that the best way to honor her memory is to love God and to be faithful to the covenant into which I was born. I pray that I arise to some semblance of worthiness of this sacrifice.
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