Protecting and Delighting in the Vulnerable

[Originally published as Be Gentle: A #Prolife Post]

“Be gentle,” I said to my grandson. We were both mesmerized by the ladybug who rested on the park bench we were sitting on. While maples and oaks all around us were dressed in vibrant, autumn attire, we barely gave them a nod while we stared, transfixed at a tiny red beetle.

Little guy poked and prodded the bug. It didn’t respond. I figured it was either dead or pretending to be dead. Little guy wasn’t about to give up. So, he lifted it and placed it on his hand. I held my breath, wondering if he’d been gentle enough. “Make sure you’re kind. Ladybugs are good. They protect roses. They’re friends of roses and of those who love roses.”

I was referring to myself—of course. I adore roses and despise the aphids that ladybugs help keep in check. We both watched and waited as the ladybug remained motionless. And then she started to crawl. Slowly she made her way across my grandson’s tiny hand. Then she stopped, opened her wings, closed her wings, and then opened them again.

Relief flooded over me as I realized she was still alive and still in one piece despite the fact she was in the chubby hand of a not-so-careful child.

Little guy poked the ladybug again. “What is it doing?”

“Maybe she’s stretching her wings before going to go find a place to sleep for the winter. Sometimes I find ladybugs overwintering in my house.” I hoped she could still fly. She sure seemed drowsy or something. Why wasn’t she gone already?

We watched as she opened her wings again and flew across the bench and landed within little guy’s reach. He stretched his hand out to pick her up. “Why did she do that?” He said in his adorable-to-me voice.

“I think she’s looking for a place to sleep,” I pointed to a gap between the bench’s seat and backrest and said, “How about you place her in there.”

He took my advice and dropped the ladybug into the safe space. I sighed relief the situation ended well. Not all dangerous predicaments end with life. Too often life is terminated. Not that I’m referring to my grandson’s antics in nature as I shift this topic.

As per usual, the poignancy of respecting creatures in creation reminded me how often I’m puzzled by the world’s hypocrisy. Many people have an overactive concern for tiny lives in nature unless those lives are inconvenient inhabitants of human wombs.

I thank God my unplanned grandson escaped the knife of the abortionist. I’m grateful his life wasn’t sacrificed to help line the pockets of the terminators.

I’m baffled by the lack of respect for the unborn. Unborn babies aren’t part of the mother’s body. Their being is as separate from her as an aphid is separate from a rose. While it’s acceptable to remove aphids from rose bushes, God doesn’t condone killing lives to maintain the status quo of an unborn parent’s life. I believe that unless the mother’s health is seriously threatened, the baby should be allowed to live.

We’ve become a world slow to use pesticides and fast to commit infanticide. Please don’t give me the bunk about a baby not being a baby until it exits the birth canal. I may not be a citizen of a country until I get my citizenship, but by the breath of God I am still a member of the human race—nonetheless.

Some labels are lies used to condone the termination of lives. But whether you call a human a product of conception, an embryo, a fetus, a newborn, a baby, a toddler, a preschooler, a child, a teenager, an adult, or a geriatric—he or she is still a human being made in the image of God.

God help us for allowing our hearts to turn so callous we can’t be bothered to be bothered by the epidemic of abortions. Human beings by the millions are slain each year on this cold-hearted planet of self-seeking narcissists.

God help us because we’re going to be judged by The Judge for not speaking up for the defenseless.
Be gentle. Be gentle with the unborn. How we treat the least of these is how we treat God. How we treat God determines the final resting place for our souls. Justice is just around the bend.

Poet Alan Paton said:

“Let me not be afraid to defend the weak because of the anger of the strong, nor afraid to defend the poor because of the anger of the rich.”

Listen to what Proverbs 31:8-9 NIV says:

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves,
for the rights of all who are destitute.
Speak up and judge fairly;
defend the rights of the poor and needy.

Please do me a favor, the next time you witness the flight of a ladybug, think of my grandson and all the other unplanned babies birthed or aborted and then ask God what He wants you to do about it. I know what He wants me to do—speak up for the defenseless.

And now I’d like to close with a poem:

May we be brave to speak
regarding what is wrong
and raise our voices for the weak
though it provokes the strong
~
May we be brave to tell
the truth of unborn lives
so that we will have done well
in our Father’s eyes.
~ wlm