Box

Everyday an empire of choices build a tower and determine us

Made up of boxes for us to tick,

pick up,

construct our person.

Neatly stacked,

Black and white,

Plain and simple.

I want to judge you in one breath

Though it has taken years to sculpt your form

I want to define you with my periphery glance

Pick your side, pick your friends, pick your white picket fence or ghetto apartment

All in one decision

Pro-life or pro-choice?

“Do you know that God hates murder?”

“Do you know how hard it is to live with being raped, let alone have a child from it?”

Why do these women think the way they do?

What happened in their lives that profoundly affected them?

What, if any, faith do they have that shapes their lives?

What was their childhood like?

Do we really know the full story?

I remember, my 15 year old body struggling with adolescence, seeking solace in the words of my mother but being confronted by a harsh truth:

“The doctor said I should have had an abortion with you”

Potato chips hang from my mouth as my mother, my against-the-odds carrier, continues the washing up.

My life

Was nearly

Not my own?

I was one of them.

An embryo of political and social debate.

One of the little foetus’ on the ultrasound screen,

nearly deleted,

because they thought I didn’t matter,

it would be too hard.

My scared mother staring down the barrel of single parenthood

Listened to words that said

Because my days were not yet one,

I was ready for refuse

But from conception I was me.

Valuable.

Significant.

With purpose.

What would the world be like without me??

I then wonder what it would be like to go through the drama of being raped, the feeling of shame, dirt and pain and then turn to my husband and say:

“I am pregnant with my rapist’s child”

A child birthed out of violation, abuse attack.

Blah blah redemption blah blah hope blah…just blurry words, unsteady rocks that I can’t cling onto in the pain.

I remember a friend at university, questioning her future family, scared that she would never conceive as a result of an abortion.

Painful tears as blame filled her head, devastated that a decision done in a moment left residue for years to come.

I envision the face of a lady I met, having had several children taken into car, her reckless lifestyle not an option for the unborn child within her stomach, preparing in her heart to have them placed for adoption. Birthed from her belly, but not resting in her nest.

To pick pro-life or pro-choice

Is to suggest a false dichotomy

Is the life of the struggling mother not important?

Is it not a choice to say “yes” to the disruption to a child?

Is there much life when you know you are born out of illegitimacy and spend years in foster care?

Is it not a choice to choose to parent alone?

I believe in the sanctity of life

But that goes way beyond abortion.

It causes me to examine

War

Alcohol

Drug use

Broken families

Euthanasia

It is more than an ideology confined to one subject.

I believe in the right to choose

But that causes me to dissect

Politics

Sexuality

Abstinence

Materialism

Religion

We don’t live in the block city system where linear thinking runs parallel to Choice St. and 3^rd.

We are bombarded daily with the messiness of people

The after-shocks of the decisions we make

The dirt of compromise

The stench of people in process left behind

The weight of a weave wasn’t too heavy for even Nicki Minaj to see and say that

“Life is a prize”

This Saturday I will walk two miles for the Texas Coalition for Life

My chest inhaling deeply

My feet exhausted

My t-shirt emblazoned with

‘Choose Life’

Celebrating the joy of life

Knowing that preserving life, upholding it

Is an ideal

That not all can celebrate

But knowing there is a better way

To the pain and brokenness I see everyday.