Murder, Bloody Murder

Is anyone out there? Why aren't we screaming murder, bloody murder!

'DOCTORS accidentally ended the life of a healthy 32-week-old unborn twin during a botched procedure to terminate his brother.' Sydney Daily Telegraph today.

They were 'terminating' one twin because of a congenital heart defect but they injected the wrong baby in error. The mother then underwent an emergency caesarean section and the sick child's life was terminated in a three-hour operation. (Illustration shows a 32 week baby.)

What will become of a nation who treats life with such contempt? The paper talks of the deep distress of staff and parent alike when the error was discovered. But why were any of them involved in the premeditated murder of such a child? A baby born at that point of gestation has a high chance of survival. My own daughter was born at 33 weeks tiny, but strong and healthy.

The blood of these little boys cries out from the ground. God will not turn a blind eye. The hands of our nation are dripping with blood, blood of babies that have been sacrificed on the alter of convenience. As I was researching this article I came across a story of a woman who aborted twins boys conceived by IVF because she wanted a girl!

I am horrified beyond belief.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm compassionate. I care for those woman and I'm not judging them, but this much I know. We must reap what we sow. We all understand that if we plant pansy seeds we can cut pansies in the future. If we plant bean seeds, we will eat beans, not spinach.

So if we sow murder, what will we reap? But, you argue, 'murder' is a strong word. Let me put it another way. If we sow 'justified termination', we will reap 'justified termination'. It will be called 'euthanasia'. It will be couched in the same acceptable medical jargon that surrounds abortion. 


This generation, when old, helpless and weak, will receive the same consideration given to the young and vulnerable who have been betrayed by the very one who is supposed to protect them. We too will face the termination needle.

As a nation, (and as individuals) we must repent for our murder. Then the blood of Jesus will protect us from reaping what we deserve. 

Lord, have mercy upon us.

And the Winner is ...

'I'm going to win it!' I declared it emphatically. 
My companions looked a little stunned, and I could understand their reaction. But the moment I heard about it, I wanted it. Money wouldn't buy it. It wasn't available through people I knew. The winner wasn't to be drawn out of a hat. It was The Caleb award for best unpublished manuscript and to win my book had to be...well...the best!
Everyone in the room knew I'd never written a book before and the one I was working on was sadly lacking.

Day in the Life of a Grandma!

'I'm hungry, Ma!' 
Is there any way to fill a four year old? The bag of crisps and ten strawberries obviously hadn't done it.
'I need something cold!' Madam looked hopeful. 
So she selected an ice block from my freezer. It must have been healthy as it boasted wild berries and yoghurt. I know; I'm a soft touch, but unless you are a grandmother, how can you understand? Until you had to stare back into those serious blue eyes, how can you know what you would have done?
This follows last nights text message from Madam Twelve. 'Can you come early in the morning to braid my hair?'  I was due at her house at 8am to mind Miss Four. 
'Is 7.30 ok?' 
'Can you come at 7? Can you do Olivia's hair too?' Olivia is a school friend who must be sleeping over again.
Another message comes. This time from Madam Sixteen (Yes there are a lot of girls in this house!)
'Can you bring my assignment? I left it there last week. It's in a blue book.' 
This morning I woke late after a broken night's sleep. I found the assignment, grabbed the library books that were due back yesterday. In haste, I dropped the books into the 'returns' bin at the library and arrived to braid hair at 7.20am, ignoring several messages from Miss Twelve asking how much longer.
When Madam Sixteen looked expectant I realised what I'd done. I'd posted her assignment into the book bin at the council library! I hung out my daughter's washing and dropped Miss Ten at school, before coming home with the four year old who was complaining. She wanted her mummy *sigh*
My daughter finished her days work just after lunch. We called at the library and retrieved the assignment and met Miss Four's Mummy for coffee and a chat. 
How privileged am I to have so many wonderful girls in my life?  I am blessed...and constantly waiting for the unexpected.

From a grub to a butterfly

Have you ever sat with someone as their life ebbed out? Have you watched the battle between life and death, the battle between the determination of the human will and the deterioration of the physical body? On Monday I sat with a precious friend as she lost her battle with Alzheimer’s disease. A few years ago in a different nursing home I sat with my Mum as her aged body finally released her to be with her Lord. 

Today I thought I'd share a poem I wrote some years ago - poem of hope. 

The Parable of the Grub

 There comes a time in the life of every grub,

when he must weave a cocoon

And gradually he becomes more and more restricted

And things that were simple to do, become harder and harder

Until eventually they are impossible.

The grub struggles in the cocoon

Until one day the struggle stops – and all is still.

And we other grubs grieve the loss of life

And through our tears we celebrate a life lived.

But while the cocoon remains, motionless, an empty shell

A butterfly soars …..

Free

Free from restriction

Free from keeping its feet upon the ground

        Free to fly, and swoop and flutter

Free ………

Gloriously free!

Jesus said: “I go to prepare a place for you. In my fathers house there are many mansions. If were not so I would have told you.”

RIP Eileen Whitmore <3