The Fetus is the new N-word

Say it.

You can’t, can you?

Maybe you’re a racist and have no problem saying it.

I cannot hardly type it. I definitely cannot say it. I stood alone before my desk and made myself try to say it. Is there an uglier word than the N-word?

Perhaps the C-word, but even that word, though intensely vulgar and uncouth, lacks the connotation of the N-word. What is it about a word, a mere assembly of letters, four consonants, two vowels, two syllables?

Language means something. The N-word means something.

Derived from the innocuous Latin word niger meaning, literally, black, it evolved into negro, the Spanish and Portuguese word for black. It first appeared in Merriam-Webster in 1864 as a synonym for negro with a note indicating “derision or depreciation”. Forever more it possessed a negative connotation.

Whoever penned ‘Sticks and Stones’ must have never heard the N-word.

The N-word stands symbolic of a shameful and hopefully dead or dying chapter in our nation’s history. Today there is a new N-word on the block, another group that is the new black, as well as the old black, ironically enough.

Let us talk about the most oppressed group in America—the unborn—and the language that makes this possible.

Language facilitates dehumanization.

Growing up in the south, I heard the N-word a lot, always in a certain context, and always with certain associated trappings. You know what I’m talking about.

To this day, I remember the redneck chick from high school, sporting the American by birth, Southern by the Grace of God t-shirt emblazoned with rebel flags, and her definitive statement, “I don’t have a problem with N-words, I think everybody should own one.”

Clearly, she was taught this, along with the enabling verbiage.

Would she have the same attitude absent the appropriate dehumanizing language?

The laundry list of dehumanizing terms for the black race was the grease on the skids, not the catalyst but the collaborator of oppression. We didn’t buy and sell men. We didn’t whip and chain women. We didn’t lynch people. We bought and sold and lynched Spooks, Darkies, and of course, N-words.

It is this connotation, this collective memory, that taints the N-word, rendering it unspeakable, except for in a few specific cultural contexts.

Language is powerful.

This is not a new concept.

As nations and armies came to grips with man’s inherent reluctance to killing his fellow man, they were forced to overcome this psychological(spiritual) resistance. Dehumanization is but one means to this end.

Though I’ve never killed a father or a son, a husband or a brother.

Maybe I’ve killed a Raghead.

During World War Two, we fought Krauts and Japs or Nips. In Korea, we killed Zipperheads. In Vietnam, we fought Gooks or Slopes. Today we fight Terrorists or Haji. Language facilitates conditioning.

If I can demean your enemy, make you think him less than human, then I can make it more likely you’ll engage to kill. Lest you think this trickery is confined to us imperialists in the west, our current enemies battle Zionists or Crusaders or even Kufr (Infidels).

Has anything changed the world more than the spoken word, with the ability to communicate ideas, motivate men, or inspire movements? In the same way, a continuous linguistic barrage degrading the essence of a group’s humanity has no choice but to register an effect.

Black oppression and language share a sordid cohabitation. A new cohabitation emerged from recent decades.

Language facilitates abortion.

The abortion industry rests on a mountain of untruth.

I could never kill a baby. Of course not.

Years ago, I paid my then-girlfriend to get an abortion (thankfully she didn’t go through with it).

We had a problem and I needed her to take care of the problem. I was perfectly willing to view the problem in vague terms, terms that made me comfortable in taking care of the problem, because to not take care of the problem presented me with even more of a problem, primarily the loss of my livelihood as I saw it.

The untruth that many have convinced themselves of, that we’ve impressed into the minds of millions of victimized women, is the absence of humanity in the womb.

Language is the vehicle. Let’s couch this living, sentient human being in the coldest, most sterile and medical-sounding terminology possible.

It’s a zygote.

A fetus.

A clump of cells.

Maybe not too different from a polyp or a cyst.

The language denies the humanity rendering it acceptable to remove.

“I had a procedure to remove a zygote,” sounds infinitely better than, “I paid a man to rip my unborn baby to shreds with a pair of scissors.” For many, denying the humanity is the only acceptable means of alleviating the guilt of the procedure but deep down…

They know. Of course they know, or perhaps they come to realize at a certain point.

Millions of women bear the burden of having facilitated the murder of their defenseless child while convincing themselves or allowing themselves to be convinced of the lie of medical appropriateness. I cannot imagine the horror as they come to terms with this reality.

The most intellectually honest pro-abortion advocates agree with science and acknowledge the humanity of the unborn. They just make the dreadful but decidedly logical leap that the mother’s humanity and rights supersede that of the unborn.

But for a multitude, it’s a denial of humanity that facilitates the slaughter under the oft-repeated slogan, “My body, My choice.” As a clump of cells, a zygote, a fetus, but not a person, the slogan makes perfect sense.

It’s no coincidence that when a mother, possessing all of the untaught love for her child that cannot be explained away, views an ultrasound of her unborn child, of the fetus, she will almost certainly NOT go through with an abortion. The ultrasound defies the language.

It’s a clump of cells. Hear the heartbeat.

It’s a zygote. See the fingers and toes.

It’s a fetus. It’s sucking its thumb!

No sane and undeceived woman would willingly slaughter her baby. As such, let us call things as they are, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us feel.

Language reminds us.

The fetus is just the new N-word on the block.

But really, it’s not. It’s all the same thing. As much as the unborn supplanted the black race at the pinnacle of American oppression, they actually didn’t. 

Is there still a race issue in America? Look no further than the fetus to answer that question. No issue epitomizes black oppression more than the oppression of the unborn as abortion IS a racial issue.

Fetus, zygote, clump of cellsspook, darkie, N-word.

Sadly, they’re the same more often than not.

Episodically, more black babies are aborted in New York City than born alive. Black women make up a hugely disproportionate number of women who have abortions. Planned Parenthood targets black neighborhoods which is not surprising. Its founder, Margaret Sanger, was a eugenist, one who advocated for the culling of the black race through controlled breeding (abortion) to the betterment of collective society.

We see, in abortion, the tragic marrying of language and murder, the perfect blend of verbiage and deception. The unborn is the not-so-new black. The fetus is the not-so-new N-word.

I pray for a day when we forsake the F-word in much the same way we eschew the N-word today.

I pray for a day when our language would align with justice. Until then…

Repent—the only adequate language I can find in response.

Bradford Smith

Bradford Smith

Author - Founder

Soldier, Pastor, Author – Bradford stays busy, with his wife Ami, raising their 9 children, serving the nation, pastoring, preaching, and writing books (#3 is due out October ’17).

THE 413 REPORT

If you loved this article, and would like to learn more about foster and adoption care, and to stay up to date on our projects, missions, and programs, as well as the release of Bradford’s third book, Brave Rifles, please sign up for our Newsletter. The 413 Project is made up of common people empowering and serving others to accomplish an uncommon good.

  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

This is a powerful read in a small book. The subtitle hits the mark with its description of, "A Biblical Treatise on Adoption." The author poses a challenge to the reader to stop reading the book upfront if the reader does not want to be moved to action.

   Janice S. Garey  

The call that sounds for the incredible need of emotionally and physically abandoned and orphaned children and one that when answered manifests the love of Christ.

  Anne Rightler

This book is a must read for anyone affected in any way by addictions. So many of the situations in this book seem hopeless, but as Brad so clearly points out, Christ is the solution and the only hope of man. As long as there is breath, there is hope!

  Scott Doherty

In Scourge, Brad offers us more than cold statistics or a cautionary tale. Instead, he offers us the solution - faith backed by action - to overcome this insidious problem Insightful and provocative, Scourge is a warning flag, guide post and rally to hope for all of us.

 Chad Chasteen

FOLLOW THE 413!

Nursing Homes and Daycare—Icons of Collective Neglect

I’ve got a lot to do.

I have much to accomplish, many places to go, lots of business to conduct.

I really don’t have much time for distractions.

Kids? We have daycare.

Old people? Well, you know.

Our nation worships youth.

Our nation worships beauty, well, youthful beauty.

Consider the extreme lengths to which we go, to prolong life, to defer aging. We diet. We exercise, good things, mind you. We developed a cottage industry revolving around retaining a youthful appearance. Gimmicks and fads, creams and lotions, wraps and other accoutrements, all to tighten and tone, lift and smooth…in other words, make you look younger.

Some folks butcher themselves with plastic surgery in a futile attempt to retain a semblance of youth.

“Why you haven’t aged since college!” the pinnacle of complements.

Old is bad, something to be avoided and resisted.

Our nation neglects our parents.

My wife is unique in more than few ways.

She is a great nurse and loves old people, and they love her. She has almost always worked in a nursing home where she treats the residents with dignity and respect, as if they have value. And they respond. Even the most crotchety old buzzard inevitably comes to lighten up when she brings his meds.

She often comes home in tears.

“My little man is dying,” she confessed the other morning. Death is a part of life and certainly a part of any medical profession, but the nursing home thrusts death to the forefront. No one gets better and leaves a nursing home.

I’ll make the concession here. Obviously medical situations exist that require professional care just like life situations exist that demand daycare (I see you single mothers). But in general:

A nursing home is where we put our old people to die unobtrusively.

They all die. Most of them die alone.

Many are on hospice but even for the ones who are not, death lurks in the corner. It’s like a waiting room for eternity, eternal glory or eternal suffering and the norm seems to be loneliness…and fear. Maybe a family member will show up toward the end, but most make the sad, lonely march to death in utter solitude and often with much trembling.

Ami’s little man died a few days later (she wasn’t on duty), alone in his room, gasping for breath, calling out for help. He was a father, and a husband, and he walked to his grave for years completely alone…

…not hindering anyone. 

Our nation worships ourselves.

Old people get in the way. Kids too.

They are inconvenient, so we invented daycares and nursing homes to safely squirrel them away so that I may live unimpeded.

This is the sad reality, sad and harsh. 

I could never accomplish all of my professional objectives if I had to care for my aging father. I could never do all of the things I want to do if I’m stuck tending to my elderly parents. I just would not be happy if I had to alter my life in any way to account for them.

And it’s not like they won’t be taken care of.

The nursing homes are nice enough. They have a professional staff. It’s a five-star facility, each star ratcheting down my guilt a notch until it’s tolerable. As a matter of fact, they’ll get better care than I could ever give them!

It’s for the best. It’s what they would want.

As an aside, did you know that Adolf Hitler cared for his dying mother at home in her battle against breast cancer. Her Jewish doctor remarked, “I have never seen anyone so prostrate with grief as Adolf Hitler,” over her death.

I guess it should not surprise us that a nation so quick to allow strangers to raise our children would just as quickly allow strangers to accompany our parents to their death.

Our nation rejects the Commandment.

Interestingly, the Fifth commandment stands unique amongst the Ten.

Honor your father and your mother

…Okay, we’ve heard this before, but the rest…

that your days may be long in the land that the LORD your God is giving to you. (Exodus 20:12)

This commandment is the only one of the Ten Commandments to offer an outcome. I could infer a righteous outcome from obedience to the others but God plainly says, honor your parents so that you may prosper. It’s conditional.

What does it mean to honor your mother and father?

I’ll leave the specifics of that to the individual conviction of the Holy Spirit upon the hearts of His people. We value them. We esteem them. We consider them. We recognize that, at a minimum, they gave us life.

Notice God gives no caveat for worth. He does not say, honor them if they are good parents. He does not say, honor them if they honor you. He doesn’t even say, honor them if they are godly. Only, honor them.

Notice He gives no caveat for time. Honor them, not, honor them until you grow up and figure everything out on your own. Honor them until you no longer need them. Honor them until they become old and irrelevant or until you are too busy to honor them.

Honor them.

God commands it. They deserve it. They are entitled to it.

And the endstate…prosperity. You will live long in the land.

My family’s neglect.

I wish I would’ve known my grandmother. I mean, really known her. I knew her as a young boy. She even beat me with a flyswatter once when I gave her the finger, not really knowing what it meant, but I never really knew her.

She was a good, godly woman who literally gave away everything she had, consistently. So generous was her heart, you couldn’t give her anything without her giving it to another. She loved the Lord Jesus and her family.

Yet, in the transience of American life, my family moved away from her, to another state for my father’s job. We prospered in the new state. My father made better money. Our family did well and quite frankly, we moved on without her. 

We just had no place for her in our new life. She was too old to move, to entrenched where she was. Ashamedly, we even mocked her a bit for being a packrat, for living in poverty unnecessarily. We prospered. She wilted.

She died just a few years after we moved.

I feel as if we missed out on something important.

Why did she give everything away? Why was she content with so little? I would’ve loved to have learned from her. As I came to faith in Christ, we could have shared our faith. We could have laughed about the time I gave her the finger.

I wonder if our family’s reluctance to honor her contributed to our falling away from the church, and the godlessness that pervaded the early years of my life.

Clearly, I was not dwelling long in the land.

A different way.

Nursing homes represent pervasive self-centeredness. This is the bottom line.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Let us look to the legions of old people dying alone and repent. Let us see them with dignity and respect, with value and worth. Let us see them as our fathers, as our mothers and let us go to them.

Let us seek them out and listen to them. Let us glean from them the decades of wisdom, the lifetime of experience. For those no longer cognizant, let us lavish love upon them all the way to the grave.

As my parents age, I know that one day I’ll be confronted with a decision. I’ve already made a vow. My wife, lover of old people, wouldn’t have it any other way.

That our nation would make a similar vow.

Bradford Smith

Bradford Smith

Author - Founder

Soldier, Pastor, Author – Bradford stays busy, with his wife Ami, raising their 9 children, serving the nation, pastoring, preaching, and writing books (#3 is due out October ’17).

THE 413 REPORT

If you loved this article, and would like to learn more about foster and adoption care, and to stay up to date on our projects, missions, and programs, as well as the release of Bradford’s third book, Brave Rifles, please sign up for our Newsletter. The 413 Project is made up of common people empowering and serving others to accomplish an uncommon good.

  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

This is a powerful read in a small book. The subtitle hits the mark with its description of, "A Biblical Treatise on Adoption." The author poses a challenge to the reader to stop reading the book upfront if the reader does not want to be moved to action.

   Janice S. Garey  

The call that sounds for the incredible need of emotionally and physically abandoned and orphaned children and one that when answered manifests the love of Christ.

  Anne Rightler

This book is a must read for anyone affected in any way by addictions. So many of the situations in this book seem hopeless, but as Brad so clearly points out, Christ is the solution and the only hope of man. As long as there is breath, there is hope!

  Scott Doherty

In Scourge, Brad offers us more than cold statistics or a cautionary tale. Instead, he offers us the solution - faith backed by action - to overcome this insidious problem Insightful and provocative, Scourge is a warning flag, guide post and rally to hope for all of us.

 Chad Chasteen

FOLLOW THE 413!

It’s a Shame that Adoption Costs so Much

One among many.

I know. Trust me. I’ve heard it. I’ve said it.

You’re not at the right place in life right now.

You don’t feel called to do this.

You’re family won’t adjust.

You just can’t.

It’s too hard.

It’s too much.

It’s a scary.

Believe me. I’ve said, felt, and thought all of these things at varying points in time. As less than 5% of Christians ever adopt and 3% of all adults, reasons abound.

                                                It costs too much!

At last! The golden BB, the magic bullet of logic and pragmatism that gets you off the hook.

I would love to but…I just cannot afford it. There’s no way. Just not possible. If you only knew how much my mortgage and car payment(s) were alone…and then there’s my cable bill…and wait…my vacation trip to the beach and…our bonus room needs a new flat screen…

Adoption costs way more than $40,000.

I’ll concede. Adoption can cost a pretty penny.

Domestic adoption through a private agency can range upward of $15,000. Start going international and the price tag skyrockets, tens of thousands of dollars. Unscrupulous agencies and corrupt facilitators line their pockets at the expense of orphaned children and families seeking to adopt.

A family from our church adopted two little boys from India. We held fundraisers. People pitched in, donated. There was a benefit concert. They sold t-shirts. The mother made repeated trips to India to wade through the red tape and corruption. After months of heartache, tears, uncertainty, struggle and tens of thousands of dollars, they brought the boys home.

Amen. Glory, hallelujah.

Now the real cost starts.

A typical vaginal birth in a hospital without complications costs about $3,000. Would you then say that the cost of having a child is $3,000? Well, in one sense, yes. But only a fool would not understand that this is only the start-up cost.

According to the USDA, the average family will spend $233,000 raising a child through the age of 18, not including the cost of college tuition. A $40,000 adoption is roughly 17% of the cost of raising a child to adulthood.

Adoption cost us way more than money. Fathering has been one of the most challenging and rewarding things I’ve done. How do I put a price upon the love of my sons, the affections of my daughters? How could I cost-compare the highs and lows, the anguish and the triumph.

Adoption is harder than $40,000.

Our family has been forever changed by adoption. We’ve shed $40,000 worth of tears. We’ve reveled in $40,000 worth of laughter, lost $40,000 worth of sleep. We’ve basked in $40,000 worth of love. God has literally rewoven the fabric of our existence in the crucible of adoption.

Could I low-ball that?

$40k seems like a bargain.

Back to the hospital and the complication-free delivery for $3,000. What if there were complications? At what point do you pull the plug? Would a C-section for $4,500 be too much? Other complications may drive the cost toward $7000. How much is too much?

What would you pay to deliver the child, your son or your daughter, into your care?

Oh, that’s right.

You have insurance so it doesn’t cost you…anything…

Is all this really necessary?

Two things, three really.

1) We live in literally, the wealthiest nation in the history of the entire Universe. Over the last forty years, the average American home has nearly doubled in size as the average American family has shrunk by an entire person.

Allow me to translate. Our homes have become more and more palatial as our families have shrunk. We have bonus rooms, multiple vehicles. We take expensive vacations. We throw away thousands of dollars worth of food. Our poor people would be relatively rich in many other nations.

Is cost really the issue?

2) You cannot put a price tag on life. It’s a bargain at any cost.

Children desperately need a forever family. They desperately need a godly father to bring them up in the way of the Lord. Apart from adoption, kids with no family struggle severely in life. Pick an affliction and they suffer it disproportionately.

For the sake of some dollars, which are readily available, we can show the love of Christ to them through adoption.

3) Don’t you sacrifice for what you love?

I loved a motorcycle once. I set my heart upon having the baddest chopper around so I sold my ‘89 Harley Sportster, my van, and maxed out three credit cards in having a custom, one-of-a-kind, hardtail scooter put together.

I suffered.

It took me nearly a decade to pay off my debts. For years, I lived paycheck to paycheck as I desperately sought to buy down this mountain of debt. But I loved that motorcycle…until I sold it from lack of use.

For those we love, we sacrifice. Right?

It’s crap.

I’ll go ahead and answer the question for you. None of this is even necessary.

Our will, not our wealth.

It’s not about wealth.

If God has called the believer to adopt—spoiler alert: He has—then He will provide the means for them to walk that path.

Our money does not buy us a child. It buys us a choice.

Most people approach adoption with trepidation, including yours truly. We know it’s right. At some point, we know it’s prescribed, that the presence of children without homes is a shame upon the Church and so we cautiously move to adoption.

How do I maintain the fragility of my existence? How do I preserve my quality of life and the delicate balance of my family?

How do I simultaneously pursue that which will definitely change my life, without it changing my life too much?

We’ll take a healthy, baby boy— black is preferable, but brown will work too. He can have some physical limitations, but not too many. We’d also take a healthy girl between the ages of 5 and 7. I don’t want to upset the birth order or force anyone to share a room.

My cash buys me a choice.

It’s not about wealth, it’s about the will.

The idea of expensive adoptions ignores the existence of thousands of foster kids in desperate need of a home, many available for adoption immediately, practically for free.

My hats off to anyone who fosters or adopts. Anyone. I pray the Lord’s hand of blessing upon you all.

If God calls you to adopt from a foreign country, then go, by all means. I praise God for your obedience in surrendering to this call. I thank Him for those willing and able to spend $40,000 to find a child in a faraway country and raise them as their own. Glory, hallelujah.

I seek to address those for whom cost is a limitation, an excuse really.

Maybe you cannot afford that adorable little Chinese girl or those twin boys from Uganda. Right next door, here in your city, there are literally hundreds of kids dying without a father, dying without a family. Did you know this?

They lack the wow factor. They won’t generate ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’. They won’t fit into the neat reality of your existence.

They will shatter your boundaries, destroy your barriers. They will force you far past comfort and into the realms of the unreasonable…and they won’t cost you a dime, relatively speaking.

If cost is the issue, is it really about the kid, or is it about us? The tragedy of expensive adoptions is that it reveals the hearts of men.

Leave it to American Christians to bastardize such a God-ordained institution as adoption. Let us repent for this grave oversight.

Bradford Smith

Bradford Smith

Author - Founder

Soldier, Pastor, Author – Bradford stays busy, with his wife Ami, raising their 9 children, serving the nation, pastoring, preaching, and writing books (#3 is due out October ’17).

THE 413 REPORT

If you loved this article, and would like to learn more about foster and adoption care, and to stay up to date on our projects, missions, and programs, as well as the release of Bradford’s third book, Brave Rifles, please sign up for our Newsletter. The 413 Project is made up of common people empowering and serving others to accomplish an uncommon good.

  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

This is a powerful read in a small book. The subtitle hits the mark with its description of, "A Biblical Treatise on Adoption." The author poses a challenge to the reader to stop reading the book upfront if the reader does not want to be moved to action.

   Janice S. Garey  

The call that sounds for the incredible need of emotionally and physically abandoned and orphaned children and one that when answered manifests the love of Christ.

  Anne Rightler

This book is a must read for anyone affected in any way by addictions. So many of the situations in this book seem hopeless, but as Brad so clearly points out, Christ is the solution and the only hope of man. As long as there is breath, there is hope!

  Scott Doherty

In Scourge, Brad offers us more than cold statistics or a cautionary tale. Instead, he offers us the solution - faith backed by action - to overcome this insidious problem Insightful and provocative, Scourge is a warning flag, guide post and rally to hope for all of us.

 Chad Chasteen

FOLLOW THE 413!

Pro-Choice Folks, I Understand…I Truly Do

Let us dispense with the pretenses.

Let us disavow the same tired rhetoric.

I know.

It’s a zygote, a clump of cells. It’s not a person. It’s your body. It’s your choice. You have reproductive rights. There is a war on women. If I’m against abortion, I won’t have one.

But can we please cut to the chase?

You hate men.

Rather, you hate manhood, the institution, masculinity.

Really, it’s the perceived patriarchy that generates your wrath, the system itself.

As long as men yield, as long as they acquiesce, as long as they join in self-emasculation and self-loathing then you tolerate them, begrudgingly. You reserve your ire for those who dare advocate for anything as outdated and outrageous as masculine virtue, be they male or yes, other females.

You fulfill Scripture.

Did you know that?

Long ago, God cursed the woman in her sin saying, “Your desire shall be for your husband…” (Genesis 3:16)

At first glance, this doesn’t sound bad. Why would you not want to desire your husband. The language is telling. In the very next chapter, using the exact same language, God says to Cain, speaking of sin, “Its desire is for you.” (Genesis 4:7) Sin seeks to dominate Cain, to control him, to usurp his motivations, compelling him to act accordingly, bending him to its will.

The alternate rendering of the curse speaks volumes. “Your desire will be against your husband.” God imbued the man with spiritual headship, with a role as the leader of the family, and you hate it. You rage against it. The idea of male headship bristles your spirit.

You seek to usurp this role, to dominate him, to control him, compelling him to act accordingly, bending him to your will. You’ll be no subordinate, no slave to a man.

And you’ve seen the abuse of the system, ungodly men who embrace the second half of the curse…“and he shall rule over you.” (Genesis 3:16) Men who impregnate and abandon, men who abuse and torment, men who sexualize and oppress—you’ve seen it, maybe lived it or your mother did.

I cannot fathom your frustration.

In other areas of life in a civilized society, you will your way to a plethora of Pyrrhic victories. You’ve shattered glass ceilings at virtually every level. You outpace your male brothers in higher education. You’ve passed Ranger school and joined the infantry. Every profession is yours for the taking though if the #metoo folks are right, we’ve got a lot of work to do.

There’s just one small problem.

You have a uterus…to go with your vagina.

You deserve the exact same sexual freedom as godless men. You are entitled to it, but unfortunately your biology works dreadfully against you. Pregnancy is the ultimate expression of feminine bondage, a burden, a yoke which no one else may bear for you.

And you’ll not have it.

You know it’s a life. I know it’s a life. But that’s not what’s important. What matters is your life and your freedom and really, your sexual freedom. We’ll call it a zygote if it’ll make you feel better. We’ll even chant your slogans. 

It comes down to a simple decision between your rights, your sexual rights, and the right to life of this clump of cells.

I know. I truly do.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Emasculated Men.

You hate men as well.

Confronted with feminine ire, you concede. You caved long ago and yielded your masculinity to become a neutered caricature of what God intended you to be, and you’re okay with that because you are accepted.

Their acceptance of you depends entirely upon your continuing harmlessness to the cause, and that’s okay. Know that at the first hint of obstinance, you’ll be soundly crushed.

Perhaps it was your father that taught you to hate men and you do. You hate them. You recoil at what society has declared manly. The brutish tobacco-chewing redneck or the Bible-thumping woman-hater stand in opposition to the genderless utopia you desire.

Who are you to have any kind of privilege just because you’re a man?

Who are you to be given authority on account of something so unearned as your penis?

So you quietly tuck your testicles between your legs, pick up your “Stop the War on Women” sign, and join the march. You likewise know it’s a life as well as I do, but that is not what’s important.

Her reproductive rights are what matters here, not some nameless, faceless and ultimately inconvenient cluster of biological goo. You don’t even have a uterus. How could you possibly have an opinion on the matter? Right?

Mind your lane and get back in line.

You hate women.

You go the other direction.

You fall in line with the curse and rule over the woman in an ungodly fashion.

It’s easy for you. You don’t even really have to try. It comes very naturally. You see women for what they are, ultimately repositories for your pleasurable insemination.

Abortion is a convenient means to that end.

You really don’t have time or desire for the responsibility or sexual ethics and abortion is the next best thing. Hey, you’re certainly not going to father some child that you don’t even want. This isn’t the sixties where you have to marry the girl. 

Really. I understand.

We don’t want child support hanging over our heads. We don’t want some artificial commitment to someone or something that we didn’t want in the first place, but hey, we’re human too. We don’t want some kid growing up without a dad, maybe even in poverty. We know the deal.

It’s for the best. Truly.

Once we can “take care of it”, it’s on to the next one. No one gets hurt. We all have a good time and hey, did you see that waitress at the club. I think she was making eyes at me. I’ve got a feeling…

You hate God.

Again, I understand completely.

I once hated God as you do and I once hated life as you do.

You know God exists. Creation testifies to that fact loud and clear. Nothing has ever created itself. You know this. Yet, you desire to be the captain of your own destiny. You desire to call the shots. You worship at the altar of you and woe be anyone who seeks to impede your ritual sacrifice.

It’s you. Your sexual ethics. Your decisions. Your body. Your choice. Your everything.

You hate God and the fact that He imposes standards. You hate God because of the fact that He imposes standards and really, because you know there will be accountability. He stands in direct opposition to the cult of you. And you hate it. You hate Him.

I know it. You know it…He knows it.

The life inside, created in His image, stands as an imminent reminder of His ways and you hate His ways. You want it to be your way. Abortion allows for this. 

You really have no…choice. Ironic, isn’t it. Or maybe you do…

Bradford Smith

Bradford Smith

Author - Founder

Soldier, Pastor, Author – Bradford stays busy, with his wife Ami, raising their 9 children, serving the nation, pastoring, preaching, and writing books (#3 is due out October ’17).

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This is a powerful read in a small book. The subtitle hits the mark with its description of, "A Biblical Treatise on Adoption." The author poses a challenge to the reader to stop reading the book upfront if the reader does not want to be moved to action.

   Janice S. Garey  

The call that sounds for the incredible need of emotionally and physically abandoned and orphaned children and one that when answered manifests the love of Christ.

  Anne Rightler

This book is a must read for anyone affected in any way by addictions. So many of the situations in this book seem hopeless, but as Brad so clearly points out, Christ is the solution and the only hope of man. As long as there is breath, there is hope!

  Scott Doherty

In Scourge, Brad offers us more than cold statistics or a cautionary tale. Instead, he offers us the solution - faith backed by action - to overcome this insidious problem Insightful and provocative, Scourge is a warning flag, guide post and rally to hope for all of us.

 Chad Chasteen

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