I have two beautiful children, but my path to motherhood was not easy.

Like many Arkansans, we needed the help of a fertility specialist to get pregnant. When I got my first positive pregnancy test, I was so excited!

But my hopes were dashed a short while later when I learned through bloodwork that the pregnancy was not viable. There was nothing we could do but wait for my body to start to miscarry naturally. 

Those weeks of waiting were difficult.

My pastor came over, and we sat in our living room and prayed together.

We cried and asked God to be near to us in our pain.

I was swimming in grief, desperate to try again. I eventually started bleeding.

Later, after several attempts, I finally had a viable pregnancy that ended in the birth of my now 7 year-old son. 

When it was time to add another child to our family, I went into the process with a much more guarded heart. I knew another loss was possible, but I was not prepared for what came next.

Not once, but twice, I got pregnant. Not once, but twice, I went in for my first ultrasound, only to see an empty sack on the screen. Not once but twice, I heard nothing but silence as the tech scanned over and over again for a heartbeat. Not once but twice, I was experiencing a non-viable pregnancy.

Each time, my doctor explained the options: wait for my body to miscarry naturally, take a medication to cause my body to expel the non-pregnancy, or have a surgical procedure called a d&c.

I knew how the waiting felt, and it was awful.

I was also afraid of the medication causing a painful miscarriage that I would have to manage at home alone.

So, after talking things over with my doctor, my spouse, and my pastor, I elected to have the d&c procedure both times.

Not once but twice, I woke up in the recovery room and cried onto the shoulder of a loving nurse who soothed my battered and broken heart. When I finally held my daughter in my arms 18 months later, I cried tears of joy. 

Today in Arkansas, doctors have to jump through many hoops to offer women in my shoes the medical care I received. Right now, our state has a near-total abortion ban. There are no exceptions for rape, incest, or fatal fetal abnormalities.

Abortion-related and abortion-adjacent procedures are under extreme scrutiny. While the procedure I had was not an abortion, the medical code contains the word “abortion.” As a result, doctors are spending precious time–time they could be treating other patients–meticulously defending their plan of care for women like me, and asking multiple physicians to sign off on their actions. 

These extra steps are not because the care I received is dangerous, controversial or unethical. These extra steps are to keep medical providers from going to prison or losing their medical licenses and being unable to treat patients at all. As a result, what used to be a non-controversial procedure for women experiencing pregnancy loss has become complicated and high-stakes. 

I want my doctor to be free to focus fully on my healthcare needs and the needs of other women like me facing pregnancy loss. I don’t want their judgment impaired with worry about how a judge or team of lawyers with no medical training will interpret their actions. But since doctors’ primary objective is to treat patients, not fight legal battles, their options are limited.

It pains me to know that in a time of immense pain, a provider can’t be wholly focused on their grieving patient, and must also worry about defending their treatment plan to outside parties. 

I am glad I had the option to surgically end my non-viable pregnancies without unnecessary red tape. The procedure allowed me the space to recover and heal, without worrying for weeks about when my miscarriages would start.

The compassionate healthcare I received helped me recover faster, and enabled me to hold my baby girl in my arms more quickly. I want other grieving women to have easy access to that closure, too. 

The current total abortion ban puts politicians between patients and their doctors. When I got devastating news in the ultrasound room–twice–our state’s legislators were not the ones holding my hand and handing me tissues. My healthcare providers and my pastor were. Healthcare providers need the freedom to offer patients expedient options in a tough situation like mine. They need the freedom to rely on their years of medical training and expertise, without worrying about a distant third party calling their care plan into question. They need the freedom to support their patients as they build families in life-giving ways. 

Every pregnancy deserves to be welcomed with tears of joy. Unfortunately, some pregnancies are met with tears of pain and sorrow instead. In those heart-breaking situations, Arkansas women and their doctors deserve access to a range of medical treatment options. We need to trust our doctors and their pregnant patients to make compassionate, loving, and wise choices in difficult times. By taking healthcare decisions out of the courtroom and putting them back where they belong–in the exam room and in the living room–patients and their doctors can work together to assess their particular circumstances, weigh the risks, and make the best of a bad situation. 

The post The search for compassionate care appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Ever since the reversal of Roe v. Wade, I have just felt a sinking in my soul. This has perplexed me because I am pro-life: I do believe that life begins at conception, and I have also volunteered at a crisis pregnancy ministry in their care center. I think that God has given me the burden of so many women who are terrified, indignant, or just angry at the ruling. I know also that this is a pivotal time for the church in the way Christians proceed from this place, and I fear and see that in many ways the response has not been Christ-like and may turn people away from Jesus.

The purpose of this writing is not to argue my position on Roe but to lay out a path for Christians in the light of Roe. The right to an abortion will now be decided by individual states. But the support and care of women in these situations is firmly in the hands of the church…or at least it needs to be.

In church recently, I was blessed to hear the testimonial from a young woman who at age 19 found herself with an unexpected pregnancy. Raised in a church and youth group, she knew that the last place that she could turn was her church as there would be no grace for her there. By the grace of God, she kept the baby with her life forever altered for the better. She cast a vision for how the church in the future could care for mothers in similar situations: Mentorship, grace, and community. Unfortunately, many churches offer none of these and instead focus on the shame. It is not difficult to figure out how Jesus would have responded to an unwed mother in crisis.

I have some first-hand experience with mentorship, grace and community. For 3 years, I volunteered at a crisis pregnancy center in Fayetteville, which is an amazing place, which seeks to support women who make the choice to have their baby. During the pregnancy, women would come to our clinic to watch videos about the birthing process. After pregnancy for 8 months, they would continue to come to learn more about child rearing. As a care counselor, I listened, prayed with our clients, formed relationships with them, and just loved them. Clients earned “mommy bucks” for coming, towards which they could use to purchase diapers and other child-related items that were donated to the cute store on site. Each and every week, we were all witnesses to the transformation of these women through the love of Christ.

There was one client who I was blessed to befriend. She was not married and definitely did not expect her pregnancy. She made the hard decision to keep the baby, separated from a huge group of unhealthy people, and began the process of making her life condusive and healthy to raising a child. After she graduated from our program, we continued to stay in touch. I would receive regular texts from her with questions about her then 1 year old. Sometimes she asked my advice about financial matters. Sometimes she had questions about God. Without question, God used this child to grow this woman up: To clean up her life, help her make better choices, buy a house, and begin down a road of faith. Her parents deceased, she regularly tells me that I am the one person she can count on in this life. It is an honor. She really doesn’t have anyone else pouring into her life except me. I feel like this is what I am called to do as a Christian: Not to lecture and not to shame but to support, love, and encourage.

My church is a financial sponsor of this pregnancy center, and some people choose to volunteer there. But their program often reaches capacity, and the timing on the classes doesn’t always fit people’s schedules. In this post-Roe world, I can imagine that these types of clinics are going to be busier than every. So instead of moping in my post-Roe funk, I have taken some positive steps within my own church to have a conversation about reaching out to women in crisis the way Jesus would. What if my church was where women with unplanned pregnancies came first? What if we could pair women with a mentor for support and to walk along-side them? Could we help women in crisis to find community that would truly transform their lives? Are we qualified or trained? Heavens no. Have we raised our own kids and have a heart for others? Absolutely. And are we willing to shower women with the same grace that we have received in our own lives? The possibilities are limitless.

To me, this is the correct definition of pro-life: Valuing the life of a fetus as we walk along-side and love the new mother and child. Are there other systemic issues that need to be addressed. Absolutely. The list is long from paid maternity leave, affordable child-care, and quality and available childcare. None of these should be political issues, and I call upon Congress as well as the General Assembly to tackle each and every one if them in single-issue bills without other amendments attached. I would venture to say that any politician that opposes abortion but is not willing to make the systemic changes is a hypocrite and does not deserve to have a voice on this issue.

I know that there are many other thorny issues related to abortion such as the life of the mother, rape, and incest. Legislators who have made policy without accurate medical information or considered the social/emotional/financial concerns of new mothers have not made good laws: They have simply imposed their views on others without taking care of women and children the way Christ would have. Furthermore, the dogmatic approach that does not address these issues is generating anger and resentment towards the church and Christians.

In closing, my heart is a little less heavy now that I know what I can do to help. I know that I am called to serve and to love. It is a good place to be. The storm is undoubtedly going to continue to rage around this issue. I am going to do what God has shown me to do, and I would be honored if you would create a movement where you live to support women and children in Arkansas. Arkansans, we are likely to have a bunch more babies in the coming year! Who will be Jesus in the flesh and walk alongside these neighbors. The answer is not someone else’s mirror: It is in your own.

The post Possibilites appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I know almost nothing about my biological mother’s life when I was conceived, born, or since. It seems clear that she did not want and/or was not ready to be a parent, but beyond that I have no idea what she went through while she carried me. I have absolutely no idea what was going through her mind the last moment she ever saw me – presumably minutes or hours after I was born. Was she loved and supported? Was she shunned and shamed?

When I was conceived, was she a carefree teenager that made a casual or(along with the man) reckless decision? Was she lied to by a deceitful and/or cowardly boyfriend that just wanted sex? Was…she the victim of rape? 

Was her decision to allow me life and give me up to others an obvious decision that she never debated or was it a source of agony in her life? Is it still? Did she feel doubt about her decision once she saw me… or later? Was it made out of love or fear or pragmatism…or some incomprehensible human combination? 

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions. I probably never will. 

I think about all this….and in total honesty I’m selfishly just so glad that I’m here. I’m so, so, so indescribably thankful that my son is here. Given that, it is so easy and so tempting to extend that to all situations that seem just like mine – to argue that we should always give a new life a chance regardless of the situation – no conditions, no nuance. That logic and the powerful emotions that come with it pull at me right this very second as I type these words. 

Some of you may seize on my story – and particularly the shining light of my incredible son that lights up your news feed now and again – and say, “That’s it. Why would we ever stop THAT from happening?” It’s an understandable question on the surface. If I knew, or even though it remotely likely that every story or even most would be like mine – or anything even close to it – that might be it for me. Yet all I do know for sure is that we CANNOT know – much less manage – the countless situations that lead to the consideration of abortion or the lives – of mother and child – that follow. 

I wish more than anything that we lived in a world where this discussion started and ended with the humanity, honesty and love. Sadly, that’s not the world we are living in, and not the tactics that lead to political gain for too many people that make our laws or sell us stories on TV. This profound issue has become slogans and memes in our public discussion – and it will continue to be treated as such by most in power. Yet, it is still the way in which we can each choose to engage each other, and how we can support the women in our lives that have faced – and will face in the future – this decision. Make no mistake, whatever laws are enacted or repealed, abortion will occur in this country – the question is whether it will be accessible to all who need it or just those who have the power, resources and/or luck to quietly acquire it….

My own opinion…the world I hope and work for is this: 

I want a world where abortion is rarely necessary or sought. I’ve made a few of my progressive friends angry when I’ve said that publicly (most of them agree with me though). And I make my many of my conservative friends angry or at least disappointed when I say that I believe we must trust women to make this decision for themselves – free from any scorn or stigma – alongside any loved and trusted humans that they choose to involve. I don’t believe in or want casual abortion but I do believe that our best path in this world is to surround women with the best knowledge, resources and truly accessible options and then trust them to make the best decisions they can given their personal situation. A legislature in Little Rock, Washington or anywhere else should not make that call for them.

If we want to come together in a way that we rarely seem to do today as a country, there are immediate ways to do it that will prevent more abortions than any law could ever hope to stop – without violating any woman’s dignity or control over her body and future. 

Let’s ensure all our children know about the realities of sex, and that when they engage in it they have the knowledge and the resources to do so safely -protected from disease or premature parenthood. If you believe it is important for your children to attempt to wait until marriage, more power to you – but I believe the most loving parents hope for and nurture what they believe to be the best ideals in their children while preparing them to navigate less ideal situations in life when the ideal isn’t met. 

Let’s make adoption a loving, easy, safe and respected path for those that chose it (birth parents and adoptive parents). 

And when the worst of life’s events happen – a rape, incest, a life-threatening condition in a pregnancy, or the all too often shunned, afraid, pregnant child or teenager, or the abused and isolated girlfriend or wife – let’s make sure that those involved have easy access – no matter their zip code or income level – to compassionate, competent people that can provide her options and the support she ultimately chooses. 

That’s where I wish we were, what I hope we can work towards.

_{Jared Henderson is a husband and father who once ran for governor of Arkansas. He went to Harvard, worked for NASA, and came home to invest his life and raise his family. He is from Springdale, and now lives in Little Rock.}

The post Where I Wish We Were appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I was inspired by your article today to write a note to you. I don’t usually do this sort of thing; I try to ignore politics since I hate it so much!  However, I find myself wanting to let you know how much I agree with you.  I’m neither conservative nor liberal – I’m pretty much in the middle, but I seldom find anyone else in that position.  There’s always another way to look at things, I believe, and we should always consider the other side (which doesn’t seem to be a common practice in this time). For instance, I am a devout Catholic who firmly believes that abortion is sinful.  I would never consider it myself and hope my children are the same. (I’ve had eight pregnancies and 9 children with my husband of 60 years who died in 2013.)

However, an experience I had as an assistant principal at Pine Bluff High School in the 60’s caused me to consider the other side.  My office had a sweet, smart, young girl as our monitor – 15 years old and a sophomore.  One afternoon as she was walking home from school, she was accosted by a man in the alley as she passed and was raped.  Humiliated and ashamed, she told no one, not even her mother.  Later on, she missed her period and told her math teacher in tears.  I drove her to the lab where her pregnancy was confirmed.

When we got back to the high school, I called her mother who promptly picked her up and took her for an abortion.  I hate to say it, but I was immensely relieved, because her life as she expected it was not ruined by this criminal experience.  Ever since then, I have hoped for another way to address this situation for others, and even though Catholic, I cannot protest for the complete end to abortion. 

I have been retired from education for 18 years and so grateful! Thank you for reading this email!

I so appreciate her perspective. It’s remarkable to me for many reasons. This person—a moderate, or centrist—feels like she is alone in the middle of the political spectrum. She’s elderly, married 60 years in 2013. A mother of 9. Devout Catholic. Highly educated; her signature included a doctorate. Retired educator. She witnessed this tragic thing in the 60s, before abortion would have been legal in Arkansas. Roe v Wade was decided in 1973.

I can relate to feeling lonely in the middle, although I believe there are many more of us than anyone realizes. I can relate to being married a long time, though not 60 years yet, and having a lot of children, though a lot for me is four. I can also relate to having spiritual reasons for hating abortion and believing I could not emotionally survive it myself.

As a fellow educator I understand seeing things, bearing witness at times to intimate details of people’s lives. My students have taught me a great deal about worlds as foreign to me, personally, as another planet: the worlds of poverty, abuse, and crime; worlds with very little agency or access or options. It is in my role as a teacher that I am constantly confronted with the heartbreaking nuances of things that might otherwise, from my limited experience, seem black or white.

We need this woman’s story. We need people like her at the table in Arkansas, weighing in on how we make policies that affect our citizens. We need the wisdom of her age and experience as an individual, mother, and school administrator.

The vision of Arkansas Strong is to amplify voices like hers. May this be the place all voices in Arkansas are heard. May this be the place this reader is not alone, but brings her unique strengths and finds others who strengthen her. May we be the table set for everyone to gather, together, and make Arkansas Strong.

The post Come to the Table appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

Baby Kerry

After our daughter Lora turned two, we decided that it was time to try for a second baby. We were fortunate and it wasn’t too many months later when the pregnancy test came back positive and we began planning the bedroom for child number two. Lora was a book lover and we had these illustrated children’s books based on the books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Each one started with listing the members of the family—Pa, Ma, Mary, Laura, Baby Kerry and their good ol’ bulldog, Jack. As the pregnancy developed, Lora started referring to the baby growing in Mommy’s tummy as “Baby Kerry” and we often did the same.

Not quite midway through the pregnancy, my wife called me at work on a Thursday morning passing on a worrisome report from her doctor. Her maternal alpha fetal protein level was high—so high that the doctor wanted to repeat the test to check the accuracy of the results. I was in a pediatric oncology treatment team meeting where I filled the role of social worker. After the meeting, I contacted the medical library at the hospital where I worked to get some articles about what could happen with an elevated maternal alpha fetal protein level.

Us Among Them

The repeated level came back even higher and over the weekend we read the articles and were not comforted. The articles talked of neural tube defects, significant disabilities and even death of the baby. My wife and I were already challenged with living examples of what can go wrong in the development of a child in our jobs. Each month I met three or four new children diagnosed with cancer and my wife worked as a teacher in a preschool for children with a wide array of disabilities. Now we wondered if we would be joining the club of parents of children with disabilities or life-threatening illnesses. Would it now be “us” among the “them”?

Monday came and we moved to the next step of a level II ultrasound. I stared at the blurry screen looking for signs of anything. My wife could not see the screen but she could see tears in the eyes of the ultrasound technician who watched the screen and left the room to get the doctor. After looking himself, he assured us we had done nothing wrong but that our baby had anencephaly—our baby had and would have no brain and this condition was obviously not compatible with life. Our options were three—dilation and curettage, inducing labor and then delivery or continuing the pregnancy to term. We went home in shock, cried together and called our families and friends. The next day my wife began to have physical complications and we chose to induce labor and deliver.

I Know Why You’re Here

Wednesday night we packed and prepared to go to the hospital and we searched for words to explain to now three-year-old Lora about what was happening. We told her that the baby was sick and the doctor needed to get the baby out of Mommy’s tummy anticipating that the post-hospital conversation would be that the baby was too sick and the baby died.

Our pastor came to the house and we all sat on the floor with a few friends as she prayed with us and anointed our heads with oil and blessings for the experience to come. Arriving at the hospital on a cold winter night, I left my wife in our room and went down to complete admissions paperwork. In the elevator, a stranger saw me as a young man in a hospital where many babies are born and said to me, “I know why you’re here.” I tried to smile and nodded but thought, “You have no idea why I’m here.”

Song of Faith

Baby Kerry was born late the next morning. We didn’t know if it would be a boy or a girl but agreed that either way the name would fit (although the spelling would change). He was as big as my hand, burgundy colored with perfect hands and feet and missing a brain. As my wife took her well-earned sleep, I rocked and sang him songs that I had sung to our daughter—songs of faith that I had learned from my parents and grandmother.

His lungs were not developed enough for him to breathe but his tiny heart was beating and did so for about an hour and a half. Against my tendencies and history, the tears flowed freely as we shared our brief time together. I knew that there could be someone like me (in my professional life) in this hospital—someone who was called when bad things happened—but I did not want to share this experience and thankfully no one came.

Wonder in the Making

Kerry was cremated and we spread his ashes in the memorial garden at our church following a memorial service Sunday afternoon. Winter weather and icy roads almost kept family away but they made it to stand by and give witness. My wife and I read from a book of prayers in the service and asked that a baptismal song be sung. “See this wonder in the making, God’s ownself this child is taking…”

I heard this song again when I was back to work in the hospital. My family loved music and my parents knew many songs. Growing up it became habit to come up with a song to fit whatever was happening at the time. It was like continuously living in a musical. When I returned to the hospital, I was on call one night when a baby died. When the family expressed a desire for pictures to be taken of the baby, I walked down the hall and stairs to get the camera.

On my way back to their room, I became aware of the baptismal song playing in my head and I wondered how long it had been there. It reminded me of the dark humor of my unconscious when Kerry was born—then the song that came unbidden was from the Wizard of Oz as the scarecrow sings, “…if I only had a brain…”

Everything Reminds Us of Baby Kerry

In the spring, we planted a tree in the backyard in Kerry’s memory. While planting the tree I explained to Lora that the tree would remind us of Baby Kerry. Lora replied matter-of-factly, “Everything reminds us of Baby Kerry.”

Kerry was cremated and we spread his ashes in the memorial garden at our church following a memorial service Sunday afternoon. Winter weather and icy roads almost kept family away but they made it to stand by and give witness. My…
Share on X

It’s been twelve years since we said hello and goodbye in the same breath to Baby Kerry. Each year Lora and her four-year-younger brother, Noah, help put Snow Babies ornaments on the Christmas tree in Kerry’s memory. When someone asks how many children we have, I almost always answer “two” but in my mind, I’m thinking “two and a half.”

Not too long ago Lora asked if Kerry had lived would we have had Noah. Her memories of Kerry are few and fuzzy but her experience of Noah has been deep and affectionate. I replied that we had planned to have two children and so it was unlikely that we would have had more than two. She thought about this and replied that maybe it was a good thing, then, for otherwise we wouldn’t have Noah. Sometimes I wonder the same thing.

The post Everything Reminds Us of Baby Kerry (March for Life, Part II) appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

This is long and personal and about abortion—the termination of a pregnancy. Just so you know.

On a recent weekend in Arkansas and across the US, there were “Marches for Life” against abortion. It was also the 26th anniversary of one of the saddest and most painful times in the lives of Syd and me, as we held a memorial service for the baby we lost in mid-pregnancy. We lost the baby at that time because we chose to induce labor and birth before 20 weeks of pregnancy, before viability. We chose this because our baby’s life was not viable. He had anencephaly, which meant he developed without a brain. No brain, no viability, no survival, no life.

We were given the legal and medical options about how to respond to this situation, and for physical and mental health reasons, we chose the option to induce labor and birth. Legislators and the governor in Arkansas, seemingly a majority of the US Supreme Court, and those “marching for life” that weekend would all take away the choice that we made, the choice that was right for us and our family. These issues are personal for us.

I remember the first time I really confronted the issue of abortion. I was working as a medical social worker with a young couple whose baby was slowing dying from the consequences a fatal genetic condition. It was heartbreaking. In the midst of this experience over weeks and months, they discovered they were pregnant with a significant risk of this next baby having the same fatal genetic condition. I remember thinking that, if asked, there was no way that I or anyone else could tell them what the right thing to do was for them in their situation. This choice was appropriately theirs to make.

Over time, I’ve done much more thinking about the complexities of the choices surrounding abortion, and I could never join those “marching for life.” I do join them in wanting there to be fewer abortions, as I think most people from across the spectrum of opinions do. Most, if not all, abortions are human tragedies on some scale, and we should want to minimize human tragedies when we can. The question is how.

We actually know how to significantly reduce the number of abortions—provide more support for protected sex. This is where the most common anti-abortion stance breaks down for me. In it, all abortion or terminations of pregnancy are considered the killing of innocent life and the prevention of such killing should supersede all other considerations, often including the life and health of the one pregnant and whether or not the girl or woman was a victim of rape or incest. Strikingly, however, this concern for preventing the perceived killing of innocent life does not supersede the concern that more people will have protected sex. If protecting the killing of innocent life supersedes all concerns, then we should use every tool at our disposal to reduce abortions, which would mean more comprehensive sex education and accessible contraception, proven methods for avoiding pregnancy and reducing abortions. More sex education and accessible contraception are not, however, being advocated by most of those “marching for life,” and in fact, they are often vigorously resisted. As noted by many other observers, this stance suggests that opposition to abortion is twisted up in a sometimes greater opposition to people, especially women, having protected sex. Not an ethical approach that I can support.

I do wonder what that weekend’s marchers and speakers would say to Syd and me about our own human tragedy, the choices we made 26 years ago, and the choices they hope to take away for parents like us in the future. Part of me, frankly, feels indignation. How dare they take away our options for what would be best for our family. What good really would come from such restrictions for parents and families like us? For society? I don’t expect that people like us are much in the minds of the weekend’s marchers. Perhaps we just don’t fit the black and white, either/or thinking that will be proposed and cheered. Syd confronted an anti-abortion street protester with our story a few years ago. He wouldn’t believe that she was telling a true story. It didn’t fit his narrative. But our story was and is tragically true. And it was and is so sad. And it was right for us. If this right, at all levels, is taken away, it will be a huge preventable tragedy for so many families.

Part II to follow

The post March for Life appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

In 37 or so simple stories and a few sermons, Jesus paints a picture of the kingdom of God. We can call this picture The Gospel Story. His parables and sermons hold together. They have the ring of truth. They have a power that’s nowhere else. Jesus had what Simon Peter called “the words of eternal life.”

I grew up knowing the parables of Jesus before I knew much else. That’s because my father was a pastor. He preached every Sunday—and twice on most Sundays because we had Sunday night worship. Every time my father preached, I was there. Dad had a great love for Jesus’s parables. Well over half of his sermons were on the words of Jesus. I heard them over and over. I don’t remember getting tired of them because they opened to me a world that I loved—and I still love it.

Being a follower of Jesus is all about being a good neighbor.
Share on X

One of Dad’s favorites was the parable of the Good Samaritan, a story that demonstrated the meaning of being a good neighbor. This theme of neighborliness ran all thru Jesus’s teachings. It was in the story of the Rich Man and Lazarus…. the parable of the Great Judgment in Matt. 25…. the parable of the Rich Young Ruler… and the never-changing Golden Rule. These teachings and many others say that being a follower of Jesus is all about being a good neighbor.

Ears to Hear

In 1998 I attended a seminar that George Barna (a religious researcher) led at a church in Tulsa. Barna said two things that have stuck with me. First, his research has determined that fewer than 10% of Christians have a biblical world view. Think about that! Every week millions of professing Christians attend worship, sit thru Sunday school lessons, and engage in other religious observances, yet the vast majority of them have never really heard the Gospel Story. It has not taken root as a guiding force in their lives.

Second, Barna’s investigations into the ethical behavior of American Christians have revealed that conservative evangelicals (the group with which Barna himself identifies) are no more moral than the rest of society. That is, evangelicals are guilty of marital infidelity, substance abuse, domestic violence, and an array of other misdeeds at about the same rate as everyone else. In fact, in categories such as divorce their behavior is worse than average.

Barna’s findings seem to go together. A huge number of evangelicals, despite their loudly proclaimed religious allegiances, have never really heard the Gospel Story. It certainly isn’t the guiding force in their lives.

Good and Godly Neighbors

A good measure of any religion should be: What kind of neighbors does it create? Sadly, Christians have all too often not been good neighbors. In fact, there is much to suggest that way too many of today’s church people are very bad neighbors.

We can see this by looking at many of the state legislators in our nation who are passing measures that hurt people. The vast majority of these legislators are self-proclaimed Christians who claim to be doing God’s will. The test of this should be in how their actions affect others.

In about half of our states one of the biggest activities at present is gerrymandering. Its aim in almost all cases is very clear. It’s to minimize the voting strength of minorities and maximize the strength of the legislators and their political party. It’s to gain unfair political advantage. When such forces of racism and partisanship appear in society, it’s a sure sign that very bad neighbors are hard at work.

The banning of abortion is the really feel good issue among our legislators. They beam with satisfaction that they are “pro-life,” and they try to outdo each other in being the most pro-life. What they are doing in a great many cases is victimizing some of the most vulnerable people in our society. They show no sign of understanding the highly complicated physiology of pregnancy and childbirth. Some girls are pre-teen when they become pregnant. There are reports of pregnancy as early as age 9, and of course this is always under very undesirable circumstances. In many cases legislators don’t want to allow for any circumstances of pregnancies. They want to saddle women with 100% of the burden of every pregnancy. The men, who are equal partners in conception, often disappear into the night and never shoulder any responsibility. Many legislators want to enact the harshest penalties against pregnant women and their caregivers if they don’t obey their draconian laws. They want to strip women of any say in their healthcare and become dictators to medical professionals. Yes, we actually have neighbors who want to treat us this way.

The legislators about whom we’re talking (church people, remember), have more ambitions. They want to intrude into the lives of LGBTQ people. Once again, they act out of a combination of ignorance and mean spiritedness and with the smug assurance that they possess all truth and are on God’s side. They seek to block trans youth from receiving the medical care they so desperately need, and they want to discriminate against people on account of sexual orientation. Sadly, they have an insufficient knowledge of sexual orientation and of the Bible. They frequently quote the 6 or so passages in the Bible that appear to deal with same-gender sexual behavior. This matter is not as clear cut as they think. These passages present difficulties of interpretation that many Bible scholars have lifted up.

All Who Are Weary

One such scholar is David P. Gushee, who grew up among conservative evangelicals and became a Southern Baptist pastor. Gushee embarked on a long academic career and earned a Ph.D. in ethics. For many years he was not sympathetic to LGBTQ causes, but over time his views shifted due to his deepening knowledge of the Bible and the many personal relationships he formed. In 2014 he published Changing Our Mind, in which he broke with his earlier views and argued for full acceptance of LGBTQ Christians in the church. Gushee became convinced that these 6 passages in the Bible have been widely misinterpreted, and he deals with them point by point in his book. Gushee’s thought is readily accessible on YouTube. If you enter a search for his name, up will pop lots of lectures, sermons, and interviews that he has given over the years. Of special interest is his 11 minute talk, “You’re Hurting Me With Your Bible.” He details the journey has made on LGBTQ issues in the 34 minute lecture he gave at Elon University 6 years ago.

LGBTQ issues have been highly divisive among Christians. In recent years four of the larger mainline denominations have decided to fully accept LGBTQ people. It was a rocky journey in which these churches lost lots of members over the issue. The vast majority of churches in America continue to stigmatize and marginalize LGBTQ people in a variety of ways. Religiously affiliated people are significantly less accepting of LGBTQ people than are the rest of the population. This nonacceptance is highly concentrated in the more conservative religious groups.

Good Neighbors Show Grace

LGBTQ people share predictable struggles. They react to disapproval like we all do. They sometimes try to change. They ride a roller coaster of emotions as they try to come to terms with who they are (this was not a choice, remember) while knowing that they can never become what others wish them to be. They suffer from depression and thoughts of suicide. They dread the time of coming-out and being rejected. At the time of their greatest vulnerability, when they need good neighbors the most, they often don’t find them in their church or in their legislators or even in their families.

We could cover other controversial issues that involve similar dynamics. That’s because far too few people who occupy the pews in our churches have really heard the Gospel Story. Jesus’s message of extravagant love, acceptance, and grace is not the force that drives them. Their behavior is no more moral or commendable than the behavior of religiously non-affiliated people. In fact, it’s often worse. They are not good neighbors. They hurt other people, especially the most vulnerable. The most astounding thing of all is that they do what they do in the name of God.

Sandy Wylie is a retired United Methodist pastor living in Bella Vista.

The post Wanted: Good Neighbors appeared first on Arkansas Strong.

I grew up in Greenwood. I was a cheerleader with dreams of going to college right out of high school to get my LPN and someday having a family. The summer before my senior year, I met a man four years my elder. Against my parents’ rules I started dating him. I was seventeen years old and almost grown, so there wasn’t anything my parents could do to make me stop dating him, right? This man was twenty-one years old at the time, couldn’t keep a job, and still lived at home with his grandmother. My parents disagreed with our relationship, but I continued seeing him. Four months away from graduation, I found out I was pregnant. I was instantly excited about becoming a mother, but scared to tell my parents. I was okay with having to put my future dreams on hold until after I had the baby because I was going to have my very own family. I’d still get everything I ever dreamed of as a child, just a little out of the sequence.

The morning came for my very first doctors’ appointment. I was so overcome with emotion; I was so excited. The nurse came in to check my vitals and get my medical background, and then prepared me to check for the baby’s heartbeat. According to my calculations, I was approximately 12 weeks along, so there should be no problem finding the baby’s heartbeat, right? The nurse rolled the doppler across my stomach really slow for the longest ten minutes of my life. Still, no heartbeat.  The life was instantly sucked out of me. My eyes swelled up with tears. I knew the news was not good and I felt like I had lost everything in that moment of silence. The nurse went and got my doctor. Same thing. He rolled the heart doppler across my stomach and still no heartbeat. An ultrasound confirmed my worst fear: my baby was dead. I asked myself, “Why did this happen to me?” “Am I not a good enough woman to bear a child?” I felt myself sink into this very dark place. But it would not be long before I experienced yet another heartbreak.

When Hope Hurts… and Haunts

Nearing about four months after my first miscarriage, I found out I was pregnant again. I was terrified another one of my children would be taken away. My due date was March 18^th, 2006. After the first 3 months of my second pregnancy, I began to feel more hope. I found out it was a boy when I was twenty weeks along. Reality hit me; I was going to be a mother at eighteen years old. I was going to have this little, tiny human to care and provide for and I was overcome with excitement and joy. Our families were so excited for us. We had three different baby showers, such an outpouring of love and support for our precious little boy. I planned to name him Izyk.

My name is Jazmyne and my A.D.C. number is and forever will be 714429.

Everything in my life seemed to be finally falling into place. When I was about thirty-six weeks along, my doctor scheduled me to be induced on March 19^th, 2006. I remember it all so well. On Friday, March 16^th, 2006, I was sitting in the drive thru at Arvest Bank on Zero St. in Fort Smith, waiting to cash my last check before going on maternity leave. I felt my stomach ball up. It was weird. But I told myself I am a first-time mother, so what do I know? I went on about my evening in preparation of having my baby boy in just a few days. I woke up on Saturday, March 17^th, 2006, and it dawned on me that I had not felt my son move since I was in the drive-thru at the bank the day before. I ate a giant bowl of Coco Pebbles in hopes of making him move a little and thirty minutes later, still no movement. I tried to remain calm and called the doctor. I was told to get to Labor and Delivery as soon as possible. This was not normal.

“I knew it!” “WHY?” “What is wrong with me?” “Am I not good enough?” All of these thoughts were going through my head as I made my way to the hospital. I had a sliver of hope that maybe I was just overreacting, and my son was okay. His room was completely ready for him to come home. His crib was perfectly made with his Winnie the Pooh bedding, a rocking chair in the corner of his bedroom with a Winnie the Pooh throw blanket draped across the back of it, his diaper bag is packed with blankets and outfits for his newborn pictures. I just knew I was overreacting. I made the long-dreaded walk into the hospital and up the elevator. The nurses rushed me into the ultrasound room and helped me get my gown on. I felt like I was standing in the middle of a highway with traffic blowing by me going both directions. I heard commotion going on behind me, but I was stuck in this “twilight zone.” I felt like I was in a nightmare. This couldn’t be reality. But it was reality. My unborn son would not be coming home with us from the hospital. He did not make it. Once again, I sank even further into this dark whole of wondering, “WHY?”

This was rock bottom—and my chance to get free.

With not enough time to grieve the loss of my son, just five months later I found out I was pregnant again for the third time. Of course I was on edge the entire time. My doctor referred to a “High Risk” doctor in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I woke up every single day of this pregnancy with fear something might go wrong. I practically lived at the doctor’s office because every little thing scared me to death. With my history, my doctor decided to induce me two weeks early. He did not want to let me go full term. I agreed.

April 20, 2007, I welcomed my precious baby girl, Serenity, into this world at seven pounds seven ounces, with a head full of hair. This was the absolute best day of my life. I made a promise to myself to always remind my daughter that she has a big brother and another sibling that will watch over her and I for the rest of our lives.

The Power of Pain

Although I finally had my daughter, my first two pregnancies still haunted me. I knew there was something more I could have done. I had this doomed feeling that my daughter was not going to make it either once we brought her home. But as we settled in life was good and full. I was so happy except for a problem with my back, so I started seeing a family doctor to help with restless nights caused by the pain. I was only about twenty-one years old.

My first time seeing this doctor, I explained my back pain history and a little of my recent losses. He made me feel comfortable talking to him. I told him I was diagnosed with scoliosis when I was in the second grade. He got my parents medical history as well as mine. Without an x-ray, he sent me on my way with ninety pain pills. That was when my life took the  darkest turn.

---

As soon as I swallowed that first pill, I knew I was in love. How sick right? I fell in love with the feeling it gave me. I was able to clean, cook, work twelve hours a day, take care of my daughter, and act like I didn’t just…
Share on X

---

The addiction grew and grew and before I knew it, I was being arrested at my job for “Obtaining a Controlled Substance by Fraud” in 2010.

Addiction, Abuse, and Accountability

For two years, this doctor put me on one hundred and eighty hydrocodone (pain pill), soma (muscle relaxer), Xanax (anxiety medicine), phentermine (diet pill), and Ambien (sleeping pill).  I weighed one hundred and thirty pounds. This doctor gave me something for every excuse I used, without any further testing. I was in such a dark place at this time, so I abused everything he prescribed me. I never gave myself time to grieve the loss of my children. I numbed myself with those drugs.

I have learned my past does not and will not define the person I am now—a woman of strength and integrity who works hard every day to beat the statistics of addiction.

I got charged with “obtaining a controlled substance by fraud” because I deliberately went into my doctor’s office, lied to him, told him I lost my prescriptions when in fact I did not, and he rewrote them for me. For two years I got away with lying to my doctor, and he would just do the same thing for me even though I was in his office three to four times a month telling him I lost my prescriptions. He knew I did not lose my prescriptions. That was neither here nor there.

The day I got arrested for that felony charge, my entire life was turned upside down. My daughter’s dad took custody of her and I had nothing to live for anymore. I went from toxic relationship to toxic relationship. I honestly wanted to die. This went on for a total of 8 years before I hit rock bottom.

The charge that brought me to my knees was in 2016. My boyfriend and I were doing drugs together, and he had a connection for heroin. That was one drug I had never done before. We just received our income tax refund and had a large amount of cash on us. We took a long drive to meet up with the heroin dealer, and then we came back to Fort Smith and got a hotel room.

We stayed on a bender for an entire four days. After we ran out of money, we went back to his mom’s house, and we still had a little heroin left. He and I went into the bathroom at his mom’s, got high one more time, and I passed out standing up.

I couldn’t believe I allowed myself to get to this point.

Rock Bottom

His mother barged into the bathroom. I came to in an angry rage. To this very day, I do not remember everything that took place those four days in the hotel room or at that house. It was all a fog. The next thing I remember is four cop cars racing down the road with their sirens on making their way to our driveway and slamming on the breaks with their red and blue lights flashing. One of the officers put my hands behind my back, read me my rights, and asked me if I had anything that would poke or cut him. I assured him I had no weapons but I had two syringes in the back pocket of my jeans. The officer then asked what the syringes would test positive for, and I told him heroin. This was rock bottom—and my chance to get free.

I had allowed these drugs to imprison me. I gave them all my power, living to get high. I did my best to try to stay high, or make myself so high, I wouldn’t wake up. I woke up angry every single day because my intention was to not be able to wake up. By some power greater than myself, I knew I needed to escape the people I had surrounded myself with in the past eight to ten years, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it on my own. I agreed with my attorney to go to prison.

September 14^th, 2016, will stay with me forever. On that day I surrendered to my disease, signing my own prison sentence. With tears rolling down my face in humiliation and fear, I couldn’t believe this was actually my life. I couldn’t believe I allowed myself to get to this point. I had dreams of going to college and providing a better life for myself and my children.

---

All I was trying to do was numb the pain of losing my children I wanted so badly. In return, I lost everything that meant the most to me, and that was my daughter.
Share on X

---

Free At Last

My name is Jazmyne and my A.D.C. number is and forever will be 714429. I did a short three-month stint in Newport, Arkansas, at the maximum-security prison for women. Upon my release, I stayed focused and grounded. In the last almost five years, I have been able to pay off my debt to society. I was released from parole six months early due to my ability to stay on course and abide by the rules and regulations the state put on me upon my release from prison.

Best of all, I have regained full custody of my daughter. I have started my second year in college and gotten remarried to a wonderful man.

I have learned my past does not and will not define the person I am now—a woman of strength and integrity who works hard every day to beat the statistics of addiction. I am so grateful for my beautiful life I get to live today.

 

The post Free At Last appeared first on Arkansas Strong.