“He who controls the media controls the culture” Ted Baehr.
Granted this short video is actually MovieGuide’s Christmas Greeting, but please take a look. MovieGuide is a Christian family business currently located in Los Angeles. Their purpose is to offer helpful insight into the media and especially the movie industry. More importantly MovieGuides’ goal is to ultimately guide others to the saving grace of Jesus Christ. Hats off to Dr. Baehr & family and their much needed ministry!
“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things” Philippians 4:8 (KJV).
I’m not even sure what title is suitable for this post. I just finished watching the movie entitled “October Baby” on Pure Flix. Merciful God, how well written, how well written. My heart aches for all those directly affected by the abortion insanity, the lies, the shame, the heartache, the fallout which will rear its ugly head one day, some day.
I recall being about eleven years old, a naive and well protected from the world little girl. My family was visiting the state fair and we came upon a booth which I will never forget. Looking back it must have been about the summer of 1972. Roe vs Wade was not something I even had a clue was being fought in the Supreme Court of the United States. Thankfully I was an innocent little girl. I remember the brochure, the little feet, and the image of an unborn child. I knew something was not right and I knew I could never be a part of something so heinous. Looking back I am so thankful these were my formative and very impressionable years, my silent decision was set in my heart that summer afternoon.
However,…while I am thankful to have never, ever even considered abortion, I did bear the guilt of driving a college friend to an abortion clinic. Oblivious to what was occurring just within those closed doors of the clinic, I sat in the waiting room, college textbooks in hand. It would be years before I realized just what I had not prevented my friend from going through with. It would be years of self-condemnation for my naive yet free-thinking college girl attitude.
“October Baby” is that someday. “October Baby” has no graphic clips of the horrors of the murders of innocent children. It has no need. “October Baby” takes a gentle peak into the emotional ripple effect of such a decision. It also presents closure, closure first found in pealing away the layers of truth thought to be securely locked away to protect, but alas only destroys. “October Baby” offers up the ultimate closure necessary, only found through forgiveness.
“October Baby” is not about blowing up abortion clinics, condemning those involved. “October Baby” is about the truth, the truth which offers freedom, the freedom which begins with forgiveness. It is more than a “must see” movie experience. “October Baby” is understanding and healing, reevaluating, re-calibrating, starting anew. “October Baby” is a matter of the heart.
“Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive and ye shall be forgiven” Luke 6:37 (KJV).
Photo Credit: Andreas Wohlfahrt
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Lately I have been spending a bit of time trying to come to terms with the definitions of guilt and shame and just exactly how they are different. In my recent post entitled “Shame” I mention in his book entitled “Angry Men and The Women Who Love Them” Paul Hegstrom states the difference between the two is that “Guilt is about your behavior. Shame is about you”. Shame attacks the person and damages the heart, often permanently.
Several years ago I remember reading a Parade Magazine article by Dr. Joyce Brothers entitled “Shame May Not Be So Bad After All” where she discussed the concepts of guilt and shame. Up until that point I really had not given either much thought. And, I would have to say I really thought they meant the same thing. Dr. Joyce Brothers pointed out how “Shame became an accepted way of making kids conform to society’s standards while ignoring the bad feelings it could inflict”.
We have all heard those horror stories of how a mean old teacher from days gone by purposely embarrassed a student in front of his classmates, causing public humiliation, thus assuring said behavior would not ever occur again. In her article Dr. Joyce Brothers made reference to probably the most famous and one of the most horrific experiences that could have happened. And certainly such tactics worked well, not only causing shame but fear in the fellow classmates, fear of the same humiliation should they be caught in a similar embarrassing situation in the near future.
She also pointed out “Shame seems to be even more powerful than guilt, though the two emotions are linked.” So what is the real difference between guilt and shame? Guilt is realizing “that you have done something wrong”. Okay, this makes sense. And shame then “is feeling that there’s something wrong about you.” And this is why using shame is damaging . Shame is meant to humiliate to emotionally control. Shame does not teach and instruct but destroys the self-esteem while creating fear.
Remember a major part of rearing children is that of instructing and disciplining in order to develop their character and behavior. I think guilt is a driving force behind character building and integrity, guilt is what properly handled punishment is all about. Guilt as Dr. Joyce Brothers pointed out is “Good Shame” as it “is an experience that is instructive”. In other words it is teaching a child to take responsibility, to feel responsible for their behavior, it encourages the person to want to do good and become a better person. It is to teach the child to be responsible for their behavior and how there are consequences when they are not. It encourages realizing the need to try harder to change for the better. Even as adults we need correcting and instruction as these are beneficial to our learning and growing and improving ourselves. Rules are an essential part of society to make life as fair as is possible for all involved.
The real difference between guilt and shame is that of not humiliating but lovingly uplifting and truly wanting to help improve the character of the person. It all comes down to the intentions, well meant or not. Good shame or guilt says hey, you can do better and let me help you understand how.
Photo Credit: Canva
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I met my wonderful husband nearly thirty-eight years ago. Rereading letters my grandmother wrote to me while I was away at college makes it feel so fresh in my mind. Falling in love is amazing!
In one letter she writes “Then the most rewarding and most wonderful of all, in your last year of college-Darrin, comes into your life. I’m sure every girl dreams of just the ‘right man’ and I’m sure every mother, grandmother, and special friends also hope and pray for just the ‘right man’ to come into their special child’s life, special-as you girls have been to me-and I do thank God for Darrin in your life. You are both very special young people-When I got a letter that went something like this “Darrin has so many fine qualities-and none of the other guys I’ve dated can even compare to him!” I thought “I think this is it”-and then I came to know him-how wonderful it all is. God watches over and guides those He loves-you know”.
She continues “I’m sure there are many girls in the world who wish they had what you have-Nothing is more wonderful in a woman’s life than knowing she has the love and respect of a fine man-May sound queer for an old woman of seventy-four to say, but that I believe and know from experience; my mother always said a woman who was not “what she should be” had ruined the life of many a man. And I am happy in the fact that you do love and respect Darrin so much and that is good! He is what I call a “Christian Gentleman” and that covers about everything, and you are a beautiful girl, I mean character, habits, thoughts, etc.,…I am so proud of both of you-you both seem mature which is a quality I like”.
What more can I say? My husband is the most amazing and wonderful man I know. And I agree with my grandmother referring to him as being a “Christian Gentleman”. A fine man indeed!
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While Grandma, being my mother’s mother, seemed to worry about her two grown children and us six grandchildren, it certainly was understandable. Grandma lost her first baby while giving birth.
It was during the Great Depression. She and Grandpa had met, fallen in love, and married. Mother once mentioned, while of course it was never discussed, how her parents might have had to get married. Whether this is true or not, we may never know and honestly find it irrelevant. They were in love and lived very happily together for over fifty years. My aunt (who I am blessed to share middle names with not only her, but with my grandmother) was my grandmother’s first of three children.
While I chose to give birth at home, it was simply the norm when my grandmother gave birth. And, while I chose to go through my pregnancy and birth of our precious baby boy without any medication or ultrasounds, my grandmother also experienced the same. Many details of my grandmother’s three pregnancies will forever be unknown. Yet the death of her first baby will forever remain in my heart.
I remember my family visiting my grandparents one Sunday afternoon, something we always looked forward to. This particular Sunday afternoon was no different. I was about seven or eight years old at the time. We loved going upstairs in their old farmhouse, visiting the mysteries still tucked away in my mother’s and uncle’s long forgotten bedrooms. Grandpa would occasionally open up a very large and very old trunk in which he kept such things as postcards and photos from long ago, bringing them downstairs for all to see. This afternoon he showed us a photo of a newborn baby in a tiny little casket. And this was the afternoon we children learned we had an aunt, my grandmother’s first child.
It wasn’t an awkward or dark discussion, but warm and peaceful. I felt nothing but love for my grandparents and for her, this aunt whom I very quickly came to love. It just seemed an appropriate time for my grandparents to introduce us children to a family member we had not yet met. Granted it would be years before Mother would share more details of her older sister’s birth and passing, a sister she and my uncle never met, a sister nonetheless.
Having given birth to a beautiful baby boy, my Mother’s Day baby, and then many years later, losing our precious daughter in miscarriage, I have often wondered just how my grandmother dealt with the loss of her first baby. I also can’t help but wonder how she felt with her pregnancies and births of my uncle and my mother. Her seeming to be a bit of a worrier when it came to her adult children and us grandchildren makes so much sense now. I wouldn’t consider it a case of her being a worrier, but of her knowing the loss of a child causing her to be a bit more protective of the rest of us, knowing how precious each child is and how fragile life can be. I would call it a grandmother’s protective love.
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I was rummaging through old cards and letters I didn’t even realize my parents still had. I came upon a letter I had written to Mother on her birthday. I really don’t remember writing this letter. I do however, remember being single and a college student at the time.
I have read and reread this letter over the last couple days. I’ve shed many tears, tears being released by all the memories which are coming back to me. And I wanted to share what I wrote to her with you. Many of you are blessed to have such a mother. Many of you may not be. Please remember though, we all have the potential to be this type of mother. It may not be to our own children even, but there is someone out there who surely is in need of your mothering, your unconditional love. Enjoy!
Dear Mother, There aren’t enough opportunities to express the thoughts that occur in the passing of my day. But as I struggle to mature into the person whom you, Dad, and God desire me, I find myself ‘impressioning’ a very beautiful person-that person is you. When you were my age, I was only occurring. Being a mother is very special and my ultimate goal is to be a good mother and wife and I know that I will look back at the manner in which you and Dad reared us. For now though, the Lord is leading me elsewhere, I only pray that I am interpreting his will correctly. His will is all I desire. My life is so confusing, I become frightened, and goof thing up. I wonder how and WHY God would use me-or even want to use me!! But I look at Moses, for one and how doubtful he was. God certainly used him. Life is difficult to understand, but having a Christian home and family is something I am thankful for and do find a security in. Never change, just keep getting better! And pray for me. I know you don’t always agree with the ways I do things, but take those things with a grain of salt. Mother, I just want to wish you a very Happy Birthday and thank you for being someone whom I can impression myself after. Love you always.
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At our first meeting I recall my future husband being very quiet, not saying too much. As our encounters continued I was taken by his deep voice, though I really don’t recall actually being aware of its charm until a few weeks later. We had both been invited by the same person; an older man now deceased to listen to a guest speaker at the local junior college. Neither of us was aware this older man was a mutual friend. Had he invited us both hoping we would meet at this lecture? Possibly.
I had had to stay late at the fabric store where I was working and as a result the lecture had already started by the time I arrived. Assuming no one was noticing my entrance I quickly took a seat at the front of the room. I do recall the name of the guest speaker, but I will admit I remember very little about what he had to say. At the conclusion of his lecture, the guest speaker took questions from the audience.
Being in the front row I could not always see the person asking the question. While I don’t recall what he asked, I do recall recognizing his voice! Near the back of the room a deep and smooth voice very quickly got my attention. He later admitted he noticed me when I found a front row seat. Well, actually he confessed he noticed my “backside” to be exact.
I have always loved the sound of my husband’s voice. True, it sometimes gets a bit high sounding, like whenever he is letting himself go or whenever he is frustrated or irritated. And I may not always like what he has to say, but I do love to hear his deep and smooth voice just the same. I love having conversations with him, and maybe even more so enjoyable when over the phone because I can really focus on listening to his voice.
After the lecture, I invited him to a party at my apartment. I really didn’t give much thought as to whether or not he would come. Our gatherings were quite often very casual, just a group of college friends enjoying being together. I guess I figured if he was interested he would stop by some time during the evening. Truth be told I was a bit surprised when the next morning my roommate handed me the phone and said Darrin was on the line. Taking the phone I responded to my roommate by saying “Darrin, Darrin who?”
Now, before you decide I was a bit cold or worse, I must confess I was still sleeping when he called. And I really don’t remember why he called or what we talked about that morning. I do know he did come to the party and I do know I enjoyed listening to him talk. No, I really didn’t just enjoy listening to him talk, I was smitten by his voice and I still am.
p.s. My husband’s name has been changed to protect his innocence.
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Straight up, I miss my mommy and am not sure I will ever stop missing her. She passed into glory on the morning of May 25th of this past year. Despite her failing health, she remained her sweet self to the very end. Less than two days before she passed, we talked by phone. Still her sweet and encouraging self, yet she admitted she was tired. She hadn’t said this to me before and I knew it was time.
While she was blessed to pass at home on the farm as she had wanted, just a few weeks prior I had had the opportunity of spending the night with her in her hospital room. It was a very, very special time we shared together. It was as if we had gone back in time and were both young again.
Dad and Mother were twenty and eighteen respectively when they married. By the time Mother was twenty-six, she had four children to nourish with her love. Though I am the second of four children, being the oldest daughter I have come to realize just how fortunate I was to have had her to teach me by her example just how to be a wife and mother, and to care for a home. I have often said Mother would have been an amazing kindergarten teacher, a natural and gifted teacher for sure. I am so grateful to have been her private student.
And so, the night we spent together in her hospital room was a night I am so thankful to have experienced with her. While I was tired and found myself catnapping only to be awakened by her wanting to talk, I enjoyed every minute of our conversations. It was as if she was in her early thirties and I was a young girl. We talked of memories from each of our childhoods. We talked about our each dating and falling in love with our husbands.
It was fun to be able to discuss topics which would never have been possible all those years ago. And, to discuss the past not through my childhood eyes, but through my now adult eyes. And yes, how interesting to be able to see the past in a full circle view, now knowing what I could not have been able to understand as a child.
She seemed open to my asking about a particular fear she dealt with. We children knew of this fear, actually a very common fear many people have, the fear of water. While I knew of an occurrence during her early twenties which would have left anyone traumatized, I discovered during our midnight hour chatting of how her fear of water took hold of her as a small child.
What also came to light was just how much her own mother’s fear caused her fear to develop. Mother nearly drowned as an eight year old little girl. Her mother, my grandmother, helplessly witnessed this incidence. And while my grandmother seemed to worry not just about her own children, but we grandchildren as well, hearing my mother retelling the story, made it clear my grandmother’s fear of losing her baby girl had more of an impact on my mother than that of her own experience, the actual seconds of her own being under water.
While I am not sure whether Mother realized it or not, her retelling of her near drowning incidence was told based on the perspective, the fear, she saw on her own mother’s face that afternoon. I have wondered since, had my grandmother’s facial expression been different, would my mother have developed a fear of water? Being a mother myself, I totally understand my grandmother’s heartfelt emotions as she watched her little girl going under. Any mother who loves her own children certainly understands. This is what a mother is all about. This is what a mother is made of. This is my mother’s love.
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My parents met as a result of Dad carrying out groceries at the local Kroger. I can’t say I really know too many of the details. I do hope to have the opportunity of hearing them tell more about their courtship days. I do know Mother’s mother sold eggs to the grocer and of course Dad just happened to be the young man who carried out my grandmother’s groceries.
Despite another young man threatening to run down my very young future dad with his souped-up pickup truck, he continued to court my very young future mother. Funny thing, this hotheaded young man who boldly made such threats, would later become the husband of one of our all-time favorite high school teachers. And interestingly enough, they did not have children. Knowing all this I have often felt grateful my mother married my dad! How the mind of a child truly works!
I do know my parents were both very young, both straight off the farm, and both wanted nothing more than to return to the farm and to raise a family together. Despite the hardships of the small family farm, they have been able to do just that.
My parents were married in 1959. I am certain they have not spent more than a dozen or so nights apart over the years. Remember the sixties when mothers were expected to recuperate in the hospital after the birth of a baby? Of course now my parents have both had surgeries and other health issues which have required overnight hospital stays. They both have really good attitudes concerning their health.
Just as I tell my wonderful husband from time to time I tell Dad, he too is crotchety! And it’s okay, he enjoys the attention. I realize part of this crotchetiness is due to his upbringing, but I think it is mainly due to the fact he has severe hearing loss.
As a boy of about eight he fell against the door of a root cellar damaging one ear and it seems no one realized the severity of the fall. Certainly working around farm machinery all his life has also negatively affected his ability to hear. We just learned to live with this growing up; the television was always too loud for most of us.
However, the real damage occurred a few years ago when he became violently ill, vomiting incessantly. It seems there had been a major outbreak of mosquitoes and he contracted viral encephalitis, which resulted in total loss of hearing in the opposite ear. I’m certain he has simply adapted to not being able to fully participate in conversations. And I’m certain he wished he could.
Mother on the other hand has diabetes and as a result has been gradually losing her eyesight. This has been a challenge for her as she has always sewed, crocheted, and cooked. And though she can still partially see, I expect the real disappointment, though she can still safely hold them in her arms, is she can’t really, really look into the eyes of her great grandchildren. She so wants photos of us and our families hung in their new home, but…
And now I find myself watching my parents, observing how they are functioning, something I really never did before. They have a very large television. Mother can see blurred images. The volume is up as high as it will go. If Mother misses something, Dad explains what he sees. If Dad misses something, then Mother explains what she hears. This has become their routine and amazingly seems to work for them.
Dad has had to take on a lot of the domestic role which was traditionally Mother’s. Of course he still seeks her counsel on just about everything, as was always the case between them. I have never doubted his grasping the value of having Mother as his partner for life. I can’t help but be concerned for the future, one living without the other.
They have been a team from the moment they pledged their wedding vows. And even though age and health issues are causing their life to become very simplified and extremely routine, they seem happy, contented, and very much still in love. I will forever be grateful for the stability and beautiful example of their unconditional and totally devoted love they share. Dad zips up mother’s jacket. She holds his hand as he guides them out the door. This is what marriage is all about. This is true love.
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I really can’t recall ever not having a cat. My first cat, Pepper, a black calico was born when I was three and had litters and litters of kittens over the years. She was a kitten belonging to Fluffy. And, as is the case on many farms, cats run free and reproduce almost as often as rabbits. One of Pepper’s kittens was Caramel, a white calico. And, one of Caramel’s kittens was la petite Caramel, also a white calico. By this time I must have been studying French.
My dad’s mother always had cats, all pure white. I preferred the darker fur, especially tiger stripe. Cats are usually good mousers. I’m certain this is why farmers are often okay with having so many cats on the loose. However, unless there are children, cat lovers by nature, these farm cats are often not accustom to being handled.
Growing up we really weren’t suppose to have animals in the house. We did though. Matter of fact, Caramel gave birth to a litter of kittens while we soundly slept one night, right under my sister’s bed! And even though mother cats keep a pretty close eye on their kittens, especially until the kitten’s eyes are open, our mother cats even occasionally gave birth while we children watched. Absolutely amazing!
I do recall though, watching the mother cat carry her kittens one at a time, her teeth clinched at the nape of their little necks, as she transported them to the south end of the barn. This was a safe place from us and fun training ground for the kittens, a bed of wild lavender, purple and white clover. In no time it seemed, she would lead them back across the drive to the lean-to shed and our anxious, loving little hands.
What I did not realize was Dad “never really cared for cats”. Wow! All those years growing up I never knew this until just a few years ago when he and Mother were visiting us. Two of our cats were rarely ever seen by anyone but us. Trixie, however, was a people cat, very curious and had a calm kind of courage about her. In no time at all she somehow discovered Dad. Brazenly curious she intentionally perched on the edge of the round table, eye level with Dad, as he sat in the Queen Anne wing chair right beside it. I held my breath for a second wondering just what might happen during this encounter. I warned Dad as he put forth his hand to pester her that she was not declawed. Fortunately no altercations; blood or otherwise occurred. Oddly enough this was the first time Dad had ever mentioned his disinterest in cats. Who knew?
A few months later we had opportunity for an extended visit with my parents on the farm. Of course, our three cats came with us. Before we came to visit I discussed our cats with them. I wanted them to understand that our cats never go outdoors and are truly part of our family. I needed to be sure they really would be okay with our cats in their home and that they too would respect our cats’ needs, especially understanding how they were never to be let outside. Two of our cats do not have their front claws. And besides they have always been indoor cats. Especially considering their ages (Trixie being sixteen, Heidi and Megan both nine) it would simply be too much for them to even accidentally be let outside on the farm. Mother and Dad discussed my concerns. Mother said yes, they were fine with the cats just as long as I “take care of them”.
It was fun to observe my parents as they interacted with our cats. With Mother’s vision being severely impaired I sometimes wondered if she only thought she was talking to Trixie and not an inanimate object. It was easy to see she really liked cats which is probably why we were allowed to have so many cats during our childhood, and why it never really was a big deal when they occasionally somehow did end up inside the house.
Dad was the fun one to watch with our cats, especially Trixie. Our son adopted her when he was five and she was only eight weeks old. She very easily fit inside his little Winnie the Pooh ball cap. My husband said our son cried when the adoption agency explained how he could not take her home for another week, surgery and shots, etc.,…To say Trixie was spoiled by all three of us would certainly be a true statement, but a choice we freely made. Our cats have brought us so much joy, it only seems fitting to spoil them a bit.
Trixie has always done whatever she pleases whenever she pleases. And with her advancing in age we really have no business thinking we were going to now begin teaching an old cat new tricks; so to speak. Just the same after years of letting her and her alone demand to be given a drink from the bathroom faucet, we figured this would be a good opportunity to discontinue doing so. The tiny surface area of our bathroom sink in our cape cod was slightly slanted and with her aging, occasionally she would slip and fall. Needless to say Trixie continued to jump up on the bathroom counter at my parents’ home and would patiently wait in hopes someone might oblige her. We didn’t give in, though I’m not so sure about Dad.
One morning I heard her meowing. Thinking she was waiting for me to open the bedroom door, I quickly called out to her. To my surprise Dad answered my call and said she was with him, with him in the bathroom! I have yet to ask just what was going on in there and maybe I won’t ask. At any rate, cats are very independent and will do as they please whenever it pleases them. Their independent behavior is a little baffling to Dad as he often asked me just why my cat is doing what she is doing. Cats are cats and have their own ways just like any other animal. So, Dad would continue to ask me and I would continue to give the same response each time. “Why does your cat drink out of the toilet? Why does your cat drink out of the flower pot? What’s your cat doing in there?” She’s a cat, Dad. This is just what cats do.
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