DIOR ORIGINALS!
DIOR
ORIGINALS! by Frances K. Van
Mil
I remember
my mother, a trained occupational therapist who had worked with mental patients
with an eminent psychiatrist, telling me when I was a little girl that babies
in the womb could hear and feel things, and even be sensitive to the emotions
and moods of the mother. She said that
it was good to talk and sing to them and play soft, beautiful music. The womb,
she told me, was a safe place for babies to grow physically and feel
loved. Pregnancy was supposed to be the
most joyful time in a woman’s life, preferably under the protecting bond of
marriage, with a happy, healthy, smiling baby the magnificent result, and the
beginning of a life-long family love relationship.
I discovered, when I was joyfully
pregnant with my two babies, just how safe that womb with its bag of amniotic
fluid could be. Once, in his sleep, my
kind, loving husband, ironically dreaming he was defending the baby against an
attacker, sharply kicked me in the stomach!
Although I had a bruise, the baby suffered no harmful effects from the
incident.
Another time, I fell on some
concrete and immediately went to the emergency department requesting an x-ray to
see whether the baby was harmed. The
presiding doctor refused to expose the baby to radiation.
“He’s still kicking you, so he’ll be just fine,” the
doctor said. He was, thanks to his Designer
“bubble wrap” – the bag of amniotic fluid.
I know that there are all sorts of
reasons for abortion. I am gentle
towards such human desperation. However,
I would like to ask just one question:
What has happened to the Designer’s
plan of a mother’s womb being the safest place in the world for a vulnerable, developing
baby?
The Holy Bible, the throbbing heartbeat of God, says
in Psalm 139 that each baby into which He breathes life is a “Dior Original”- a
proud creation, never to be repeated, imprinted with the seal and soul of its
Designer for His purposes.
My frame was
not hidden from you when I was being formed in secret and intricately and
curiously wrought as if embroidered with various colours in the depths of the
earth, a region of darkness and mystery.
Your eyes
saw my unformed substance, and in Your book all the days of my life were
written before they ever took shape, when as yet there was none of them.
Psalm 139, 15, 16(Amplified).
Whose babies are we messing with?
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