purity


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Two pink lines, stark against the white backdrop inside the clear plastic screen.

For those who watch that second line turn a vivid hue of pink, a realization settles in that life is about to forever change. The little screen that indicates whether or not the test is positive is often greeted by bright smiles, perhaps a shrill scream of excitement, and sometimes tears of wonder and joy.

 But what of the teenager behind a tightly locked bathroom door with tears streaming down her cheeks as she watches the results of that white stick on the sink confirm her worst fear? She’s pregnant, and now what is she going to do? She needs to call her boyfriend. How is he going to react? What are her parents going to say? Should she tell them? How will she finish school? How can she expect to live her life now with a baby to interrupt her dreams and plans?

Abortion: the simple answer to all her questions.

She learned at school that so long as it was safe, sex was okay—in fact it was good. Her peers taught her that virginity was only for the totally strange or extremely ugly. And her community offered solutions to unwanted pregnancies. What nobody ever taught her was that the little life in her womb was precious, created on purpose, for a reason. Nobody ever told her that when God formed the tiny embryo nestled securely beneath her beating heart He declared, “it is good.” She didn’t know that it was more than a positive pregnancy test and the option for abortion.

Everyday unmarried girls in our world are faced with those two pink lines. What they so often don’t realize is that there’s a God in heaven who put that life inside of them. Satan knows that life has a purpose, and that God created it with meaning, and you can bet he doesn’t like that. So he whispers lies into their ears and tags their pregnancies with words like shame, an inconvenience, a terrible crisis, a mistake, unwanted. The pressure to end it is great.

Maybe you think I’m radical, but that which God calls good I have no right nor would I dare to call it illegitimate, a crisis, and unwanted.

Unplanned pregnancies are more than just an embryo. They call for more consideration than picketing at the abortion clinic. They require more than space on the endless shelves of politics and cases in the courtroom. What we may term an accident was actually created on purpose. Can we deny God the intentions He planned for that life? Can we attempt to thwart the love He invested in that child?

Life is precious because God created it in His own image and He called it good. Life is precious because God gave it to us; it is a gift.

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Women. Emotional. Two words that happen to often coincide with each other.

My emotions would play tricks on me! I’d over analyze everything little thing a guy friend would do! I’d go over and over and over again what he said, what he did, how he looked at me, how he interacted with me, and when I would be with him again (This normally included me trying to figure out how I could make sure we’d spend time together!).

Sound familiar? For those of us who are single, there’s a set of emotions that dream, wish, want and… lust. Learn where victory resides by reading the rest of the above excerpted article: Being an Emotional Woman (by Heather Paulsen, author of the book: Emotional Purity: An Affair of the Heart). 

Feelings are futile. Do not seek them out and allow your emotions to play with your heart and dictate your actions. 

 ◊ I would like to add as a side note that there are two extremes to this issue. Lust is a prowling monster in our society, always prevalent and grasping. I have observed countless godly young ladies recognize this danger, and in a quest to thwart it in their lives, they overcorrect. They have allowed their emotions to become numb and their dreams, aspirations and endeavors become misplaced and extra-biblical. Perhaps in the future we can cover this issue.

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The unprecedented comedy was inspired by a pregnancy hormone otherwise known as “nesting instinct”. The home had already been renovated that morning, flowers had been transplanted into pots and an old rusty wagon that afternoon while the rocks decorating the snake-infested beds around the house had been rearranged to impeccable satisfaction.

And now, suddenly it was a family emergency to clean the Pontiac Montana.

While the pregnant one cleared out hidden nooks and crannies and the two tots disected the sacks of trash, I was handed a rag and a bottle of Fantastik to scrub out the rubber lining of the back window hidden behind the plastic interior walls of the automobile. Every possible hiding place for dust to immigrate to was attacked with vim and vigor and thoroughly purged. The germ content within the merry rig was reduced by about 100%, give or take a few decimals. We were creating a safer environment for the newborn who was on the brinks of entering the bustling family.

A visit to the local carwash was instated, as well as a thorough vacuuming just as soon as we could get the vehicle scrubbed. While tackling the grime hidden beneath the seats the thought crosses my mind, Just my luck, we’ll be washing the outside windows before we make our stop at the carwash… “Just to be sure!” as Courtney would say. I chuckled at my own silly little joke, crawled out from behind the seats and there was another bottle of cleaning solvent, a roll of paper towels and the words, “Let’s wash the outside of the windows too before we leave, just to be sure they get clean.”

There’s no use arguing with my pregnant sister. Even if I know it’s futile to scrub what will be mechanically scrubbed with intense pressurized suds and water in a matter of moments, she will not understand. If I don’t scrub the windows, she will, and then I will feel guilty for not helping even in the midst of my supreme knowledge.

I scrubbed the windows.

Enroute to the carwash a couple blocks up the street, we pulled into the gas station. Courtney jumped out, grabbed a windshield sponge, and gestured to the one at the next pump for me to employ. Apparently we were scrubbing windows again. Yep. Once again we applied the suds to the windows and rearview mirrors with all the muscles we could afford, before the actual drive through the turbo-clean carwash.

Like I expected, the carwash was more thorough than we could ever be. Even the spots too tough for our own physique were easily removed by the pressurized jets of water. The van was clean and gleaming. The external scrubbing we put into it didn’t have a speck of a hint of anything to do with its now sparkling status.

I can laugh at my sister. Being pregnant had a funny effect on her. However, I can’t laugh too hard without laughing at myself. How many times have I over exerted myself in trying to purify my soul and bring peace to my heart when there’s a Cross I can go to for complete cleansing and forgiveness? Where the miracle of Love can turn my scarlet sins to pure white? My effort is all in vain. No amount of scrubbing on my part can hold a candle to the powers of the fountain at Calvary.

Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;
Though they are red like crimson, they shall be as wool. 
Isaiah 1:18