Heartbeats

Fall 2018

I have had pregnancies pleasantly surprise me, that were prayed for, that came to fruition with healthy babies I then pulled toward my heart right after their birth. I have also had a pregnancy end suddenly. I have waded through that grief of loss like so many other women, adrift in isolation and disappointment.

I have received basic health services from Planned Parenthood while I was underinsured. Later, I volunteered at Planned Parenthood organizing supplies, sitting with patients, seeing lives changed by affordable and accessible healthcare like Pap smears, breast exams, and birth control. I watched Catholic nuns with women after abortion procedures, quietly doting on them with heating pads, juice boxes, and animal crackers. It is gentle and sacramental and heartbreaking. They hold space for every story unspoken, every tear shed, every body in the midst of death and resurrection.

I have been sexually assaulted, laid bare by a hospital rape kit and humbled by clothing torn and stolen hand towels. I have felt my own heart stop or become numb to its beat. I have whispered the prayers that women pray in bathroom stalls over pregnancy tests, begging for their periods and desperate for the absence of lines and life.

I have felt my heart burn with rage for those who needed to prove they had been harmed before receiving good care, who had to a convenient case to the Patriarchy before they were believed and honored, who were told this violence and its consequences were their own fault - or worse - the will of a loving and merciful God.

I have been ordained by the church of Christ to embody the prophetic presence of Jesus, who came to proclaim good news to the poor and freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Luke 4). I believe God put on flesh and came to show us abundant life (John 10), which does not discriminate or dismiss those who seek healing, justice, and restoration. And this call makes my heart swell wider still.

I have waited for men - good and decent men - to consider what it would feel like if their bodies were policed, if they were held solely accountable for something so consequential, if they were denied essential healthcare and human dignity, if they were judged with a judgement that is not only spiritual, but also moral, financial, economical, vocational, emotional, physical, and sexual. I have longed for them to act like they are horrified, to see their hearts quicken for justice.

I have known a God who cares deeply for the bodies of women,
so much that The Infinite One decided to enter human time and space through a woman’s womb, welcomed a disciple named Mary to study at his feet, extended good news to foreign loners and mistresses, interrupted stonings and menstrual hemorrhages, honored their signs of faith and displays of admiration, appeared to them after the resurrection
and entrusted the good news first to their bold care.

I have reason to believe the Kingdom of God
is like a woman who knows herself,
who believes she is worth more
than what the Empires of this world decide about her body,
who pushes back on the lies about what constitutes abundance,
and for whose heartbeats we listen carefully.
They are mothers in cages at the border weeping for their children. They are pregnant women in rafts crossing the Mediterranean Sea.
They are chest-deep in opioid addiction,
hearts beating out of their chests.
They are married mothers with five kids already and two minimum wage jobs.
They are survivors of sexual violence,
who break the silence to declare:

“I am not nearly finished being holy and beautiful
and honored as myself. And neither are my sisters.”

A response to the countless anti-choice laws at the state level passed in recent years in preparation to challenge the federal precedent set by Roe v. Wade.