The Sin
of Baby Murder
“For us murder is once for all
forbidden; so even the child in the womb . . . is not
lawful for us to destroy. To forbid birth is only quicker
murder ... The fruit is always present in the seed.” —
Tertullian, second century servant of Christ.
“I will not give a woman an
instrument to procure abortion.” —Hippocrates (C. 46
BC. 377 BC.)
“We cannot treat the human embryo as
cheap and worthless without passing judgment on all human
life, including our own.” —Monica Furlong
The subject of abortion is glibly
tossed about by this godless age, as if it were a matter
wholly and legitimately within its individual option.
State legislators complacently give women the legal right
to kill their unborn babies at will, and medical men and
hospitals obligingly follow through with the actual
perpetration of the crime. The total number of abortions
since abortion was legalized across the country in 1973
would be: 31,511,400
(supposing there have been 1.5 million abortions each
additional year since 1992). Accounting for the possible
six percent under reporting, the total reaches 33,402,084
by the end of 1996.
The U.S. abortion rate for
1992: 26 of every 1,000 women aged 15-44 had an abortion.
The U.S. abortion ratio for 1992: There were 27.5
abortions for every 100 live births.
Truly it is a grievous thing that we
do not often find in our day any “Rachels” weeping
because of the loss of their children (cf. Mt. 2:18; Jer.
31:15-16). More commonly do we find women conveniently
disposing of unwanted children by means of the awful sin
of abortion. But not only this! It has also become very
commonplace in our day to find them boasting in the fact
that they have the right and the liberty to do so. Ours is
truly an evil generation!
We submit to our readers the
following writing, which is of anonymous authorship, as it
imparts true perspective to the whole horribly degenerate
concept of baby murder, and so well sets forth the
scriptural sentiment of God’s utter abomination of the
practice.
The following “diary” tracks the
development of an infant girl from her conception unto a
very horrendous ending. The writer has sought to bring us
face to face with the growth stages of a typical infantile
personality, knowing what we do about the day by day and
week by week development of a living person from the time
of conception. That some will probably object to the
writer’s giving expression to the thoughts of this
little one who is not yet able to speak for herself, is
but a reflection of the great callousness and hardness of
heart which characterizes our day.
The Diary of a Fetus
October 6: Today my life began. My parents do not
know it yet. I am as small as the pollen of a flower, but
it is I already. I will be a girl. I will have blond hair
and blue eyes. Nearly everything is settled already, even
that I shall love flowers.
October 19: I have grown a little, but I am
still too small to do anything by myself. My mother does
almost everything for me, though she still does not know
that she is carrying me under her heart. But, is it true
that I am not yet a real person?—that of the two of us
only my mother exists? I am a real person, just as a small
bread crumb is still real bread. My mother is, and I am.
October 23: My mouth is just now beginning to
open. Just think—in a year or so I’ll be laughing; and
later I’ll start to talk. My first word will be
“Mama.”
October 26: Today my heart will begin to beat.
It, will beat softly for the rest of my life, never
stopping. After many years, it will tire, it will stop,
and then I shall die.
November 2: I am growing continually. My arms
and legs are taking shape, but I must wait a long time
before these tiny legs will raise me to my mother’s arms
— before these little arms will be able to conquer the
earth and befriend people.
November 12: Tiny fingers are beginning to form
on my hands. How small they are! One day I’ll stroke my
mother’s hair to my mouth and she’ll say, “Oh,
dirty!”
November 20: Only today the doctor told my
mother that I am living here under her heart. How happy
she must be! Are you happy, Mother?
November 26: My mother and father are probably
thinking about a name for me. And they don’t even know
that I am a little girl, so they are probably calling me,
“Andy.” But I want to be called, “Barbara.” I am
growing so big!
December 10: My hair is growing. It is as bright
and shiny as the sun. I wonder what kind of hair my mother
has?
December 13: I am almost able to see, though it
is night around me. When my mother brings me into the
world, it will be full of sunshine and overflowing with
flowers. I have never seen a flower, you know; but, more
than anything, I want to see my mother. How do you look,
Mother?
December 24: I wonder if my mother hears the
delicate beat of my heart? Some children are born with
sickly hearts, but my heart is healthy. It beats so
evenly: Tup-tup, tup, tup. You shall have a healthy
daughter, Mother.
December 28: Today my mother killed me!
(We could ask the question, “Why did the mother kill
this child? Because of sheer selfishness and nothing more.
It was so that she would not be encumbered with the life,
the responsibility for which, under God, she had incurred.
So that she would be free to pursue her own lusts — and
in many instances to continue to throw herself enticingly
around before men other than her husband (if she had one),
and to revel in the desires of the flesh. Whatever the
excuses offered, the real reasons lie in this area. And,
at the judgment bar of Him with whom she has to do, the
mother-murderess will not be able to gainsay that fact.)
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