Hollywood's Lie of Love

Hollywood’s main object is to tell a story, to spread a message, to inspire people to greater things. At least, that is what I have believed for the longest time. Now, I am not so sure. Several recent movies claiming to be stories of “love” make me sick to my stomach with their false image of “love”. So often, love is portrayed as something I believe firmly that which it is not.  I no longer recognize Hollywood’s version of love; it does not seem to “line up” with what I have witnessed and experienced in life. And yet, so many people view it as normal, or even right. True love, according to Hollywood, is finding pleasure and happiness. So many young people have no other teacher of love than Hollywood… and what a sorry and deceiving teacher it has revealed itself to be.

Love is not sleeping with as many people as possible. It is not finding the “perfect” or “most complimentary” person. It is not using people for one’s own gain or pleasure. Happiness, true happiness, will never come at the expense of another person. Rather, it will come to one person as the result of another’s sacrifice. Hollywood’s version of love is false, a complete lie. How sad that countless people are deceived into believing that there is no other form of love, that there is no other “option,” so to speak.

I believe love and sacrifice go hand-in-hand. It is impossible for one to truly love without pain. If a person has never experience grief, rejection, or loneliness, he has never truly loved another person. Perhaps, his only experience of love has been for himself. Love is more than emotion, feeling, or romance. Love is more than feeling “happy” or “complete”. Love in many ways is like picking raspberries. One will inevitable be scratched, poked, and cut, but he will not gain the reward of delicious fruit if he is not willing to be hurt. Once he obtains the berries, however, the pain is forgotten. The outward appearance of scratches and scars may be seen, but they are of no concern to the brave berry-picker.

Love is staying married to an unloving spouse, not because you have to but because you realize that it is for the good of the other person.

Love is having another baby, not because people approve but because you realize that life is more than living for yourself.

Love is waiting patiently for another person, meeting him at his level, even if you realize that he may never change.

Love is taking the time to comfort another person because you are willing to experience grief with her, even at your own discomfort.

Love is caring for an elderly relative, even if you have better things to do.

Love is setting your own dreams aside in order than you may help another person fulfill hers.

Love is saving your first kiss for the man willing to lay down his life for you.

Love is not moving in with your fiancé because you desire his entrance into heaven more than you desire him.

Love is letting go of a loved one because you realize how much more she is needed in heaven than on earth.

Love is kindly confronting a friend because you know the value of her soul is greater than she herself realizes.

Love is waking up with a young child at 3 am and holding her while she vomits for the hundredth time.

Love is giving your baby up for adoption, not because it’s the easiest option but because it’s the hardest.

Love is enduring the battle of cancer with a loved one, knowing that you are powerless to help but never giving up anyway.

Love is all of these things and more: selfless, peaceful, and sacrificial. Love is the name of my Best Friend who shows me best how to love, though I have much to learn. He is my true teacher, not Hollywood, because he gave the best example of how to truly love. Frankly, Hollywood’s lessons on love disgust me in their perversion and shallowness.  Hollywood’s love, in a word is cowardice. 

I Normally Don't Do Things Like This.

I normally don't do things like this.

I normally don't write a blog post - or anything for that matter - about controversial topics, such as abortion or war or the death penalty. I don't like conflict, and, even though I feel very strongly about such topics, I normally don't care to post those feelings on the internet. However, with the presidential elections are approaching, now is hardly a normal time.

I am a young woman who, despite Obama's claims, does not support what he calls "women's health services." I am a college student who aches over the injustice her generation has already endured due to Planned Parenthood and other similar organizations. I am a Catholic who believes that abortion is immoral and prays that one day Roe v. Wade may be reversed. This is who I am, and I am not ashamed to say what I think, albeit prudently and at appropriate times. Now, I think, is one of those times.

Thanks to Mrs. Fischer and her blog from "The National Catholic Register" I came across a stirring blog post by a fellow pro-lifer (http://www.jillstanek.com). It touched me very deeply, which is why I have chosen to go against normal procedure and share it with you. Please know that I do this with the upmost sensitivity. It is very difficult to read, but I feel that sometimes we need to experience pain in order to be more open to the truth. May God grant peace to all those broken and scarred by abortion.

Here's a tragic story of a mother who went through the induced labor abortion procedure, and her baby survived for a time. This dear mother didn't understand what had happened until years later, when reading my testimony. She has given me permission to share her story...

In 1995 I was told just before my 6-month mark that my son had multi-cystic dysplastic kidneys. They said it was a terminal disease and that I needed to abort. I refused, and they said I could die if I didn't abort. I still refused, and I finally agreed to give birth normally if they promised to try and save him. They said I had to hurry because it would be illegal in 5 more days because I'd be over the term limit.

They said they would, and I gave birth...but it was horrible. I was 20, didn't know much...they didn't tell me what to expect. I was alone in the room, and felt like I needed to use the bathroom. While I was in there, my water finally broke. They had drugged me up pretty well and dismissed my concerns about what it would do to the baby....

I screamed for the nurse, but it took them 15 minutes or so to come in. They delivered my son while I was on the toilet. They asked if I wanted to hold him or if I wanted them to help him, but they said either way he was going to die so I better hold him while I could. He died 45 minutes later.

I found out 2 years later, during genetic screening for my second son's pregnancy, that Hunter did NOT have the condition in both kidneys like they said. Had I carried him to term, he'd have lived and had a very good chance of a normal life.

During Obama's campaign, I came across the speech he gave on medical care for the unborn, and through that, your testimony. I read it all, and suddenly it hit me that I had done that. That was exactly my experience. Had I not held my son, he'd have been thrown in a room to die alone. The knowledge that I had had an "abortion," even though I didn't want one, didn't know that's what I was doing, and NEVER would have agreed...it almost killed me. I'm still having a hard time with it.

You make a difference with your work. It gave me a knowledge I wish I didn't have about my own experience...but ultimately I hope my son can forgive me for what I did. I never would have agreed if I'd have known. I thought I was doing the right thing...they said he was suffering and would die unless I gave birth so they could help him.

Arnold Palmer Women's and Children's Hospital in Orlando,FL, is where it happened. I was "high risk," and I was sent there by my regular doctor because of the condition my son had. My doctor had told me they were "the best" at dealing with situations like mine, and because I had excellent insurance they said cost would be no problem.

They did use all the words you mention in your testimony--that's what made me realize what had really happened. I wanted to make funeral arrangements for the baby in case he did die, and they said it was unnecessary. I made such a fuss that they finally agreed and brought in a chaplain to talk to me. I was so drugged up that I was giggling between contractions. If I remember right, the drug they gave me was Stadol --that sounds about right. So many things about it are fuzzy for me, but I remember images and sounds, and split second moments that are burned into my brain like a laser.

Hunter Michael was almost 12 inches long and 1.5 pounds. His eyes weren't open, and he never made any crying sounds at all. He made a few gasping sounds toward the end...I thought I was a loving mother who chose to hold her child and say goodbye because he was going to heaven. The knowledge that the whole time I was holding him he was dying a slow, torturous death is something I will never, ever forgive myself for.

They took pics of him and gave them to me. The funeral director and I were the only people at his funeral. He is buried in Kissimmee, FL, with a flat little plaque because I could not afford a headstone. I barely scraped up the $300 for the burial - in a cheap casket that looked more like a box you'd bury your dog in. It was all I could afford, and I could not bear the thought of them "disposing" of my son as they kept offering to do.

I went back once after I got out of the hospital and built a little Legocastle that I left on his grave with a letter saying goodbye. I don't even know if his grave is still there, or if the plaque still sits there. I want to go back, but I'm afraid to know. I can't stand the thought that his little body has been there alone all this time - and even though my family knows what happened, no one mentions his name. No one talks about it. It's like I'm the only person who cares or knows that he ever lived. I want him to be remembered - but I am so ashamed of what happened that I keep his memory close and private.

My second son is 11 now. He just started violin lessons, and he is a bright, happy, beautiful little boy with blue eyes that are turning green, who loves his mama and his dog with all his heart. As I watch him grow, I cannot go a day without wondering what Hunter would've looked like, or what he would be doing had I not killed him.

His birthday is September 6th, and last year was the first year I could function on his birthday without sobbing all day. I went to the beach and released a balloon for him. It helped a bit to try and let go of it, but I know in my heart that it is a pain that I will carry with me for life. My only saving graces are the knowledge that Christ died for that sin too - and that my son was spared a life of possible disability, pain and suffering by our gracious Lord. He is happier than I could have ever hoped for him right now, and that fact is what has kept me on this earth during the darkest of times.

If you think my story could help in some way, feel free to use it as long as my name is not in it. The life of a baby isn't the only thing abortion destroys. I know. But please...even if you do not use my name...use his. He deserves to have someone know his name.

Life Stops for No One

Oh my goodness, this was a/an [add any combination of adjectives - all are relevant: difficult, frustrating, long, short, crazy, awesome, exciting, instructive, God-filled] summer! My summer job, teaching religious education (see http://catholicdioceseofwichita.org/totus-tuus/totus-tuus-home) to children and teenagers, was one of the most challenging experiences I've ever had... and it is finally OVER!

Earlier today, I bade farewell to many dear friends/teammates/coworkers with whom I had the pleasure of spending almost my entire summer. Hugs were shared, tears were wept (ok, I actually bawled as soon as I got in the car!), and now I'm home again, preparing for my next adventure: another semester of college. Which leads me to explain my title: life stops for no one.

Several years ago, this was a particularly poignant life-lesson for me as a teenager; while in the midst of high school, I experienced the illness and death of a family member. It was at that point of my life that I realized that no one is truly invincible. Sooner or later, you...me...everyone will fail, will suffer, and will die. And you know what? Life will continue on as it always has. I'm reminded of a song from one of my favorite movies:

Eliza does her best to prove that she does not need 'Enry 'Iggins in her life in order to be happy (which may or may not be true - those of you who've seen the movie know what I mean :P), and she does so by pointing out that normal, everyday things will continue occurring whether or not he's around.

Similarly, if I fail all of my classes this coming semester, if I lose a dear friend, if I'm fired from my library job, if no one likes my blog (sure, that's not incredibly important, but still!), if I die in a car accident, will the world end? Of course not; life will go on its merry way along the path of time... at least until the Parousia (or the Zombie Apocalypse, take your pick). My point is, though it may seem that life is too hectic, too difficult, too MUCH, it will continue on. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves of this reality so that we may resist the urge to give into fear of what the future may hold. Endure, dear reader(s)! Life stops for no one, so hang on tight, be brave, and trust that "this too shall pass."