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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