Board members, honored guests, and friends: Thank you for the honor of being with you tonight. It is a privilege being here to share my story with you.
I first heard of House of Palms a little over a year ago. Some of Barbara’s friends attend my church and, through them, I met Barbara. If you’ve not met her, imagine a woman with the energy of a perpetual motion machine, the warmth of a spring day, the tenderness of a grandmother, the faith of Ruth, the determination of the Little Engine that Could and an enthusiasm for this project that can only be described as infectious. I say this because I caught it as well. The more she talked, the more interested I got in House of Palms and thought this would be a mission opportunity for our church to help make a difference in the lives of some special folks.
So, I connected Barbara with our ladies’ group at Zion Lutheran in Mission Valley. Within five minutes after Barbara left, the ladies set the goal to purchase one of the needed washer/dryer units for the House. Last month, Zion did a fundraiser to benefit one of our families. The Lord provided mightily, and we exceeded our goal by 40%. I’m both humbled and proud to say that with no question, the abundance was passed on to House of Palms. If you are here tonight, on the fence of whether to support House of Palms, if Barbara calls, emails or knocks on your door, just give up and say “yes.” She is an irresistible force. For the record, if she leaves House of Palms, I call first dibs on her to chair our church’s Stewardship Drive.
Let me tell you why House of Palms is so important to me as a Lutheran pastor. First and foremost, I believe life is a gift of God and we, as God’s people, are called to preserve and protect life – including the lives of the unborn. We live in a world of convenience, expediency, and selfishness; where the wants of the unholy trinity of me, myself and I trump the needs of others; where the wants of the greater and stronger overwhelm the needs of the lesser and the weaker. No where is this seen in a more demonstrable way than in the lives of the unborn children. House of Palms will provide a loving, caring and supportive alternative to an option that otherwise might be forced on these young girls by a parent, a boyfriend, or even their own, terrified conscience that is afraid of tomorrow.
On January 22, 1973, the Supreme Court handed down the Roe v. Wade ruling that legalized abortion in the United States. In the forty-five years since then, the Centers for Disease Control estimates that about 50 million babies were not born due to elective abortion procedures. Fifty million: that’s a 5 followed by seven zeros. Let’s try to put that in perspective for a second. According to www.census.gov, the state of Texas has about 27 million citizens. That means that for every Texan, two children were not allowed to live since 1973. To make it a little more local, there are approximately 100,000 people in Victoria County. That means for every citizen of our county, five hundred babies have been aborted.
I was born on January 29, 1974 – exactly a year and a week after the Court’s decision. I could have been part of that very sad statistic. I could have been that part of the lost generation after Roe v. Wade. While that’s technically true of all of us born after January 23, 1973, I think it’s a little closer to home for me. Let me explain.
Thanks to modern medical technology, parents today can see a remarkably clear and amazingly detailed 3-D picture of their child in the mother’s womb. In 1974 such technological wonders didn’t exist, at least not in rural Iowa where my parents lived. But, if it did, it would have shown a couple of strange things about my little body.
By definition my body was physically handicapped with birth defects. I say “by definition,” because I’ve never considered myself “handicapped” nor having “birth defects.” Regardless my opinion, the fact is that my body is malformed. I have no toes on either foot. My toe-less feet look like the forefront of my foot was traumatically amputated. My feet are stumps that can fit on a 3x5 note card. Both of my hands are dwarfed. My left hand has full fingers, but my 14-year-old son now has longer fingers than I do. Where your middle knuckles allow your fingers to bend and flex, that is where the fingers on my right hand stop and, although I can bend my right thumb, I cannot flex my right fingers at all. This wasn’t Thalidomide-induced, or an umbilical cord that strangled a limb. There was something wrong - a flaw - in the genetic code that makes fingers and toes.
One of the arguments offered by pro-choice groups is that children who will be born with mental or physical handicaps will, theoretically, have an altered, lesser quality of life than “normal” babies. Because of this, they suggest these children should be aborted so they (or their parents) won’t have to suffer. Let’s apply this theory to my story. Let’s say, for the sake of argument, that modern technology was available in 1974 and it showed my physical malformation. Further, and again for the sake of argument, let’s say that Mom and Dad were counseled that my birth defects would impact my quality of life with physical and emotional difficulties. The conversation could have been as bad as a doctor telling them this: “We can tell that your son is handicapped. He might not be able to walk or run; he might never be able to throw a ball or manipulate anything with his right hand. He will certainly be different than other children. Do you want your son growing up to be the one every other child stares at?” What if Mom and Dad agreed and decided to abort me? My family of 6, growing up, would have been a family of 5…well, perhaps 4 had they followed the same line of thinking for my sister when they discovered she has dwarfism on both of her hands, also.
My sister and I would be nameless statistics scored by the CDC.
So, I thank God every day for a lot of things. I thank God that Mom and Dad were blissfully ignorant of my situation and that they chose to have and love a baby who was physically different. But, was I really that much different? They never treated me that way. I played baseball, football, softball, and racquetball. I played trumpet in the high school marching band. I mowed lawns, hauled hay each summer, and trespassed – I checked, the statute of limitations has expired on this– across many a farmer’s fields to hunt rabbits and squirrels and go fishing. I’m good with my hands, typing quickly and accurately, and untangling necklaces for my wife and daughters. I’ve worn out three sets of prosthetic feet since 1996. I’ve held hands with a beautiful woman who became my wife. We’ve walked on beaches and mountains, stood in deserts and forests together. When Laura told me she was pregnant, I prayed that our children would be “normal;” I wept with joy when the sonograms showed all three of our children to have normal hands and feet; then I counted each precious finger and toe on their newborn feet multiple times to be sure we didn’t miss something. On Sundays, I stand in front of a congregation of saints of God and get to tell them of God’s love for them in Christ Jesus. I guess I understand the sentiment behind “quality” when it comes to life but, remember: for there to be any quality at all, there must first be life. All these things were done because my parents weren’t worried about my quality of life. They were simply thankful God had given them a life. Incidentally, my name, Jonathan, means “God gives.”
Don’t misunderstand me: I wouldn’t wish my hands or feet on anyone. Without toes, the shock of walking and running transfers straight to my hips and spine. I have multiple herniated lumbar discs and my back, knees and hips are starting to hurt most days. Although I wear a full-foot prosthetic, my gait is odd. Standing for long periods of time is uncomfortable – I guarantee I’ll never preach more than 20 minutes. Buying shoes, even with my prosthetics, and finding gloves that fit is a challenge. Over the years, plenty of people have given me “the look” when we shake hands for the first time. At the swimming pool, people stare when I walk by. My nephew once quipped, “Uncle Jon – push your toes out!” And I’ll never forget when my own brother, when he was 3 or 4, bluntly asked – as only a young child could do – “What is wrong with you?”
But, while I wouldn’t wish them on anyone else, I thank God for my hands and my feet. I see them as they are: imperfect, but part of what makes me, me. In high school, I wanted to be a Marine, but the Marines couldn’t take me. I tried the Army, the Navy and even the Air Force – no one would take me. Yet, the Lord had already taken me – hands, feet, and all my members and senses – and made me His. Called His child through Holy Baptism, He later called me into the Holy Ministry. As a pastor, I’ve stood next to newly-minted parents with their own baby, and I’ve sat next to parents, weeping, because their child died all-too-soon. My hands have poured baptismal water over a baby’s head and poured sand upon the grave of the elderly who have died in the faith. With my dwarfed hand, I’ve made the sign of the cross in holy absolution and in blessing.
It’s those hands and those feet that have brought me here this evening. That’s my story. Why are you here? Why have your feet carried you here this evening; why have your hands accepted the invitation to be part of this event? Some of you are here because you already have a passion for this project and are already giving of your time, skills, and financial gifts to see the House of Palms succeed. Some of you are being recognized in a special way for what you have done to take this from an idea, to a structured plan to the brink of dedication and opening for business. Thank you. Still others are here because this is new to you - you’ve heard about the House of Palms and you’re curious about what it’s about or how you can help. Let me tell you: you have the unique opportunity to be involved in making a direct, immediate, and loving difference in the lives of these girls and their babies.
And, maybe for some of you, you are here because you see some of your own story reflected here and it’s drawing up old memories and hurts. Perhaps your story is similar to that of the girls who will be living in the House, and you wish you had a place like this for yourself, or for a daughter, or for a granddaughter or a dear friend. Perhaps years ago, you were pushed to make a decision about a baby, one which you still struggle with. Or, perhaps you were the one who pushed your girlfriend or daughter or wife to make that choice and that ache still throbs in your chest. If this is you, and your conscience is burdened by your past, I would count it an honor and privilege to listen to your story, with care and compassion, without judgement or hatred, provide pastoral care in the name of Christ Jesus for you.
Whether you are a new supporter of House of Palms or you were here on the ground-floor or you are somewhere in-between, you get to be part of another story. You are helping a mother’s life-giving choice to be a little easier by helping provide them have a safe place to live. You will help them celebrate their child’s birth instead of wondering how to survive. You can help a child begin a life and grow so that he will one day play baseball with your grandson, she will march in the band with your great-grand daughter, he might drive a tractor in the field of your family farm, she can work in your family business while she saves to buy her first car. Maybe, just maybe, one of these kids might grow up and figure out how to make missing feet and fingers grow.
A builder builds a house. A house is a thing, an object: it is shelter. We have the house. Your support will make this house into a home. A home is a living, breathing place where a family lives, where love, mercy and grace are practiced. This will, indeed, be a unique family of single moms and babies, but it will be a family. This House of Palms will also be a unique home because it will give these girls safe a place to receive Godly, unconditional, sacrificial love for themselves and for their babies. They will receive encouragement, support and help for their choice of life. While none of us can guarantee this will be easy for these girls and babies, your help makes it easier. Giving them a safe place to live means they don’t have to sacrifice the life of a child to please or appease someone else for the sake of convenience.
In your gifts of compassion, given to these who our world deems to be the least, you act with the loving hands of Christ to these girls. They may never know you; their babies probably will not be named after you. But these mothers and their babies will know someone loves. And one day, those mothers can sit and tell their children a story that starts, “Once upon a time, God brought together a bunch of strangers in Victoria, Texas, who, without meeting us, loved and cared about us to make sure that we had a home to live in.” I can’t wait to hear how that story will end.
Thank you.
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