It is snowing outside. We’ll get three to six inches today if the liars at Weather Central (All Disaster, All the Time) can be believed. So, instead of going over to the gym to get ready for the beach this summer, I am sitting here in The House With No Heat, myself rapped in buffalo skins reading stuff on the internet and occasionally saying a prayer for people who have neither homes nor buffaloes to robe them.
I’ve done what I usually do when bound up inside by the weather. I have read.
So far this morning I’ve read that our goofermint, as someone I know refers to it, wants the new president of Egypt to say he was a jerk a couple of years ago when he told folks over there to raise their children to hate everyone not them. So far, it looks as if no one over there in sand castle land is listening. But, when they do hear the whispers, perhaps Mousi (no relation to our kinder, gentler Mickey) will grunt something or other. The guy deserves at least a dope slap for what he said. But, what can you expect from someone who hangs around with a bunch of cruds who think strapping a dozen or so pounds of dynamite on a kid and sending them into a crowd of weekend shoppers is the Muslim Brotherhood equivalent of Little League? Over here the Big Brothers try to teach a kid to be a good person. Over there, you’re a kid and you get one of Mousi’s friends for a big brother, you’re sure to be taught how to be one of two things, a murderer or a “martyr” (which is the same thing for those whackos); probably both.
Then, I happened on an article about my favorite women’s organization, Planned Parenthood. Now the first time I heard the name, which was a long time ago I have to confess that I thought it was some kind of place, maybe like Triple A, where they give you helpful travel trips, make reservations and stuff, sell you plastic water bottles. You know, stuff you never thought you needed, but can’t live without now that you know it is there, and cheap. I figured you walked into a Planned Parenthood store and got deals on bassinets, formula, diapers, stuff like that; and there were these nice ladies with shawls on and wire rimmed glasses sitting around knitting booties and little blankies ( a different kind of B&B) the place painted in shades of pink and blue.
“Divil a bit of it!” my Grand-Mother Kate Fanning Gallaher might say, her lips curling and a curse against them forming. I found out it was another kind of place. Scary, really. Well, you know. It’s the last place someone wants to be when planning their parenthood. Planning for Un-parenthood? That’s a horse of a different species. They got, umm, slicers, dicers, choppers, hoovers, pills and potions and are ready for you 24/7, with, I bet Early Bird specials: In by eight, out by ten anytime before little Janey or Junior’s ten weeks along. Or, something like that. Maybe, if they get your e-mail, they send you coupons and 2 for 1 specials, and you can like ’em on Facebook. It’s good marketing, you know. And, if you don’t know yet, Planned Parenthood is a business, just like some of those big deal sausage factories, like Jones and those others.
And this smoothly segues into the second article I glanced at this morning, the one that explains in sordid detail just how Planned Parenthood is a business, perhaps the bloodiest business this side of an abbatoir (a fancy French word for a slaughterhouse). Only they deal in killing kids, not cows. Last year they set a record, the article says, and manage to kill more than 300,000 little human beings, none of whom asked for it. In a really cool concatenation of events and circumstance those of you who read the article (have strong drink at hand…or anti-nausea meds) will learn that that number matches almost perfectly the dollar figure for their daily profit. And, mirabile dictu, both numbers are all time universe wide records! Imagine, most babies killed in a year and most money made per day for a year, and they occurred together! There’s a pair that’ll beat a full house anytime.
But, it gets better, because 45% of this loot comes from you and me, the American taxpayer. Yep, we gave the country’s busiest and biggest house of death about a million samoleans a day between June, 2010 and June 2012.
After I had finished in the bathroom and washed out my mouth, I came back here and found something different to read, a short essay on something called The Catholic Education Resource Network by a fellow named Anthony Esolen. The essay has a very simple title. Its title is “The Child”.
Now, in all fairness I have to say that I have been in the same room as has Anthony Esolen at least once. I know that because I heard someone say his name and , at the same time, point to him. But I have never met him. I would like to, and the first thing I would do is ask for his autograph. I know that this frosts a lot of peoples’ pumpkins out there, but the guy is a good Catholic, and a good teacher, to boot. And what he writes and what he says, and, I have no doubt, what he teaches about is thoroughly Catholic from the first word to the last. So, if you are the kind of person whose goat is got by the things Catholics say and believe you may want to save yourself some agida, and maybe a trip to the ER, and not read the article.
Because, you see, Dr. Esolen’s article starts off in an entirely Catholic way, an authentically Christian way. It starts off in the kind of way which I know grates on folks who think Planned Parenthood, even if it is a lousy business, is a good thing; the way sewers, I suppose, are a good thing…only a child isn’t supposed to be in a sewer. It starts in the kind of way which I know ticks off people who think that Mousi and his fellow Muslim brotherhood members, and every other person who wants kids to grow up hating, are just teaching kids the facts of life, and that’s a good thing…like suicide bombers are good things. Only a child has a life before him.
Here are the first couple of sentences from Dr. Esolen’s article, “Everywhere outside of Christianity, wrote Hans Urs von Balthasar, the child is automatically the first to be sacrificed. Only for Christians is the adult the imperfect child. Everywhere else the child is the imperfect adult, and falls subject to our lust for domination.”
Read it. And, maybe shed a tear for children all over the world, children who are sacrificed every day to Moloch, perhaps more alive today than ever and closer to us than we think. Which way shall we go?
And after you read it come back here and listen to the music below. I used to play it sometimes and remember a little poem set to the opening theme that I sang to my daughter when she was a child:
When at night I go to sleep,
fourteen Angels watch over me.
Two my head are guarding,
two my feet are guiding,
two are on my right hand,
two are on my left hand,
two who warmly cover my head
and two who will guide me toward Heaven.
Much better, so, don’t you think than businesses and brotherhoods?