Hearing Her Whisper in a Room Full of Shouting

It is a noisy time in which we live, and countless voices drift throughout our days and our nights. Unless we are among the most disciplined of people, the moments have become rare when we allow our souls the rest and quiet that they so desperately need. 

Instead, we consume. More and more, deeper and deeper, we fill the seconds and minutes and hours of our days with voices, words, images, messages. Often, we don’t even recognize that the media we consume is not only providing our entertainment, but feeding our affections. 


When we first found ourselves navigating the world of Down syndrome, I had no idea what I was doing. I came to the table with very little factual knowledge on Down syndrome and quite a lot of preconceived notions and outdated cultural stereotypes. Through the course of time and the process of educating ourselves, my family has been able to put to rest many misguided beliefs that drove our fears and provoked our insecurities. I have come to realize that a diagnosis of Down syndrome does not mean life will be horrible; it is not the ultimate dream-crusher that I originally assumed it would be. 

The Greatest Danger of Down Syndrome

Recently, I read a story about a baby boy born in 1982, known to us only as Baby Doe. Interestingly, this baby who had no name quickly became the center of national debate over the sanctity of human life.

In the court of public opinion, some found this newborn baby boy to be guilty of two grave offenses. First, he had Down syndrome. Somehow, he had managed to breeze through pregnancy without being detected, thus taking away his parents’ ability to abort him in the womb. Second, he was born with a (surgically correctable) condition known as tracheoesophagael fistual. Yet while a nearby hospital and its medical team were ready and willing to perform surgery on him, Baby Doe’s parents chose instead to follow the archaic and biased advice of the mother’s obstetrician…and they did nothing.

When Infertility Finds a Name

It was just seven years ago that I walked my days with an almost ever-present, searing pain in my heart. With many, many months of a silent womb to my name, the feelings of failure and barrenness had become familiar friends to my lonely days. At the time, I had no promise that I would ever bear children. I had no guarantee that Trey and I would see our desires become reality of having a home filled with the pitter-patter of many little feet. And the heartache was crushing.

How Could God... (Part 2)

When I was in college, I took a class one semester on religious cults. The class was fairly small, and I knew almost everyone in there. Except there was a new girl. I had never seen her before, and she was very different than what I was used to seeing in my school. She wore all black, sometimes with spikes on her clothes, and she had many piercings. But what made her really different, causing her to stand out so starkly amongst my classmates, was her anger. In our class on religion, it was very clear that she was angry at God.

At first, I chose to ignore her. She was different, and it is always easier to ignore different when it makes us uncomfortable. But as the semester wore on, the Lord kept bringing her to my mind. She sat alone day in and day out, and she needed a friend. He wanted me to be that person, so finally, I befriended her. What I learned has stayed with me ever since.