Choose Life

I know that if you mention the word “abortion,” like it or not, you have lit a stick of dynamite. If someone desires to polarize a room into two passionate camps of strong feelings and cries of emotional angst, just bring up the topic of Roe vs. Wade.
I remember being in grade school when the term defining the procedure to terminate a pregnancy entered the mainstream of the American language. The words of a dear sister who was my teacher at Notre Dame Catholic School still ring in my ears. She said, “The word causes raised eyebrows now, but one day it won’t even evoke an individual to bat an eyelash.”
Even though she would have rather been wrong, she turned out to be right.
I’m a pastor who doesn’t believe in abortion because I am pro-life. My understanding of Scripture tells me that life begins at the moment of conception.
While we were still in the wombs of our mothers, the Bible explains God had specific plans for our lives. John the Baptist was filled with the Holy Spirit while Elizabeth carried him. God called Jeremiah to be a prophet from his conception.
A baby is not a fetus, or worse, just an “it.” A baby is a miracle. If the pregnancy happened in less than perfect circumstances, it doesn’t mean that the product of that union was a mistake.
Every life is a gift, even the lives of children who never saw the light of day on earth. Everyone is waiting for us in God’s presence.
If all of our children lived, Terri and I would have nine children today.
Before our son, Rudy, was born in 1986, we experienced two miscarriages in 1983 and 1984. I say we because even though I didn’t have the honor of carrying those children, they will hold a place in my heart.
After Rudy, Leah and Abbie were born in 1988 and 1991. Tragedy reared its ugly head again in 1995 and 1999 when two of our sons, Nicholas and Benjamin, would be born to only survive a short time on this earth. Nicholas may have been with us for 90 minutes, but we spent a whole lifetime in an hour and a half.
When it was apparent that déjà vu was occurring with our son, Benjamin, Terri and I wondered if we would recover from excruciating heartache. The length of their moments with us didn’t lighten the power of the impact to us. There are still moments when I believe my heart is going to explode because we miss them.
When Terri discovered she was pregnant in 2002, all the medical professionals thought we were crazy. I remember sitting in a conference with a doctor at Cape Regional Medical Center, as he soberly and seriously rationalized reasons we should be responsible, and terminate this baby and save ourselves from the harsh reality that because of our history, chances for a healthy birth were a million to one.
I know now why many choose abortion. The tension as we were meeting with that physician was so thick, it would have taken a chainsaw to cut through it.
We knew that there wasn’t a way to take matters into our own hands. I went into the chapel of our local hospital and poured my heart and soul out to God.
Joel Thomas Sheptock was born July 30, 2003. I was 43 and Terri was 41, but we had another son to raise and today he is 16 and a junior at Cape May Tech. I couldn’t imagine our lives without him.
Still, there would be tragedy ahead for us. Another child was born too early in June 2005, and on that day, our oldest son, Rudy, was graduating from Middle Township High School.
Another Sheptock child was ushered directly into the presence of God. I remember someone saying, “Are you still going to stay a minister? I mean, look at how many kids you have lost.”
I replied with tear-stained eyes, “It is my faith in God that gives these children purpose. Because I believe God is who He says He is, I will see them all again.”
Every life matters. I grew up in a family where my mom and dad had seven children of their own and adopted 30. Many of my brothers and sisters ended up Sheptocks because nobody else wanted them.
I have siblings that include children that society has labeled as severely handicapped.
The Sheptock family is made up of kids with no arms, one arm, cerebral palsy, learning disorders, and two wonderful brothers who have Down syndrome. Martin and Issac exhibit more love coming through their pinkies than some so-called healthy people display in their whole bodies.
No one can convince me or either of them that their lives don’t matter. I can’t imagine what this world might be like if they weren’t allowed to be born. If you ask any of my brothers or sisters if they wanted to continue to live, I know they would all give you an exuberant, “yes.”
None of these humans are accidents. God loves and has a plan for everyone.
I do not picket abortion clinics. I don’t scream hate at women who have had abortions. I don’t desire to be known as a Christian by just what I am against.
I am for all life. I fight for every life until God decides it’s time to take that person home. I don’t believe that inside the womb you are an “it,” and after your journey down the birth canal you are a human being.
I felt prompted to write about this topic because someone could be reading this today, who is confused and overwhelmed by the predicament they may be in.
God loves you, and He is a God of grace, mercy, and new beginnings. I want to speak up for the unborn. If all mankind is created equal, then babies are just that – fearfully and wonderfully made by God.
I close with lyrics from an old Phil Keaggy song.
“Who will speak up for the little ones, helpless and half-abandoned? They have a right to choose life they don’t want to lose. I’ve got to speak out, won’t you?”
The World Health Organization estimated that 40-50 million abortions were performed in 2018. I write this article in honor of every life that never got the right to see the light of day. Please, choose life.
ED. NOTE: The author is the senior pastor of The Lighthouse Church, 1248 Route 9 South, Court House.