Real Beauty – Wives and Daughters Should See This!
You are more beautiful than you realize! A professional artist draws women as they see themselves, compared to how other see them
Real Beauty – Wives and Daughters Should See This!
You are more beautiful than you realize! A professional artist draws women as they see themselves, compared to how other see them
A HYMN FOR TODAY
The Shining Shore
My days are gliding swiftly by,
And I, a pilgrim stranger,
Would not detain them as they fly –
Those hours of toil and danger.
[Chorus]
For now we stand on Jordan’s strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And, just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.
Our absent king the watchword gave,
“Let every lamp be burning.”
We look afar, across the wave,
Our distant home discerning.
Should coming days be dark and cold,
We will not yield to sorrow,
For hope will sing with courage bold,
“There’s glory on the morrow.”
Let storms of woe in whirlwinds rise,
Each cord on earth to sever.
There, bright and joyous in the skies,
There is our home forever.
[Chorus]
For now we stand on Jordan’s strand;
Our friends are passing over;
And, just before, the shining shore
We may almost discover.
8.7.8.7 – David Nelson, 1843 (?)
Tune: Shining City – George F. Root, 1868
#701 in Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs, 2012
This is a fascinating hymn, one of the most popular in the 19th century – found in soldiers’ paperback hymnals from the Civil War camp revivals of both the Union and Confederate armies. David Nelson, the author of the lyrics, was a minister who lived in Danville, KY, during the 1830’s. His hymn was later set to the tune “Shining City” by George F. Root, a Chicago musician known for both hymn tunes and secular music – most famously, “The Battle Cry of Freedom,” one of the chief marching tunes of the Union armies.
The hymn fell into disfavor following the Civil war, probably for obvious reasons of overuse and connection to memories best forgotten. (Imagine singing lines like, “Our friends are passing over,” after returning from the slaughter). This hymn sank like a stone to the bottom of “The Great Lakes of Forgotten Hymns.” The last word of the hymn, “discover,” is also used in a sense different from “modern” usage, where it often means “to find by accident” (as in, “scientists have made a surprising new discovery”). Here, it means almost “un-cover” or “dis-cover,” as we can almost dimly see, across on the far shore, our home, shrouded in the distant msits.
The hymn thus compares our passing from earth into heaven to Israel’s crossing the Jordan into the Promised Land, the imagery being that we are on the shore across from our “Promised Land,” heaven. As we stand before, but across from, heaven’s “shining shore,” we can glimpse it because of our lamps. We can envision heaven now, especially since friends have already gone there. Our time on earth seems to pass quickly, and we do not wish to delay our “crossing.” Furthermore, we recognize the value of sorrow here, since it prevents us from finding this life too attractive tomake us eager for eternal rest with God. (Psalm 39:4-5; 103:1-16; Isaiah 40:6-8; Luke 12:35-40; Hebrews 4:9-11; 11:13; James 4:14).
Sobering yet hopeful thoughts about Boston from one of my favorite runners
I think it’s safe to say that tonight, as a runner and as an American, I am grieving. I prayed today. I mourned today. I ran today.
This morning started in a flurry of activity. My friend Katie and I are both runners–she is in training for her Boston Qualifier as we speak, and I am going with her to Wisconsin to support that quest. We are also both homeschooling our kids. Today we planned special activities that centered on Boston and the marathon to educate our kids justify getting together to watch Boston. She read aloud the story of Phidippides and showed the children Greece and Persia on a map. I re-enacted the story of the Tortoise and the Hare with puppets and we talked about pacing and focus. We showed them Boston, talked about Massachusetts and it’s State Bird, the chickadee. It was quite sweet, and included breaks…
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Dear Young Mothers Everywhere—
I was one of you once and I know how hard it is.
Motherhood has to be the hardest job on the planet but I think it is getting harder. Not harder in the it-hurts-to-push-this-baby-out sort of way. Not harder in the must-lug-gallons-of-water-to-the-stove sort of way. Not harder in the pray-my-children-survive-the-polio-epidemic sort of way. No. In many ways, motherhood has gotten considerably easier. Medical advances and indoor plumbing and labor saving devices have done wonders for the daily life of the average mother. These advances have made life easier and given us free time and kept us from looking like worn out pieces of beef jerky by the time we are 40. But they have come with a cost and that cost is driving us crazy.
Fast forward a few years and the Great Parenting Debates took over. For the first time I started to see parents treating each other with absolute scorn. No longer were women just a little defensive over their choices. What came next was out and out war.
Parenting programs took over churches. Cultural cliques were formed overnight. Parenthood, and motherhood by extension, became a matter of “doing it right.” Schedules and disciplines and programs ruled the day and your success was judged by the behavior of your children. Those who succeeded at the program gloated in their success and gave out exhausting and exalted advice, all with an air of superiority and self-righteousness. Those who just couldn’t get with the program were left feeling like desperate failures as parents.
By 1996 I had 4 kids who were as poor at following programs as I was at implementing them. Our life was just . . well . . . chaos. But it was fun chaos, most of the time. I do remember on more than one occasion being totally overwhelmed and wanting to run off to Montana . . . ALONE, and even once when I actually wished I were deaf, but looking back, I do not have one single regret that I failed to get with the program.
Fast forward to today. I have lots and lots of friends on Facebook who are young moms or young moms-to-be. The choices they have before them are astronomical. The websites, the mommy blogs, Pinterest (oh EVIL Pinterest). The stakes are high. The expectations are huge. The consequences of every little decision are supposedly so dire. At least that is what they say.
Somewhere along the way we began to believe a lie. And it is a LIE FROM THE PIT OF HELL. The lie that there is one right way to be a mother. The lie that we must make every RIGHT decision or the consequences will be catastrophic. The lie that we can control our children’s lives. The lie that being a failure as a mother is a fate worse than death.
Run, I say, RUN to pick up your Bible. Turn to Micah 6:8 and read aloud what it says. “He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does The Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
No mention of childbirth techniques or clever birth announcements. No mention of diapers, cloth or not. No mention of schedules. No mention of highchair manners. No mention of education. No mention of medical advances or food sources. No mention of anything specific at all.
God does not require of you to be a perfect mother. The minute you begin to gloat over your successes or wallow in your failures you are using the wrong measuring stick.
So if you want to put your baby in all organic diapers and grow and make your own baby food, go right ahead. If you just gave your toddler a can of cold Spaghetti-os for lunch, no problem, you are in good company (even if no one else admits it). If you can homeschool with delight and your kids thrive in the environment, good for you. If you feel that a professional teacher may be a better choice for your child, you may be right. If you are concerned about vaccines and decide to withhold them, fine. If you are concerned about communicable diseases and feel that having immunizations are in the best interest of your children, go for it.
We are limited and finite and can only do so much. God created us with different strengths and weaknesses, gives us different resources, places us in different circumstances. This one-size-fits-all-robot-Stepford-mom stuff is robbing us of our joy and pulling us away from what we were created to do: To do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.
P.P.S. (3/22/13): With the overwhelming response to this post (thank you all!) I’ve decided to add a Facebook page for my blog. If you’d like to see links to new posts in your Facebook news feed, you are cordially invited to ‘Like’ my “Cheetos for Breakfast” page, here. Or click on the link I’ve added in the right-hand column.
P.P.P.S. (3/25/13): Two weeks ago, I had this little blog which was read mostly by a small group of friends and acquaintances. Then I posted the above “Letter to Young Mothers.” A couple of those friends shared the link on Facebook, as did some of their friends, and so on… As of this morning, this post is closing in on 211,000 pageviews. My little blog has almost 256,000 pageviews overall, and the Cheetos for Breakfast Facebook page already has 837 ‘Likes’… To say this is humbling is an understatement. And all the kind comments! (Well, most of them anyway.) What more can I say but THANK YOU! And maybe… gulp! 🙂
A HYMN FOR TODAY
Flung to the heedless winds,
Or on the waters cast,
The martyrs’ ashes, watched,
Shall gathered be at last.
And from that scattered dust,
Around us and abroad,
Shall spring a plenteous seed,
Of witnesses for God.
The Father hath received
Their latest living breath,
And vain is Satan’s boast
Of vict’ry in their death.
Still, still, though dead, they speak,
And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim
To many a wak’ning land
The one availing name.
6.6.6.6 – Martin Luther, 1523 (trans. John A. Messenger, 1843)
Tune: IBSTONE – Maria Tiddeman, 1875
#723 in Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs, 2012
Shmuel Browns has a nice article here on Agamon (Hula) Lake in northern Israel. Perhaps we all know that Lake Hula (Hulah; Huleh) is the small body of water about 10 miles north of the Sea of Galilee.
Browns tells how the lake came to be drained a few decades back, and the reason for its reclamation. I was especially impressed with the number of “creatures” found in the area around the lake. And also of the number of species lost as a result of the draining of the lake.
Josephus refers to Lake Hula by the Roman name of Lake Semechonitis (Ant. 5.199; Jewish Wars 3:515; 4:3).
My earliest association for the site (about 60 years ago) was to identify it as the Waters of Merom (Joshua 11), because this is what Hurlbut suggested in A Bible Atlas. This identification is doubtful, and many modern atlases…
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Jackie Robinson
Bette and I saw “42” this afternoon, and while it’s not my habit to recommend Hollywood versions of history, or movies generally, this one merits some attention. Below is a review from the “Plugged In” website which catches most of the good, the bad, and the ugly. Full of teachable moments and a humanly inspiring storyline, this is an example of how a good movie can be made without gratuitous sex, violence, and profanity. There are a few curse words (not nearly as many as you would hear at any major-league ballpark or even high school sporting event), but religious concepts are not ignored and indeed, taken seriously in several instances. Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the language is the repeated (50 may be a low estimate) usage of the word “ni***r” hurled as a repeated epithet. It is amazing how linguistic social mores (among other things) have changed in little more than a half-century — just a few decades ago, racial epithets and ethnic slurs (a few of those are in “42” as well) were commonly accepted language in many place in public American culture, while taking the Lord’s name in vain or the use of sexual, vulgar, or scatological terms were frowned upon and occasionally publicly rebuked. Now the reverse seems to be true. This film is full of “teachable moments.”
President Abraham Lincoln had signed the Emancipation Proclamation 82 years before. But segregation still separated blacks from whites. African-Americans were forced to use separate restrooms in many places; to sit at the back of buses; and to stay away from designated hotels, restaurants and businesses—not to mention enduring bruising verbal slurs as well as threats of violence … or actual assaults.
White baseball players, for instance, competed in Major League Baseball. Black athletes, meanwhile, were relegated to the Negro League. Never did the two worlds intersect.
Until, that is, one brave team owner decided it was time for a change. Time for an end to segregation on the ball field. “I don’t know who he is,” Brooklyn Dodgers owner Branch Rickey tells his front office management team in the spring of 1945, “or where he is. But he’s coming.” The he in question? MLB’s first black player—a player Rickey was determined to recruit.
On the surface, Rickey’s motivation seems driven by money. “New York’s full of negro baseball fans,” he explains. “Dollars aren’t black and white. They’re green.” But it turns out there’s more to Rickey’s barrier-shattering decision than that.
A year later, the Dodgers have found their man, a base-stealing slugger from the Negro League’s Kansas City Monarchs. His name is Jackie Robinson. When one of Rickey’s men points out that Robinson was court-martialed and dishonorably discharged from the Army, Rickey counters that it was because Robinson refused to submit to unfair treatment. “If he were white,” Rickey says, “we’d call that spirit.”
Spirit is something Robinson will need as he faces resistance at every turn. On the field. In hotels. In airports. Even on his own team (first as a player for the minor league Montreal Royals in 1946, then as a member of the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1947). It’s a barrier-busting role that will demand courage, Rickey tells Robinson at the outset: the courage not to retaliate.
“You want a player who doesn’t have the guts to fight back?” Robinson demands.
“No,” Rickey says. “I want a player who’s got the guts not to fight back.”
“You give me a uniform, you give me a number on my back, and I’ll give you the guts,” Robinson promises.
And in so doing he becomes one of the most decorated soldiers ever to fight in that homegrown battle against prejudice and racial hate.
Robinson and Rickey both exhibit tremendous amounts of courage. Robinson has to endure prejudice from players and fans. He’s demeaned with the n-word, has baseballs thrown at his head, has to flee from a mob, etc. Rickey, for his part, comes in for criticism, too, regarding his revolutionary decision to add a black player to the roster. He never backs down, and he threatens to trade any player who can’t deal with Robinson’s presence. (When a ballplayer comes to Rickey with a threatening letter that’s been written to him, the Dodgers’ owner pulls out two huge files of similar letters he’s received.)
Rickey wisely coaches Robinson’s response to racist attacks. The owner knows Robinson will be subjected to a different set of rules, namely that he can’t retaliate. “Your enemy will be out in force,” Rickey advises, “and you cannot meet him on his own low ground.”
When Robinson laments his critics’ slurs, Rickey responds, “These men have to live with themselves.” Robinson hints at quitting, and Rickey tells him that he can’t, because of all the people who “need you, respect you and believe in you.” And, slowly, Robinson’s grit, integrity and athleticism win him allies on the team and in the broader culture.
Standing with Robinson in his struggle are his devoted wife, Rachel; and a young, black Pittsburgh Courier sports reporter named Wendell Smith. Rachel flinches when Robinson is hit with a pitch, but—despite tears—she never flinches from the bigger struggle to desegregate pro baseball. Wendell tells Robinson about his struggles with segregation, namely that he’s not allowed to sit in the press box. “You, Mr. Robinson,” he says, “are not the only one with something at stake here.”
Manager Leo Durocher defends Jackie’s right to play ball. And a teammate named Pee Wee Reese publically puts his arm across Robinson’s shoulders as a statement of solidarity. Reese says of his racist fans and family in the stands, “I need them to know who I am.”
Many other inspiring moments turn up throughout the film. A white man tells Robinson, “I’m pulling for you to make good. If a man’s got the goods, he deserves to get a fair chance.” Rickey tells Robinson a story about seeing a white kid emulating some of Robinson’s trademark actions. “He was pretending to be you,” Rickey says. “A little white boy was pretending to be a black man.”
Jackie Robinson isn’t just brave when it comes to baseball, by the way. He tells his newborn son, “My daddy left us flat in Cairo, Ga. I was only six months older than you are now. I don’t remember him. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Nothing. You will remember me. I’m gonna be with you until the day I die.”
[Spoiler Warning] Rickey eventually tells Robinson that what motivated him to bring an African-American into the Majors was the fact that he’d failed to defend a black player from being treated unfairly many years before, and that the guilt of it had haunted him ever since. “It was something unfair at the heart of the game I loved,” he says, adding that he pushed the thought of it away until “time came when I could no longer ignore it.” Then this: “You helped me love baseball again.”
References to God and Scripture turn up regularly. Some are lighthearted: Rickey says, “Robinson’s a Methodist. I’m a Methodist. God’s a Methodist.” And he tells Robinson, “Run those bases like the devil himself. Put the natural fear of God in them.” Rickey also lobs, “For the love of Peter,” “Judas priest” and “What in Satan’s fire does he want!?”
Others are deeply felt: Rickey tells Robinson, “Like our Savior, you’ve got to have the guts to turn the other cheek.” Later, Rickey suggests to Robinson that he’s a living, breathing sermon illustration in his willingness not to retaliate against those who taunt him.
With Robinson at the plate, a boy in the stands prays to God that Robinson can show everyone “what he can do.” Near the end of the film, we hear Sister Wynona Carr’s song “The Ball Game,” which describes a Christian’s journey through life in baseball terms.
Robinson kisses his wife’s chest while she’s wearing a camisole. A suggestive comment is made about him sleeping with white players’ wives. He’s not. But Durocher is having an affair with an actress. They’re shown in bed. (He’s shirtless, she’s wearing a bra.) Then, in a phone conversation with Durocher, Rickey says, “The Bible has a thing or two to say about adultery.” And Rickey ends up firing the man for his indiscretion when a Catholic organization threatens to boycott the Dodgers.
Men are shown in boxers. Locker room scenes show players in showers (from the shoulders up) and with towels wrapped around their waists. Self-conscious jokes accompany a moment of gracious magnanimity when a white player invites Robinson to shower with the rest of the team. There’s talk of periods and pregnancy.
Robinson gets hit in the head by a pitch; a bench-clearing brawl ensues. Another player intentionally spikes Robinson’s ankle with his cleats; we see Robison getting his leg stitched up. A white man comes to the house where Robinson is staying during spring training and tells him there’s a mob organizing. As Robinson and Wendall are leaving town, a group of men walks menacingly out of a bar toward their car.
Robinson and other teammates receive hostile letters—including death threats. After being repeatedly called a “n-gger,” Robinson walks into the tunnel behind the dugout where he privately breaks a bat in frustration.
One use each of the s-word, “a‑‑” and “b‑‑tard.” God’s name gets paired with “d‑‑n” four or five times. We hear “b‑‑ch” about that same number of times.
At games, fans and opposing players hurl the epithet “n-gger” at Robinson so many times it’s hard to keep up with a count; a conservative estimate would be somewhere in the neighborhood of 50. A guy makes a racist comment about Jews.
Rickey always has a cigar in hand. Several scenes show men drinking beer.
I always knew Jackie Robinson was an important figure in the history of professional baseball. But before watching 42, I don’t think I really grasped just how trailblazing Robinson’s presence was. His willingness to endure taunts, threats, intimidation and violence, all without responding in kind, was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Similarly remarkable, in a behind-the-scenes kind of way, was Branch Rickey’s willingness to recruit Robinson in the first place, then stand behind his man the whole way, coaching and encouraging him not to give up.
Indeed, 42 is drenched in inspiration, in part because it doesn’t shy away from realistically depicting the kind of resistance Robinson and Rickey were up against. There’s a downside to that kind of approach, of course. Casual profanity ebbs and flows through the narrative, and a bit of suggestive sexual material is included too. But the film’s many uses of the n-word aren’t unleashed loosely or lightly, and they land like the stinging crack of a verbal whip, a wince-inducing reminder of racism’s harsh history in our country. Especially heartbreaking is a scene when a man in the stand starts spitting the slur at Robinson … encouraging his young son to do the same. Robinson’s ability to bear up under such abuse seriously reinforced my sense of just how heroic his perseverance really was.
And the litany of this film’s teachable moments doesn’t stop there. Robinson is a loving and faithful husband, a father who wants to do better than his own dad did and someone who relies on his faith to make it through. The latter is also true in Branch Rickey’s case, whether he’s quoting Scripture, alluding to Jesus or telling an adulterous manager to reconsider his immoral ways. In the end, these two men’s faith and fortitude forged a path for others to follow, forever ending segregation in baseball and challenging racism in the culture at large along the way.
A HYMN FOR TODAY
God of the living, in whose eyes
Unveiled, Thy whole creation lies;
All souls are Thine; we must not say
That those are dead who pass away.
From this our world of flesh set free,
We know them living unto Thee.
Released from earthly toil and strife,
With Thee is hidden still their life;
Thine are their tho’ts, their works, their pow’rs,
All Thine, and yet most truly ours;
For well we know, where’er they be,
Our dead are living unto Thee.
Not spilled like water on the ground,
Not wrapped in dreamless sleep profound,
Not wandering in unknown despair,
Beyond Thy voice, Thine arm, Thy care;
Not left to lie like fallen tree –
Not dead, but living, unto Thee.
Thy Word is true, Thy will is just;
To Thee we leave them, Lord, in trust;
And bless Thee for the love which gave
Thy Son to fill a human grave;
That none might fear that world to see
Where all are living unto Thee.
O Breather into man of breath,
O Holder of the keys of death,
O Giver of the life within,
Save us from death, the death of sin,
That body, soul, and spirit be
Forever living unto Thee.
8.8.8.8.8.8 – John Ellerton, 1858
Tune: ALDIE – C.E Couchman, 2011
#724 in Psalms, Hymns, and Spiritual Songs
Why the lack of coverage by national media?
(Props to Atlantic and Conor Friedersdorf)
Please note: This post contains graphic descriptions and imagery.
The grand jury report in the case of Kermit Gosnell, 72, is among the most horrifying I’ve read. “This case is about a doctor who killed babies and endangered women. What we mean is that he regularly and illegally delivered live, viable babies in the third trimester of pregnancy – and then murdered these newborns by severing their spinal cords with scissors,” it states. “The medical practice by which he carried out this business was a filthy fraud in which he overdosed his patients with dangerous drugs, spread venereal disease among them with infected instruments, perforated their wombs and bowels – and, on at least two occasions, caused their deaths.”
Charged with seven counts of first-degree murder, Gosnell is now standing trial in a Philadelphia courtroom. An NBC affiliate’s coverage includes testimony as grisly as you’d expect. “An unlicensed medical school graduate delivered graphic testimony about the chaos at a Philadelphia clinic where he helped perform late-term abortions,” the channel reports. “Stephen Massof described how he snipped the spinal cords of babies, calling it, ‘literally a beheading. It is separating the brain from the body.’ He testified that at times, when women were given medicine to speed up their deliveries, ‘it would rain fetuses. Fetuses and blood all over the place.'”
One former employee described hearing a baby screaming after it was delivered during an abortion procedure. “I can’t describe it. It sounded like a little alien,” she testified. Said the Philadelphia Inquirer in its coverage, “Prosecutors have cited the dozens of jars of severed baby feet as an example of Gosnell’s idiosyncratic and illegal practice of providing abortions for cash to poor women pregnant longer than the 24-week cutoff for legal abortions in Pennsylvania.”
Until Thursday, I wasn’t aware of this story. It has generated sparse coverage in the national media, and while it’s been mentioned in RSS feeds to which I subscribe, I skip past most news items. I still consume a tremendous amount of journalism. Yet had I been asked at a trivia night about the identity of Kermit Gosnell, I would’ve been stumped and helplessly guessed a green Muppet. Then I saw Kirsten Power’s USA Today column. She makes a powerful, persuasive case that the Gosnell trial ought to be getting a lot more attention in the national press than it is getting.
The media criticism angle interests me. But I agree that the story has been undercovered, and I happen to be a working journalist, so I’ll begin by telling the rest of the story for its own sake. Only then will I explain why I think it deserves more coverage than it has gotten, although it ought to be self-evident by the time I’m done distilling the grand jury’s allegations. Grand juries aren’t infallible. This version of events hasn’t been proven in a court of law. But journalists routinely treat accounts given by police, prosecutors and grand juries as at least plausible if not proven. Try to decide, as you hear the state’s side of the case, whether you think it is credible, and if so, whether the possibility that some or all this happened demands massive journalistic scrutiny.
In Pennsylvania, most doctors won’t perform abortions after the 20th week, many for health reasons, others for moral reasons. Abortions after 24 weeks are illegal. Until 2009, Gosnell reportedly performed mostly first and second trimester abortions. But his clinic had come to develop a bad reputation, and could attract only women who couldn’t get an abortion elsewhere, former employees have said. “Steven Massof estimated that in 40 percent of the second-trimester abortions performed by Gosnell, the fetuses were beyond 24 weeks gestational age,” the grand jury states. “Latosha Lewis testified that Gosnell performed procedures over 24 weeks ‘too much to count,’ and ones up to 26 weeks ‘very often.’ …in the last few years, she testified, Gosnell increasingly saw out-of-state referrals, which were all second-trimester, or beyond. By these estimates, Gosnell performed at least four or five illegal abortions every week.”
The grand jury report includes an image of a particularly extreme case (the caption is theirs, not mine):

That photo pertains to an unusual case, in that the mother had to seek help at a hospital after the abortion she sought at Gosnell’s office went awry. The grand jury report summarizes a more typical late-term abortion, as conducted at the clinic, concluding with the following passage:
When you perform late-term “abortions” by inducing labor, you get babies. Live, breathing, squirming babies. By 24 weeks, most babies born prematurely will survive if they receive appropriate medical care. But that was not what the Women’s Medical Society was about. Gosnell had a simple solution for the unwanted babies he delivered: he killed them. He didn’t call it that. He called it “ensuring fetal demise.” The way he ensured fetal demise was by sticking scissors into the back of the baby’s neck and cutting the spinal cord. He called that “snipping.”
Over the years, there were hundreds of “snippings.” Sometimes, if Gosnell was unavailable, the “snipping” was done by one of his fake doctors, or even by one of the administrative staff.
But all the employees of the Women’s Medical Society knew. Everyone there acted as if it wasn’t murder at all. Most of these acts cannot be prosecuted, because Gosnell destroyed the files. Among the relatively few cases that could be specifically documented, one was Baby Boy A. His 17-year-old mother was almost 30 weeks pregnant — seven and a half months — when labor was induced. An employee estimated his birth weight as approaching six pounds. He was breathing and moving when Gosnell severed his spine and put the body in a plastic shoebox for disposal. The doctor joked that this baby was so big he could “walk me to the bus stop.” Another, Baby Boy B, whose body was found at the clinic frozen in a one-gallon spring-water bottle, was at least 28 weeks of gestational age when he was killed. Baby C was moving and breathing for 20 minutes before an assistant came in and cut the spinal cord, just the way she had seen Gosnell do it so many times. And these were not even the worst cases.
Abuse of Women Patients
What little media coverage there’s been in the case has understandably focused on the murder allegations. The grand jury report also makes clear how horrific Women’s Medical Society was for the patients.
The unsanitary conditions were just the beginning.
One woman “was left lying in place for hours after Gosnell tore her cervix and colon while trying, unsuccessfully, to extract the fetus,” the report states. Another patient, 19, “was held for several hours after Gosnell punctured her uterus. As a result of the delay, she fell into shock from blood loss, and had to undergo a hysterectomy.” A third patient “went into convulsions during an abortion, fell off the procedure table, and hit her head on the floor. Gosnell wouldn’t call an ambulance, and wouldn’t let the woman’s companion leave the building so that he could call an ambulance.”
Often times, women given drugs to induce labor delivered before the doctor even arrived at work.
Said one former employee:
If… a baby was about to come out, I would take the woman to the bathroom, they would sit on the toilet and basically the baby would fall out and it would be in the toilet and I would be rubbing her back and trying to calm her down for two, three, four hours until Dr. Gosnell comes.
She would not move.
One patient died:
She was a 41-year-old, refugee who had recently come to the United States from a resettlement camp in Nepal. When she arrived at the clinic, Gosnell, as usual, was not there. Office workers had her sign various forms that she could not read, and then began doping her up. She received repeated unmonitored, unrecorded intravenous injections of Demerol, a sedative seldom used in recent years because of its dangers. Gosnell liked it because it was cheap. After several hours, Mrs. Mongar simply stopped breathing. When employees finally noticed, Gosnell was called in and briefl y attempted to give CPR. He couldn’t use the defibrillator (it was broken); nor did he administer emergency medications that might have restarted her heart. After further crucial delay, paramedics finally arrived, but Mrs.Mongar was probably brain dead before they were even called. In the meantime, the clinic staff hooked up machinery and rearranged her body to make it look like they had been in the midst of a routine, safe abortion procedure.
Even then, there might have been some slim hope of reviving Mrs. Mongar. The paramedics were able to generate a weak pulse. But, because of the cluttered hallways and the padlocked emergency door, it took them over twenty minutes just to find a way to get her out of the building. Doctors at the hospital managed to keep her heart beating, but they never knew what they were trying to treat, because Gosnell and his staff lied about how much anesthesia they had given, and who had given it. By that point, there was no way to restore any neurological activity. Life support was removed the next day. Karnamaya Mongar was pronounced dead.
Another provocative detail: A former employee testified “that white patients often did not have to wait in the same dirty rooms as black and Asian clients. Instead, Gosnell would escort them up the back steps to the only clean office — O’Neill’s — and he would turn on the TV for them. Mrs. Mongar, she said, would have been treated ‘no different from the rest of the Africans and Asians.'”
Said the employee:
Like if a girl — the black population was — African population was big here. So he didn’t mind you medicating your African American girls, your Indian girl, but if you had a white girl from the suburbs, oh, you better not medicate her. You better wait until he go in and talk to her first. And one day I said something to him and he was like, that’s the way of the world. Huh?
And he brushed it off and that was it.
Anesthesia was frequently dispensed by employees who were neither legally permitted nor trained to do it, including a 15-year-old high school student who worked at the clinic, the report states.
Most employees did as they were told, but one objected:
Marcella Stanley Choung, who told us that her “training” for anesthesia consisted of a 15-minute description by Gosnell and reading a chart he had posted in a cabinet. She was so uncomfortable medicating patients, she said, that she “didn’t sleep at night.” She knew that if she made even a small error, “I can kill this lady, and I’m not jail material.” One night in 2002, when she found herself alone with 15 patients, she refused Gosnell’s directives to medicate them. She made an excuse, went to her car, and drove away, never to return. Choung immediately filed a complaint with the Department of State, but the department never acted on it.
The Failure to Stop It
That brings us to a subject you’ve perhaps been wondering about: How on earth did this go on for so long without anyone stopping it? The grand jury delved into that very question in their report. I’m going to excerpt it at length, because it bears directly on the question that will concern us afterward: has this story gotten an appropriate amount of attention from the news media?
Here is the grand jury on oversight failures:
Pennsylvania is not a third-world country. There were several oversight agencies
that stumbled upon and should have shut down Kermit Gosnell long ago. But none of them did…The first line of defense was the Pennsylvania Department of Health. The department’s job is to audit hospitals and outpatient medical facilities, like Gosnell’s, to make sure that they follow the rules and provide safe care. The department had contact with the Women’s Medical Society dating back to 1979, when it first issued approval to open an abortion clinic. It did not conduct another site review until 1989, ten years later. Numerous violations were already apparent, but Gosnell got a pass when he promised to fix them. Site reviews in 1992 and 1993 also noted various violations, but again failed to ensure they were corrected.
But at least the department had been doing something up to that point, however ineffectual. After 1993, even that pro form a effort came to an end. Not because of administrative ennui, although there had been plenty. Instead, the Pennsylvania Department of Health abruptly decided, for political reasons, to stop inspecting abortion clinics at all… The only exception to this live-and-let-die policy was supposed to be for complaints dumped directly on the department’s doorstep. Those, at least, would be investigated. Except that there were complaints about Gosnell, repeatedly. Several different attorneys, representing women injured by Gosnell, contacted the department. A doctor from Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia hand-delivered a complaint, advising the department that numerous patients he had referred for abortions came back from Gosnell with the same venereal disease. The medical examiner of Delaware County informed the department that Gosnell had performed an illegal abortion on a 14-year-old girl carrying a 30-week-old baby. And the department received official notice that a woman named Karnamaya Mongar had died at Gosnell’s hands.
Yet not one of these alarm bells — not even Mrs. Mongar’s death — prompted the department to look at Gosnell or the Women’s Medical Society… But even this total abdication by the Department of Health might not have been fatal. Another agency with authority in the health field, the Pennsylvania Department of State, could have stopped Gosnell single-handedly.
The Department of State, through its Board of Medicine, licenses and oversees individual physicians… Almost a decade ago, a former employee of Gosnell presented the Board of Medicine with a complaint that laid out the whole scope of his operation: the unclean, unsterile conditions; the unlicensed workers; the unsupervised sedation; the underage abortion patients; even the over-prescribing of pain pills with high resale value on the street. The department assigned an investigator, whose investigation consisted primarily of an offsite interview with Gosnell. The investigator never inspected the facility, questioned other employees, or reviewed any records. Department attorneys chose to accept this incomplete investigation, and dismissed the complaint as unconfirmed.
Shortly thereafter the department received an even more disturbing report — about a woman, years before Karnamaya Mongar, who died of sepsis after Gosnell perforated her uterus. The woman was 22 years old. A civil suit against Gosnell was settled for almost a million dollars, and the insurance company forwarded the information to the department. That report should have been all the confirmation needed for the complaint from the former employee that was already in the department’s possession. Instead, the department attorneys dismissed this complaint too… The same thing happened at least twice more: the department received complaints about lawsuits against Gosnell, but dismissed them as meaningless…
Philadelphia health department employees regularly visited the Women’s Medical Society to retrieve blood samples for testing purposes, but never noticed, or more likely never bothered to report, that anything was amiss. Another employee inspected the clinic in response to a complaint that dead fetuses were being stored in paper bags in the employees’ lunch refrigerator. The inspection confirmed numerous violations… But no follow-up was ever done… A health department representative also came to the clinic as part of a citywide vaccination program. She promptly discovered that Gosnell was scamming the program; she was the only employee, city or state, who actually tried to do something about the appalling things she saw there. By asking questions and poking around, she was able to file detailed reports identifying many of the most egregious elements of Gosnell’s practice. It should have been enough to stop him. But instead her reports went into a black hole, weeks before Karnamaya Mongar walked into the Woman’s Medical Society.
…And it wasn’t just government agencies that did nothing. The Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania and its subsidiary, Penn Presbyterian Medical Center, are in the same neighborhood as Gosnell’s office. State law requires hospitals to report complications from abortions. A decade ago, a Gosnell patient died at HUP after a botched abortion, and the hospital apparently filed the necessary report. But the victims kept coming in. At least three other Gosnell patients were brought to Penn facilities for emergency surgery; emergency room personnel said they have treated many others as well. And at least one additional woman was hospitalized there after Gosnell had begun a flagrantly illegal abortion of a 29-week-old fetus. Yet, other than the one initial report, Penn could find not a single case in which it complied with its legal duty to alert authorities to the danger. Not even when a second woman turned up virtually dead…
So too with the National Abortion Federation.
NAF is an association of abortion providers that upholds the strict est health and legal standards for its members. Gosnell, bizarrely, applied for admission shortly after Karnamaya Mongar’s death. Despite his various efforts to fool her, the evaluator from NAF readily noted that records were not properly kept, that risks were not explained, that patients were not monitored, that equipment was not available, that anesthesia was misused. It was the worst abortion clinic she had ever inspected. Of course, she rejected Gosnell’s application. She just never told anyone in authority about all the horrible, dangerous things she had seen.
The conclusion drawn at the end of the section is provocative. “Bureaucratic inertia is not exactly news. We understand that,” it states. “But we think this was something more. We think the reason no one acted is because the women in question were poor and of color, because the victims were infants without identities, and because the subject was the political football of abortion.”
A Front-Page Story
Says Kirsten Powers in her USA Today op-ed, “Let me state the obvious. This should be front page news. When Rush Limbaugh attacked Sandra Fluke, there was non-stop media hysteria. The venerable NBC Nightly News’ Brian Williamsintoned, ‘A firestorm of outrage from women after a crude tirade from Rush Limbaugh,’ as he teased a segment on the brouhaha. Yet, accusations of babies having their heads severed — a major human rights story if there ever was one — doesn’t make the cut.”
Inducing live births and subsequently severing the heads of the babies is indeed a horrific story that merits significant attention. Strange as it seems to say it, however, that understates the case.
For this isn’t solely a story about babies having their heads severed, though it is that. It is also a story about a place where, according to the grand jury, women were sent to give birth into toilets; where a doctor casually spread gonorrhea and chlamydiae to unsuspecting women through the reuse of cheap, disposable instruments; an office where a 15-year-old administered anesthesia; an office where former workers admit to playing games when giving patients powerful narcotics; an office where white women were attended to by a doctor and black women were pawned off on clueless untrained staffers. Any single one of those things would itself make for a blockbuster news story. Is it even conceivable that an optometrist who attended to his white patients in a clean office while an intern took care of the black patients in a filthy room wouldn’t make national headlines?
But it isn’t even solely a story of a rogue clinic that’s awful in all sorts of sensational ways either. Multiple local and state agencies are implicated in an oversight failure that is epic in proportions! If I were a city editor for any Philadelphia newspaper the grand jury report would suggest a dozen major investigative projects I could undertake if I had the staff to support them. And I probably wouldn’t have the staff. But there is so much fodder for additional reporting.
There is, finally, the fact that abortion, one of the most hotly contested, polarizing debates in the country, is at the center of this case. It arguably informs the abortion debate in any number of ways, and has numerous plausible implications for abortion policy, including the oversight and regulation of clinics, the appropriateness of late-term abortions, the penalties for failing to report abuses, the statute of limitations for killings like those with which Gosnell is charged, whether staff should be legally culpable for the bad behavior of doctors under whom they work…
There’s just no end to it.
To sum up, this story has numerous elements any one of which would normally make it a major story. And setting aside conventions, which are flawed, thisought to be a big story on the merits.
The news value is undeniable.
Why isn’t it being covered more? I’ve got my theories. But rather than offer them at the end of an already lengthy item, I’d like to survey some of the editors and writers making coverage decisions.
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