Hope

Often, but especially over the past few days, I have felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.  It tends to be not because my life is bad – indeed, I feel I have been blessed beyond measure – but the turmoil and suffering of the world around me weighs heavily upon me.  Sometimes it is guilt that I am flitting about my comfortable life while others do not have that luxury (not that I don’t have problems, but they often seem so small in the face of issues like famine, unemployment, terminal illnesses, etc.), sometimes it is plain and simple empathy, or sometimes it is a feeling of helplessness that nothing I can do will make a dent in the strife… it’s just a drop of freshwater in the ocean.  And certainly there is the frightening realization that it is only a matter of time before the badness I see around me hits closer to home.

As my heart ached, I considered that I cannot possibly be the only one despairing over these things, and I wondered how I might share some comfort with anyone else who feels the way I do.  Certainly, we childfree can take some comfort in the fact that we are not forcing another person into such an existence (“better…is he who has not yet been and has not seen the evil deeds that are done under the sun.” Ecc. 4:3). But beyond that, we are offered a little hope for ourselves – not that things will get better here, but that there is something more powerful than this world:  “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

Take heart.

What’s In It For The Kid?

“Don’t read the comments… don’t read the comments… don’t read the comments…”
I say it over and over to myself whenever an online source opens a piece of text to the public for comments, whether it be the local newspaper, a major news outlet like CNN or FoxNews, or even just a thread in a facebook newsfeed.

But when Laura Carroll invited her readers to comment on her response piece to Caplan’s “Selfish Reasons to Have More Kids,” both published in the Wall Street Journal, I considered leaving a supportive comment for Laura. Instead, I found myself wading through a sea of negativity and bingoes, interspersed with a few intelligent observations from those who took the time to think about what Laura had to say.

My mind was a flurry of activity, and I soon realized that all of the things I felt would take up far more space than would be appropriate for a comment, so I decided to post here instead. I have no desire that most of the aforementioned commenters would read my blog, so what I have to say is mostly a catharsis for me.

When it comes to how many children someone should have (including 0), one of the things that is seldom discussed is what is in it for the child. For everyone, reproducer or not, the choice ultimately boils down to one selfish reason: it’s what I want (or don’t want) to do. There may be addenda to this reason (…because I want someone to take care of me when I’m old, because I want to experience unconditional love, because I like children, because I don’t like children, because I don’t want the responsibility, because I want to nurture the relationships I already have, etc.), but it is still about me and my desires. From the title of his piece, Caplan clearly does not dispute this; in fact, he quite encourages everyone to follow their own desires to have children.

People sometimes object to the word “selfish,” but I’m not trying to imply that it is necessarily wrong to follow your heart’s desire when deciding whether or not to reproduce. However, in response to Caplan’s encouragement for people to have more children, I would like to say wait -- what about the children? Shouldn’t we think a little harder about this?

Laura tackled several relevant issues in her piece, so I want to zero in on the one that has been weighing on me lately: what is in it for the child. My view, of course, is colored by my being a highly introverted, somewhat misanthropic, quasi-antinatalist, depressive realist who wonders why anyone would want to bring a child into this suffering world in the first place. None of these would-be children asked to be born, and each time one of us has a child, we force that child into a harsh and tumultuous world to experience a lifetime of pain. Personally, I think that if my parents had taken the time to consider that, they could have saved me a hell of a lot of grief. Yes, I would have missed out on all of the amazing things my life has had to offer, but by not existing in the first place, I would have been none the wiser.

And going back to the impetus for this post… reading the comments to Laura’s article only served to reinforce that I would not want to impose a world of such nasty people onto my potential offspring.

Now I realize that God may have a plan for each of us, blah, blah, blah, and so I cannot bring myself to believe that no one should have children simply for the reasons I described above. What I must believe is that we ought not be so flippant about procreating; it should be done with thoughtful and prayerful consideration. We should also carefully consider the effects of bringing additional children into this troubled world -- children who are more likely to just be entitled consumers who gobble up resources and cause more trouble than to actually solve any problems -- rather than focusing our financial and emotional resources to something that is likely to make the world a better place… say, adoption of any of the 140,000,000 orphans who are already out there?

It’s Not About Me, Me, Me

Although my primary reason for not having children is that I simply do not want them, and further I feel called to not have them, I also believe that it would be selfish and cruel of me to impose this world of suffering on a child. In that sense, I have some mild antinatalist leanings. Being keenly aware of the misery of life, I quite often think that I would be better off to never have been born. I am not clinically depressed nor suicidal, but I am a realist. Each of us is born with a death sentence, and the closer we move toward our expiration date, the more loss we experience: a friend killed by a drunk driver, a grandparent losing a battle with cancer, heart attacks, plane crashes, old age… not to mention the daily trials of illness and injury, stress, and dealing with nasty people.

Please don’t get me wrong - I recognize that I have a wonderful life with a loving husband, dear family, fulfilling career, rewarding volunteer work, beautiful possessions, and precious pets; and I am extremely grateful. And yet, if someone had shown me this world before I was born and asked me whether or not I would like to come into this world, even knowing what my life would be like I would have declined the offer.

This is indeed one reason that I cling to my faith. If this life is all there is, and once we die we just disappear, well then someone might as well kill me now. It’s all a big waste or some cruel cosmic joke. However, if there is a heaven, then someday I might truly appreciate that I came into existence. Even the apostle Paul said, “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21) I am reminded of the old chorus we used to sing at church…

“It will be worth it all when we see Jesus.
Life’s trials will seem so small when we see Christ.
One glimpse of his dear face all sorrow will erase.
So bravely run the race ‘til we see Christ.”

Recently at church, the pastor spoke about suffering and about our tendency as humans to ask why. He concluded that it is not for us to know why, and then he said something that struck me to my core. I don’t remember his exact words, but the message that seared my mind was, Life in this world may not be worth it to me, but perhaps my life is worth it to God. My toils here are part of a greater plan, and this isn’t about me. It’s not about my pleasure, it’s not about my relief when I finally make it to heaven, and it’s not about what I am getting out of this deal. It’s about God’s purpose, something that is worth it to him. (This was kind of a “duh” moment - something I have always known - but sometimes you need to get smacked over the head with something to help you remember it again.)

This is not to say that God is unsympathetic to my condition. After all, he has blessed me beyond what I could have ever dared ask. But this is to say that when I have those dark moments like the prophet Elijah, I need to remember that living on this world is not all about me, me, me, and I must remember to listen for the still small voice of God to point me back in the right direction. (I Kings 19:4,12)

One final thought from Revelation 21:4: “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” This is our hope!