It’s worth a read.
As I continued to take the little pill daily for another three years, it became harder and harder to swallow. I grew uneasy with the minuscule chance—be it one in a million of millions—that my womb might turn away a cluster of 128 or 256 cells knitted together in the image of God.
This sense of discomfort never evolved into an absolute dogma: I still wouldn’t say that taking contraceptives is a sin. But I questioned the assumptions I found underneath my pill popping.
What did my daily habit say about my faith in the One who reduced himself first to a cell, then two, then 128, then 256 and more, then to a defenseless baby—and whose door is always open for helpless intruders like me?
H/t Amy Welborn.
bearing blog 