Not Every Voice Needs to Be Loud.
Living Between Reverence and Reality
This isn’t the post I planned to write. But some things sit on your chest long enough that eventually, they need to be said.
Outrage isn't the only response to reverence. Sometimes, it's restraint.
Living Between Reverence and Reality
This isn’t the post I planned to write. But some things sit on your chest long enough that eventually, they need to be said.
What if Mary—the Virgin Mary—had a choice?
Luke 1:38 tells us, "And Mary said, 'Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.'" Her response wasn’t coerced. It was an act of willing submission—one of the most powerful and humble affirmations of faith in all of Scripture.
But suppose she had said no? Suppose the choice had been hers to make—and she changed her mind?
My theologian husband would say, "Then the angel would've appeared and said, 'Don't you dare.'" I'd say, "Exactly. That's the point."
Mary's angel is today’s pro-life supporter—at least, the compassionate ones. The ones who approach the issue with reverence for life, not fury at women.
That image—the angel pleading, not punishing—stayed with me the day Roe v. Wade was overturned.
The Backlash to Silence
On June 24, 2022, I posted something simple on social media. I said I needed to step back for a while, until people could engage with more civility, respect, and emotional maturity.
I didn’t take a side. I didn’t argue. I didn’t rage.
Apparently, that was too much.
My silence was treated like betrayal. One person asked, "How are YOU not outraged?" Then later said, "No voice on this subject is a voice though."
To be clear: I was outraged. I am outraged.
I’m outraged that we’ve reduced conversation to camps and loyalty tests. That women are expected to have preloaded opinions, and penalized if they don’t express them with the correct level of fury. That silence is no longer seen as boundary, but as provocation.
So Let Me Tell You What I Believe
Not one person who came for me that day—full of rage, assumptions, and demands—paused to ask a question that actually mattered: "What do you believe?"
I believe life is sacred and begins at conception.
I believe abortion is morally wrong.
Personally, I believe it should be illegal.
The creation of life is miraculous and brings with it hope. Hope for the future. The chance to finally cure cancer, reverse autism, eliminate Alzheimer’s. We are created in the image of God and are charged with stewardship over the earth.
The kicker? I also believe in a woman's right to choose.
No, I didn’t celebrate on June 24. I lamented that such a law even existed. Yes, I believe abortion should be illegal. But who am I to tell another person what they can and can't do with their body? It's an ethically hard line for me when we start making laws based on morality.
The other kicker? I believe fathers should have rights, too.
Let that sit with you a while.
My views don't fit neatly into anyone’s narrative. That’s okay. I'm not trying to win an argument. I’m trying to live with integrity.
The Space Between
I exist in the space between theology and liberty. Between personal pain and moral principle. Between silence and noise.
I’m not here to scream.
But don’t mistake my silence for apathy.
This isn’t a call to convert anyone.
It’s a call to create space.
For the people who live in the gray. For the ones who revere life, respect freedom, and refuse to scream to be seen.
If that’s you, you’re not alone.
We were never promised moral simplicity—only the burden and gift of free will.
We were given choice. The hard kind.
And maybe that’s what Mary had too.
Not a command. Not a curse.
A choice. The kind made not in protest, but in peace.
Final Thoughts
I believe life is sacred.
I also believe choice is sacred.
My hope? That we might stop yelling long enough to remember we were all made in the same image.
And that maybe—just maybe—we could start acting like it.
If this gave you something to think about, I did my job. Share it with someone who still believes we can disagree without destroying each other.