A strange bed in a strange room in Reykjavik the northernmost capital in the world.
A low moaning awakened me.
A voice said, They’re all gone.
I asked, Who’s gone?
My children. They’ve all left.
My wife Angela was talking in her sleep. We are experiencing the empty nest syndrome. The last three of our fourteen kids are away at University. The previous day Angela had wept on the plane for some of our children. One minute laughing at the days to come, the next minute praying and crying about some longstanding issue. Mothers don’t ever forget their suckled infants.
On the flight Angela mentioned an 11th century Icelandic event called the kristnitaka, which means, the taking of Christianity. Seems civil war had been averted when the local pagans agreed to accept Christianity on condition the old laws concerning the exposure of infants and the eating of horseflesh would remain and that private pagan worship be permitted.
Exposure of infants meant killing babies. Newborn babies were left out in the snow as a way of population control. Now we have abortion. Infanticide was and is still practiced all over the world. Check out Wikipedia.
I’d said, The most dangerous place in the world today for a female is to be in her mother’s womb in India. Then I said, But it wasn’t so with you Angela. Your womb was the safest and warmest place in the world. You were as Psalm 128 says, A fruitful vine within my house. You produced children like olive shoots around my table. You gave me a double portion of kids.
On the flight I’d been reading an article about human hearts and how their stored memories can be transferred to the new heart transplant recipient. It mentioned over seventy documented cases of heart transplant patients experiencing personality changes as they took on many characteristics of the donor.
For example one forty seven year old male received a heart from a teenage girl who’d suffered from bulimia. Six month later he was constantly giggling like a girl to his wife’s great annoyance. He was also nauseated most of the time and kept throwing up after meals.
I wondered what might happen to anyone who received Angela’s heart. They’d no doubt experience intense memories of children to care for and pray for and dream about. Perhaps they too would talk in their sleep and weep real tears.
One of Angela favourite scriptures is from Exodus 20 about God showing love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commandments. Angela wants God’s best for her children. That’s why she so fiercely guards their lives and callings and attitudes with so much prayer. That’s why she is so intense in her desire to protect her children’s personal standards of conduct and holiness. She doesn’t want her children and her children’s children living under any curse or being slaves to Satan or the world’s cruel system.
Angela’s womb was a safe place. Her heart is even safer. No exposure of infants for her. Nightly she prays from Psalm 112, Blessed are those who fear the Lord, who find great delight in his commands. Their children will be mighty in the land; the generation of the upright will be blessed.