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Right of Way

As an intellectual exercise today, I’d like us to deal with an analogy.

a·nal·o·gy /əˈnaləjē/

noun -“a comparison between two things, typically for the purpose of explanation or clarification.

Oftentimes when dealing with a moral problem, it helps to take a step back and look at the problem with fresh eyes and in a different context. So please bear with me…

Where I used to live in East Tennessee, there were several places where two lanes went down to a one-lane road. Often going under an overhead train crossing, or sometimes down a secluded country trail. Unfortunately, many of those roads had no shoulders on the sides. Instead, there were huge ditches that could ruin the underside of your vehicle.

Put that road going around the side of a mountain, and that drop off could mean life or death. This is a story about life and death. About rights and choices, and the lives they affects. Anyway, back to my analogy…

Let’s imagine you’re headed out for a court date. You’re barreling down the narrow one-lane country road from your house headed to your county courthouse. You have to answer to the judge for a bucket-full of speeding tickets. If you miss your court appearance and paying your fines today, you will most certainly spend months in jail. But right now, all your plans now have come to a literal stop.

A blind man is standing in the middle of that narrow road leading from your home.

You roll down your window and ask if you can help him move to one side. You explain it is dangerous for him to be in the middle of the road, and wandering in the middle of nowhere.

No response. He is either deaf as well as blind or mentally impaired. And you are about to be late for court.

The blind man doesn’t mean to obstruct your way, but he is scared and confused. In frustration, you tap your horn thinking maybe he might be able to hear that. That causes him to jump and frightens him even more.

Unfortunately, he is still not moving.

You step out of your car now, hoping to coax him to the side of the road. But he does not respond to you. And even if he did, fencing and high brush line either side of the road as is often the case in the country. There is no shoulder in the road where he can stand out of the way, and the road is way to narrow for your car to fit around him.

As you sit back in your car again in frustration, a thought enters your mind. Technically, he is jaywalking. You have the right of way, in fact you own the road. He is trespassing on your property. Whomever let him out is ultimately responsible for allowing him to wander away.

There are lots of things you can’t know, but one thing you do know: If you don’t hurry, you’ll miss your court appearance and be headed to jail for months. Maybe even as many as nine months.

Wow, that’s a long time! So what do you do?

Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know one solution that would fix your problem instantly. It’s an extreme measure, but you are about to lose all your freedom and go to jail. A year of your life and possibly much of your future may be ruined if you don’t act now.

So what’s my extreme solution? Well, you could always just run the man over with your car and breeze on down the road. Voila, problem fixed!

“Ridiculous!” you say.

“Oh really?” I reply.

People take innocent life everyday, all in the name of inconvenience. Just remove the blind man and replace him with a fetus.

My little analogy demands we answer the following question: When do I have the right to kill you? Most civilized people would answer I am right in killing you ONLY if you are trying to kill me. And not even always then. If I can incapacitate you or stop you from killing me in any other way, that would be preferable to me killing you.

In fact, all decent people will do everything possible to avoid killing another human being. Heck, I even swerve my car to avoid the rabbit that run out of the bushes at night and onto our street. How much more so should we avoid killing another person!

Why? Because that is the worst thing you can do to someone else – to end their life.

You have never violated human rights so much as when you end a person’s most basic right – to live.

But when you make the choice to back up your car, build up some speed and plow into the blind man, you’ve become the most selfish of humans. You’ve ended someone else’s very existence simply because they were inconvenient and threatened to change your plans.

You may argue I have no right to judge you for running the blind man over, since I’ve never been in your circumstance. Although you’re right, no reasonable person would argue I can’t put myself enough in your shoes simply because I’m not quite literally in them.

You also may argue that, since the man is blind, he’s not really as much human as you and me. He can’t function at the same capacity we do, so therefore it’s unfair to define him as human. So taking his life would not be a bad thing, especially considering you’d be putting him out of the misery of blindness.

I mean, who really wants a blind man anyway? “Every person a wanted person”, right?

With enough rationalizing acrobatics, you may convince yourself running him over is the right thing. Except no one with any shred of human decency would agree with you. That same argument about him not being quite human was used by people to rationalize slavery, and also the slaughter of the Jews in Nazi Germany. 

Surely you don’t belong in that company.

But despite all reason, despite the man’s intrinsic human rights, and not to mention the thought that he, like you, was created in the image of God, you start backing up your car. You hear the gravel on the dirt road crunching under your tires. After you come to a stop a few yards behind, you hit the gas pedal.

Before the moment of impact, just to guard against any PTSD down the road, you close you eyes. Wouldn’t want that picture embedded in your memory. And if I should post of picture of that moment of impact, you’d surely attack me as insensitive and hateful.

There is still the problem of the sound of his scream along with the dull thug of his body again the hood of your car. But a few restful months spent not in jail should erase that memory. 

Of course no analogy is perfect – they all break down at some point. You may protest my example isn’t a fair comparison, and you’re probably right in some respects. But it’s hard to argue that for any reason short of saving your own life you have the right to take someone else’s. That’s because its hard to drown out the sound of logic, no matter how loudly you yell about your own rights.

Having the right of way is important when it comes to traffic safety. But it has no importance whatsoever when balanced against saving a human life. Respect for another’s right to life is more basic than a religious conviction – it is at the core of simply being a human being.

When it comes to life, your right of way is completely irrelevant. Because life is the greatest right of all.

For further thought – https://notthebee.com/article/ten-quick-replies-to-common-pro-abortion-arguments-and-assertions

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.