Abortion: Who Is the Criminal?

When you’re a child, you can’t fathom the idea that someone would kill a sweet little baby for any reason, with the law allowing it because the child hasn’t been born.

When you grow older, you realize the webs the Enemy spins around the issue of abortion are complex. It’s about far more than the child who dies unjustly. There is always another victim.

Recently, Louisiana Right to Life tweeted: “No mother should face criminal penalty for an abortion.”

In response, a pro-life advocate tweeted: “Keep it consistent. If a man hires a hit on his wife, he should have no criminal penalties as well.”

  • Of course, because a man who hires a hit on his wife has usually been brainwashed into believing his wife is only a disordered clump of organic tissue.
  • Of course, because a man who hires a hit on his wife has regularly been threatened with the loss of a job or promotion if his wife doesn’t die.
  • Of course, because a man who hires a hit on his wife is often 14-18 years old with friends and family threatening to abandon him if his wife doesn’t die.
  • Of course, because a man who hires a hit on his wife might have been beaten or held at gunpoint by his wife’s father until he ordered the hit.
  • Of course, because a man who hires a hit on his wife always has his own body invaded and left bleeding by the hitman in order for his wife to die.

Apples to oranges, my friends. The common situations for these acts — abortion and hiring a hit on one’s wife — are vastly dissimilar.

Am I saying the mother in every instance bears no moral culpability for the death of her child? No.

What I’m saying is this:

Any mother who consents to the slaughter of her own child has suffered a brutal emotional and psychological violation.

Either by a narrow-minded, fear-mongering social rhetoric; by the industry that profits financially off her pain and abuse; or by family and friends, even well-meaning ones, who just want a problem to go away without cost to themselves.

A law that automatically charges a mother with first-degree murder because her son or daughter was ripped from her body is not justice.

Dare to look behind the green curtain, my friends.

–Miss Darcy


I Write Because…

Theoretically, I write because I have something worthwhile to say. Or at least I publish for that reason. I can write just for the sheer delight of piecing words together to mean something. But part of the joy in writing, for me, is to share it.

Of course, in order to write something worthwhile, you should probably know what you’re talking about, right?

And of late, I have discovered just exactly how much I don’t know. Part of growing is discovering how much you have yet to grow.

I look at myself and wonder what business I have writing anything to try to help others. Sweet stars, I can’t even help myself half the time. There is so much I have yet to figure out.

And then I hear a pastor in his sixties say, “I hate to break it to you, but I still don’t have it figured out!” So encouraging. 😉

I don’t have the training of a pastor. Just a very busy brain, a deep respect for God’s Word, and a passion for written communication.

All these thoughts bubble up within me, and I want to write them and share them here. But I don’t.

It’s not about the number of people who read. It’s about whether it makes a difference. And more to the point, what kind of difference it makes. What if I write something here that is patently wrong?

I’ve written some pretty strong stuff here in the past. I find myself much less confident of the accuracy of my perceptions these days.

Yet that word “perceptions” is key. When I write my thoughts here, I am sharing my perceptions. My point of view. Yes, I endeavor to align my perceptions with the Bible. I seek to match them with reality.

But the fact is, I’m sharing things as I see them, in the hopes that my perception will be a blessing to someone else. Either because it’s relatable or because it’s something new. But it’s not like I’m writing the Bible. Anyone who reads what I write can take it or leave it, weigh it against the Word and see how it holds up.

I am responsible to do my best, and it’s up to my reader to discern the Truth in what I write—or if Truth is lacking.

And when it comes down to it, I write because that’s what God has given me to do. I’m so afraid it sounds pompous to say that: “God called me to do this.”

But it’s just a job I’ve been given to do. Happens to be a fun job many times. Fun or not, it’s always fulfilling. Nothing like doing what you’re supposed to do for giving you that feeling of purpose.

So I shall endeavor to continue sharing the things that come into my life and grow me, encourage me, and change my perspective.

My goal is to encourage, uplift, and challenge my fellow creatures. To hopefully be an outlet for the Light.

To everyone who reads: thank you for valuing my words, at least enough to give them a try. I appreciate it so much. I hope you find something that blesses you.

And while we’re talking about what we’re supposed to be doing: Do have something you’ve been given to do that you find (or have found) difficult to embrace? Feel free to share in the comments if you feel comfortable, or click on the “Connect” tab and shoot me an email if you want to chat.

-Miss Darcy

No Identity? My Name Is…

Every Christmas (yes, I realize it’s April; calm down), my family watches It’s a Wonderful Life. Last year, a very familiar line struck me anew.

George Bailey and his guardian angel Clarence Oddbody are wandering around in the world that exists because George was never born. Although Clarence warned him of the current state of affairs, George just can’t get it — even when the two of them are thrown out of a bar that’s nothing like the almost homey bar George is used to.

Standing in the snow, utterly confused, George demands, “Well, if I wasn’t born, who am I?”

“You’re nobody,” Clarence replies. “You have no identity.”

And George replies, “What d’ya mean no identity? My name’s George Bailey.”

My name is…

Not, “I run the Building and Loan.” Not, “I’m a husband and father.” Not, “I’m a 4-F guy who couldn’t go fight with my brother in the war.”

Not even, “I’m breathing cold air into my lungs. I can feel my heartbeat. Of course I’m someone.”

No, the instinctive reply at being told he doesn’t exist is to cite his name.

Think about it. If someone came up to you and asked politely, “And who are you?” (or not so politely, “Who in blazes are you?”), how would you answer?

In movies, they come up with something smart. In real life, we give our name first.

“My name is Darcy.” Because my name somehow answers the question, “Who?”

Or simply, “I’m Darcy.”

I am” — speaking of the very essence of my being.

If you ask about me, I’ll tell you I’m an author, a soprano in my church choir, a Narnia enthusiast, oldest of three sisters, resident of such-and-such place. But if you ask who I am, I’ll give you my name.

See, I can describe myself many ways. What I do, how I look, what I love. Some things I have in common with others, some things are unique to me.

But no one thing is me. I’m all of them, and more — a soul created unique by God. There’s only one way to sum all that up.

I’m Darcy.

But why is it instinctive to hold our name as our identity?

A name change can even be referred to as “changing our identity.”

Sometimes we give ourselves names other than what our parents gave us. We might choose to go by a nickname, or give ourselves a pseudonym that also becomes our identity.

People may name their children (or themselves) based on what the words mean in their root language. My name means “dark” in the Irish. It’s also the name of a fortress in France.

Names may be a nod to other people who bore them. My name is a nod to a very proud, noble person who discovered nobility wasn’t worth much without humility.

Names may be chosen simply for the way they sound, or for other associations. My name is associated with classic literature.

Sometimes we don’t even like our names, but we still use them. Somehow it doesn’t feel right to try to change them, even use a middle name, because how could we be anyone other than what we’ve been called all our lives? I have a close friend who says this.

Names are an important matter to God.

He often named people and, in some cases, renamed them.

The most famous example is probably Abram, whose name meant “father.” That was a hint at his legacy, but not enough. God gave him the name Abraham — father of a multitude — so that his very name would testify to what God would do with his life.

But sometimes it isn’t about the name’s literal meaning.

Take the man Jabez, whose mother sorrowed when she bore him and so named him “grief.” Jabez went straight to the Lord with the problem of his name and begged God to bless him and keep him from evil, that grief and pain would not be the hallmarks of his life.

And God granted his request. He didn’t change Jabez’s name, but he changed the meaning of the name, as it were. The word still meant grief; but the name Jabez referred to a man God had blessed. In a very real sense, Jabez now means “blessed by God.”

You could say my name means “dark fortress.”

Can we picture Maleficent’s Forbidden Mountain?

Yeah, I’d rather not have my name mean that.

But a fortress is a stronghold, a place of safety, something that endures. I can dig into that. Dark can mean “mysterious” or “secret.” That sounds pretty cool.

More than that, if Darcy refers uniquely to me — writer, INTP, Christian, etc. — then, by simply living, I get to make my own meaning for the name.

Suppose I’m the first Darcy someone meets. Will they associate the name with kindness and understanding? With honesty and trustworthiness? With true Christ-following?

Will they smile when they hear the name?

(You know we all have those names we just don’t like because we once knew an incredible jerk by that name.)

So I perceived that nothing is better than that a man should rejoice in his own works, for that is his heritage. For who can bring him to see what will happen after him?

-Ecclesiates 3:22 NKJV (emphasis mine)

We tend to think of heritage as what we receive from those before us. And it is.

But heritage is also what we make of ourselves. For that is what we pass to those who will come after us.

In a very real way, we are our names.

Humans were created to name. God gave Adam the privilege of naming the animals, and of choosing what to call his wife.

We’ve been naming things ever since.

Which brings up the dark flip side to this name-equals-identity phenomenon.

We sometimes stick each other with names meant to devalue. And those names have the power to crush us.

Unless we fight them.

If we are told we’re worthless, or a failure, or like that horrible person no one likes, and we believe it, we will begin to act as if those names are ours. We will treat ourselves as worthless. We will expect to fail and stop trying to succeed. We will believe that no one likes us and be unable to trust anyone.

But if we tell ourselves the truth, call ourselves the names God gives us, we can overcome the false names.

God calls us sinners. But He also calls us beloved.

When we choose Him, He calls us redeemed. He also calls us His heirs.

He calls us warriors, ambassadors, chosen, His.

They’re descriptive names. And they matter.

More than that, the God of the universe knows your given name.

He pronounces it with a native accent, the way you do. He gives it meaning — it means you, who He created you to be.

He even knows the name He will give you if you overcome. (And that’s a whole ‘nother topic.)

But rest assured, He knows your name. His voice does not find it unfamiliar.

Maybe that’s why George Bailey’s using his name for evidence of existence feels so natural.

Because that’s how the Creator wired us.

Maybe there’s so much more to a name than we realize.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on whether or not a name matters! And, while you’re at it, what do you want to make your name mean?

–Miss Darcy

(Clip below of Disney expertly capturing this name-equals-identity phenomenon.)


Through Blood and Shame

At my church’s Good Friday service, they handed out twenty-eight penny nails for us to hold as we prayed, sang, and meditated on Jesus’ death on the cross.

As I held the cold metal in my hands until it warmed, I gripped it to feel the unbendable hardness. Poked the point against the inside of my wrist. Twisted it every conceivable way as a tactile connection to the Cross.
And I discovered how easily it slipped into the position of a pencil in my fingers.
It fascinated me.

For surely the nails wrote a message that day.

Before, at many other executions, they had written messages of despair and defeat, of agony and shame. But underneath all they usually said was a very quiet message that no one could see that day.

“Nothing is stronger than the King’s love.”

Love that will carry an undeserved cross. Love that will willingly stretch out upon it. Love that will scream in anguish, hang for hours gasping for breath, and still not back down from doing what must be done.
Even though many of the beneficiaries of this sacrifice will reject it.
It’s not a proud strength. Not showy, not even obvious. The Man was killed brutally, after all.
Yet a love that could walk steadily forward through blood and shame and pain to death, for the sake of the one beloved, cannot be anything but strong.
And that is the same love that holds me two millennia later. Me, Darcy Fornier, insignificant though I am by so many of my culture’s standards. That unconquerable love holds me.
I’m still meditating on it almost two weeks later. Because I need to know deep in my soul that if Jesus did THAT for me, I can trust Him with anything I face today.
May His powerful love enwrap us, my friends, and strengthen us to live this life well.

-Miss Darcy

Thoughts on the Ravi Zacharias Investigation

Anyone who knows me well (or maybe not even that well) knows I greatly admired Ravi Zacharias. So when I saw the report in December, saying an investigation into allegations of sexual misconduct had turned up evidence to confirm the allegations, I knew I’d be writing this post. I’ve waited a while since the final report was released to give myself time to process.

Before I go further, I want to say that I have seen several people talking about if this is true, if he did this, and so forth. And that’s fair. Such behavior is in no way congruent with the Ravi Zacharias we knew. But after reading the full report, I do not doubt that he did engage in sexual misconduct. I find the electronic evidence—photos, money trails, etc.—to be very convincing and corroborative of the victims’ testimony.

I have long respected Ravi’s intellect. His mind was absolutely brilliant. His command of language, especially a non-native language, could hardly be matched. I was inspired by how he taught that everything centered around the person of Jesus Christ, that even our deepest pain and hardest questions could find answers in Jesus and His Cross.

But my favorite thing about Ravi’s apologetic style was his skill at answering the questioner behind the question. Sometimes he barely even touched the question at all because a question can be a veil for the real dilemma in a person’s heart. And Ravi was always gracious and respectful, even when he preached with challenging honesty.

I’m nowhere near as smart as he was, but as someone who loved the field of apologetics, I respected, admired, and sought to emulate him. “Imitate me as I imitate Christ,” Paul said, and we Christians are always talking about finding good role models. I thought he was one.

When I first learned of the allegations, part of me was rolling my eyes. “Of course, now that he’s dead, let’s try to smear his good name and destroy his ministry. He’s not even here to defend himself!”

But the apologist in me said, “You believe that the truth should always be upheld, always sought, never concealed. It’s only in finding and acknowledging the truth that you have any hope of doing anything about it.” So I was glad for the RZIM board’s decision to hire the investigators and encourage them to pursue whatever leads they uncovered.

I was angry back in December at the probability of sexual misconduct. I was furious when it was confirmed.

What happened to “all of our pain and all of our longings can only be satisfied fully in Jesus”? What happened to “humans have intrinsic, inviolable worth because they are created in the image of God”? What happened to “I couldn’t ask for a better wife than Margie”? (And, no, these are not direct quotes. They are summations from my comprehension of his writings.)

Even as I read the report, part of me wondered, “What’s the point? He’s dead. He can’t even repent. Why speak up now?” And then I got to the part where someone had spoken up while he was alive. Someone had even brought charges while he was alive. And instead of repenting, Ravi sued the woman for extortion and protested his innocence. So he had his chance, after all. (And no wonder no one else spoke up while he lived.)

My mom is a registered nurse with a minor in psychology. It was helpful to talk things over with her, as she graciously said there may have been an explanation for why this behavior suddenly appeared ten to fourteen years ago. There’s no evidence for it prior to that, so why all of a sudden? Maybe his back pain got to him, and he found that massages were a lot more effective with some of those intoxicating brain chemicals from sexual behavior. Maybe once he started, he became addicted to the thrill of getting away with it. And maybe once he was in it, he knew he’d be crucified if he tried to repent, so why bother?

We’ll never know for sure how or why it started. We can take a pretty good guess at why it never stopped.

But, even if we did know, ‘twould be only an explanation. Not an excuse.

He sinned against numerous women. Exploited them for his own personal satisfaction. Did a really good job of it, grooming them as a mentor before he asked favors. Kept his online doings very secretive for “privacy” so he could continue his sin undetected.

It was deliberate.

And I’ll be the first to say the devil can mess up your mind badly. Sometimes before you know it’s happened. And Jesus said sexual sin happens in the mind, and we aren’t even supposed to let that happen.

But this wasn’t just in his mind. It was physical, between him and other people.

He didn’t cross a line. He crossed a twelve-foot concrete wall with barbed wire running along the top.

Some things in life are complicated. One I’ve wrestled with, for instance, is “Where is the line between kind support and enabling?” That one, and many others, are easy to handle wrongly.

But sexual sin? Like, physical sexual sin? The kind that actually involves the other person? Baby, that one is as clear as a cloudless winter sky.

If it’s not between a man and his lawful wife, you don’t touch. You don’t look. You don’t open your mouth (or your keyboard) and harm the other person with whatever sexual struggle is in your head.

It’s that simple.

And no, I’ve never been in love, never even had a serious boyfriend. But I’m a healthy twenty-something with hormones. I’m not completely blind.

God has put it really, really clearly in His Word. We might be all kinds of messed up in our heads, struggling, sinning in our minds, even enjoying the effects of that sin. Maybe unable to discern anymore the difference between the temptation and the actual mental sin.

But even so, there’s still that concrete wall. You don’t touch. You don’t look.

That’s what makes it hard for me, why I was so angry. All his life, this man preaches that following Jesus is the only way to satisfy the human heart, soul, and mind. And he deliberately trespasses one of the plainest commandments of Jesus.

Sexual sin is almost the oldest in the book. But it still works. Oh, how it works, brother. The devil doesn’t have to be creative, coming up with new ways to tempt us, because the old ways still work flawlessly. A man and a ministry and an unnumbered amount of victims wounded and destroyed by sexual sin. Beautiful war tactic, you have to admit.

So now that I’m furious because I feel betrayed by someone who taught one thing and lived another, do I just write him off?

I’m tempted, believe me.

But then there’s that whole David and Bathsheba thing. Kill a guy so you can steal his wife, whom you’ve already impregnated. Wanna talk about sexual misconduct?

But David repented and God still called him “the man after God’s own heart.” Maybe Ravi repented before he died.

A former pastor made a very thoughtful post on Facebook about this. He points out, fairly, I believe, that the Church has a tendency to do a lousy job in the area of sexuality. It’s like we think that after salvation, bang! no more sexual desire. And since we think we’re not supposed to have it, we have no clue how to handle it when it pops up in the wrong place. “What’s this? Oh, no! Suppress it, quick!” Then we’re shocked and shamed when it blows up and plunges us into sin.

(And don’t tell me the Church is a safe place to find help for this particular struggle. Sure, some close Christian friends, maybe. But get too honest with those nice folks filling the pews, and you’ll get tarred and feathered. But I digress.)

I don’t want to be guilty of crucifying Ravi Zacharias. I don’t want this to negate, in my mind, all the good he has done. I know we all sin. I know Ravi is God’s business way more than ours. The man has already faced God, for that matter. “To his own master he stands or falls.”

There is grace. So much grace from a God who sacrificed Himself to redeem us.

And yet sexual sin is such a massive trust-breaker, due to God’s design for sexual intimacy. It feels so big and vile and slimy.

What is there to say? The whole ugly mess may bring good if it turns our attention to how to prevent things like this. Starting with our own lives.

In the meantime, I grieve. And try not to think of it. And ask God, “If it could happen to Ravi, how can I stop it from happening to me?”

It’s not like this shakes my trust in the God Ravi preached about. For one thing, I worship God, not one of his followers. And even if Ravi did turn out to be a Pharisee for the last decade of his life, that doesn’t mean he didn’t know and speak the truth. God knows I don’t always live the truth I speak.

I probably won’t be too keen on reading his teachings from that decade, at least for a while. I’d have that suspicion in my mind that untruths were starting to slip into his teaching. But his earlier stuff, I think I’ll be able to read that. And the other great members of RZIM have phenomenal resources I will continue to enjoy.

But it hurts. It hurts badly. I believe with all my heart that sex and sexuality are sacred. If Christians can’t even get this sex thing right, who on this earth can?

–Miss Darcy

Five Favorite Books

I guess being a bookworm comes with the whole writer thing. 😉 Today I’m talking (read: gushing) about five of my favorite books. Hope you enjoy!

That said, what are some of your favorite books — and what do you love about them? (Because my TBR pile may be rivaling the Eiffel Tower, but it’s not tall enough yet.) 😉


-Miss Darcy

My Book’s First Birthday!

Can you believe it’s been a year since The Crown and the Axe set out to seek its fortune? While this year itself has been crazy-long, somehow it doesn’t seem that long ago that I was pulling my hair out trying to figure out how to self-publish a novel. 🙂

So in honor of the occasion, my book is on sale this week! 99c for the eBook, 25% off for the paperback.


All the other eBook platforms

And just for fun, I’m doing some little behind-the-scenes videos this week. Hope you enjoy!

Have a lovely weekend, my friends! (Maybe even have some ice cream to celebrate with me.) 😉

–Miss Darcy