I awoke at 4:10 am, chilled and feverish. After paying my obligatory homage to the porcelain deity, I popped a couple more Tylenol, drank half a glass of water and lay back down. That’s when it hit me.

I live in Frog-i-stan. Okay, there isn’t actually country called Frog-i-stan, but with all the other “-stans” out there (Afghanistan, Kurdistan, Uzbekistan, Stanistan – oh, wait, that one’s made up, too), I figured I could name our little enclave of froggy terror after the “-stan” group. Here’s what I mean.

We moved here almost 8 years ago (in November). For eight years, we have paid rent (over $100,000 toward our landlord building equity in this house, by my calculations). We did so because for seven years this had been the house my wife had dreamed about, every time we drove by on our three times or more per week jaunts to church.

We would take the scenic, tree-lined route through a neighborhood way out of our reach, and she would secretly lay claim to this house. Then, one day, when we were in the market to move, the house was vacant and for rent. We negotiated with the landlord, and moved in within the week.

Old (1954 vintage), drafty, with its own set of problems, the house has nonetheless been a wonderful place to live while our five kids went through high school. We live across the street from a creek, in an inner-city suburban area. With about ten mature trees on the lot (including a huge, pink crepe myrtle you can see over the house from the front when it blooms), the yard has long been a playground for squirrels and the like. We even saw a coyote crossing the street from one creek bed to the other recently.

But beginning about two years ago, our little section of the neighborhood became ground zero for the invasion. I mentioned the creek across the street. We’ve always had our share of frogs and critters as a result of that. But two years ago our neighbors decided they had enough of trying to keep up their in-ground pool, and they converted it to a real, live cement pond.

This is nothing like the cement pond of Elle Mae and Jethro on the Beverly Hillbillies. No, this pool has been converted to a living, breathing, science fair project. They rigged the re-circulating pump to expose the water to air, so it would re-oxygenate the water. They stocked it with fish. And they let nature take over.

It’s a little scary. I worry about what would happen if a neighborhood kid (like my 2 year old grandson) wandered over and fell in. No one would be able to see them at the bottom of the pool, because the water is murky, not clear like a swimming pool is. I asked them about it and they claimed the city health department had given them the okay. Wow. Back-to-earth, and all that, I guess, huh?

That takes us full-circle to tonight. Why am I up at 5:10 (I tried to go back to sleep for 30 minutes, and have been typing another half-hour) typing instead of sleeping. Because the frogs are so loud!

As we got our grandson to sleep last night (we have him over as often as possible), one of the things we did to try and quiet him down was to say, “Listen to the frogs.” From sunset (around 8:30 to 9:00 CDT this time of year) to I guess 4:30, there is a contest that goes on in ours and the neighbor’s yard. The frogs and the crickets are each competing to see who can scream the loudest. I mean, I guess it’s mating season for both, because they are seriously loud. And there must be a lot of them because as a chorus they are really loud.

Why do I call it Frog-i-stan? Why isn’t that a soothing sound? Well it could be, but my wife is deathly afraid of frogs. When she gets out of the car at night, she has to take the paved way into the house to minimize her chance of encountering a “demon frog.” She has even sat in the car waiting for me to accompany her in on nights when the amphibians’ activity has been particularly visible.

So, it’s Frog-i-stan for us. Why do we stay? Did I mention the trees? And the huge back-yard? And the four-plus bedrooms the living room and den? And the almost eight years of history here?

We’ll leave eventually. The utility bills eat us up here and we really need to start building up some equity. Our youngest graduates next year, so we’re starting to think relocation. But meanwhile, I’ve got to go back to bed. I think the frogs and crickets have all given up for the night in this great land of Frog-i-stan.

A 22-year old woman was recently shot here in Dallas as she lay in her bed.  A bullet from what appears to have been random gunfire from an adjacent overpass came through her window and struck her in the back as she slept.  Her baby, about 1 month from full-term, was struck in the head and died.

This is a tragedy for this mother, her family and friends and for the whole Dallas community.  I am confident that if the shooter(s) are found (seven shell casings were found) they will be charged at least with manslaughter, and perhaps with murder.  At over 5 pounds in weight and 36 weeks or so in gestation, the child was viable.  But to me, this points out a more heinous, less public tragedy that occurs daily in our city and across the country.

With regularity and seemingly with impunity doctors, "social workers" and others conspire to take the lives of our most innocent citizens - babies in the womb.  Legal arguments and stare decisis aside, there is no one thinking rationally who can reasonably claim this child was not a child, but a product of that mother's body.  The boy was not one of her organs, nor was he a waste product.  He was a "he," a little boy, for whom plans were being made and about whom dreams were being dreamed.  Yet some would argue that up to the moment of first breath, he was but a "fetus," whose disposal was at the whim of his mother.

When does life begin?  I can't rightly say.  My gut says at conception, but there are medical reasons, in terms of viability and such, that argue against that viewpoint.  My Bible tells me that I was known even before I was knit in my mother's womb.  Well, that would be before conception, wouldn't it?  I believe medical science now puts viability somewhere around the 26th week, although a child at that stage would have a struggle to survive.  But practical, common sense says that once you know the baby's there - it's there.  You are pregnant with a child.

A child is a blessing of the Lord, so says the Scripture.  In most cases the child is the result of intention and planning.  In others, the child is a blessed surprise.  But in some cases that blessing is the consequence of inappropriate or even wrongful actions - illicit sexual relations, a one-time dalliance, perhaps even a rape.  But the Scripture doesn't deviate for circumstances.  A child is a blessing from the Lord.  When understood in those terms, that child can and will change the lives of both mother and father.

Family life is all about commitment to one another and to the future.  This is the reason it is called the foundation of any strong society.  The commitment to another person to remain faithful to them tends to curb the wayward tendencies of both parties (historically more-so the male of the species).  When the life of a young dependent is added to the mix, further settling is a natural result.

Men (and women) who recognize these responsibilities and take them seriously become what we call "the backbone of society."  They curb their enthusiasm for more temporal pursuits and begin to strive for the best future for their progeny.  In so doing, they collectively become responsible, mature adults.  They still make irresponsible and immature decisions but on balance their lives are dominated by what is best for the child.  Collectively "what is best for the children" is a long-term look at life that melds into "what is best for society as a whole."

So, back to the case in point.  Was it murder, or at least manslaughter?  Yes, because either charge requires a living person to have been killed (our prayers go out to that family).

But at any point in any pregnancy (I believe third trimester abortions are illegal in Texas because of the standard of viability), ending that pregnancy artificially is at least akin to murder.  The life of that child, whether it be in its developmental stages or past the point of viability, has been cut short.  The changes the baby would have made in its parents and extended family and friends, be they biological or adopted, will not occur.  Society is poorer for it.

Look around.  We are beginning to reap what we have sown as a result of our lack of care for the weakest among us.  More on that in future postings.