by Libby Anne

Quiverfull mother,
I don’t question your choice,
Only that of your daughter.
Look at her there, knee deep in laundry,
Cooking and cleaning,
Changing diapers by the dozen
With no life of her own.
You made your choice.
What of hers?

Quiverfull mother,
You teach your daughter
To cook and to clean,
To sew, knit, and brew herbs,
Yet deprive her of the education
She would need for any other life.
You circumscribe her options.
You had a choice -
What of her?

Quiverfull mother,
You make a servant of your daughter,
Scrubbing and washing,
And raising your children.
You rob her of her childhood,
Of time spent with friends
And carefree days in the sun.
Remember, you chose this life.
She did not.

Quiverfull mother,
You tell your daughter
To obey her father without question,
That she can’t trust
Her feelings, thoughts, or reason,
Can’t hear God for herself,
But only through her dad.
What do you want -
An automaton?

Quiverfull mother,
What have you done to your daughter?
You tell her to obey,
To ignore her thoughts and feelings.
She has no choice -
You’ve robbed her of free will.
What is it you fear?
You had a choice -
Why not give her one as well?

Quiverfull mother,
I beg you, trust your daughter.
She has a mind,
Thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams,
Her own relationship with God.
Give her an education,
Free will and a choice.
You trust God with your womb,
Why not with your child?

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