He Wrote Her Story

I will never forget the flickers of the florescent lights and the smell of the leather recliner I sat in as I waited for my husband to appear. This particular flicker ushers me back, regardless of where I am. I’m rushed back to the cold, recliner with the curtains closing in, suffocating me, leaving me breathless or when the strong smell of cleaning supplies and leather collide. The clinic was sterile and smelled sickeningly clean, almost as though they wanted to cleanse the scent of death and immense pain from the room.

I set off on my morning errands with my toddler chatting and playing in the back of the van. My beautiful foster child, who’s mother had chose life. Life for which I will forever be thankful. She brought so much joy into our home and we will never be the same from loving her. This particular morning, we were singing, laughing and honestly having the sweetest day ever! This abruptly shifted when I saw the massive sign held by the opposing male on the edge of the sidewalk. ABORTIONIST. As I type these words a year or so later, my chest grow tight. There I am, being rushed up the steps as waves of contractions course through my body as my body fights to release from my womb, the child I love and have dreamed of since knowing he was entrusted to me. There I am, being tied down to that examiner’s table while the Dr. yanks the stents from my cervix. There I am, screaming for my husband, begging to leave. Where is the ambulance they talked about? Where is the peaceful room they showed me the day before? There I am back in that recliner, breathing, but not moving. There I am, alone, more alone than ever before in my life. Years separate me from this moment, yet time stands still with every trigger.

I drove on. One… Two… Three seconds passed and I flipped my van around and headed back to the large intimidating, sickening sign and the older aggressive men holding them. I pulled my van up beside their station and introduced myself boldly, while shaking from head to toe. I asked them to put their signs down. One did, the older one did not until I continued pouring my heart out with tears streaming down my face and only then did he lower it. My body shook as I retold my story, in detail for them to hear. My story is so private, so painful, so mine. I never dreamed I’d be standing on a busy street speaking so boldly about my boy and his delivery…. yet there I stood. I didn’t stop until I was done. I did not spare details. He tried to interrupt me so many times and tell me that is what he was trying to stop, not hearing my words. Not hearing my heart. I wasn’t standing there arguing whether or not abortion is something that is right or wrong. I was standing there advocating for the ones who have made this choice and for the ones who have not. I was begging them to understand the impact of their actions. These signs do not save lives. He could not give me a number of how many women these signs had stopped. Another angry man declared adamantly that he could not have known this number. He kept repeating to me, loudly, that THIS was the gospel as he held a massive sign with a mangled baby body.

I will never argue God’s word with anyone, but I will forever disagree that this is the gospel. The gospel doesn’t condemn us, it sets us free. The gospel doesn’t leave us covered in shame, it changes us. The gospel doesn’t scar us, it heals our hearts. The gospel doesn’t point fingers, it embraces the sinner and shows them another way. The gospel doesn’t push away the broken, it invites us into communion with our Savior. The gospel will never change as it draws a clear line between sin and grace.

Dear protestors, It isn’t what you are trying to stop, it is the way you are doing it. When will you learn, you can’t scare someone out of something. You can definitely educate someone through a situation and allow them to make a decision. Every single woman walking through the doors of an abortion clinic is afraid of something. Afraid of keeping their child. Afraid of what their family will think if they know they are pregnant. Afraid of their child not being cared for well. Afraid of what people will think when they find out they had an abortion. Afraid they may never concieve again. Afraid. Broken and AFRAID. The last thing they need is someone holding these signs at the entrance of their office. To make matters worse, this sign was held in the entrance of an ObGyn and daycare parking lot. 1 in 4 women have an abortion. 1 in 4 women experience the loss of a child. I asked, “What do you feel like you are achieving holding this sign at this particular lot?” Their response was that one of the doctors who practiced here had been seen walking into an abortion clinic. So instead of confronting the doctor with their thoughts and having a conversation, they were standing on a busy street with disgusting, graphic signs. No one pulling into that parking lot was having an abortion or even thinking about it. Anyone pulling into this particular lot was going to the ObGyn for the child they were carrying or to the daycare to drop their children they had given birth to off to school that day.

All these men were doing that day and every time they stand on the side of the road is perpetuating trauma. For me. For every woman driving by, for every father who had no say in what happened to his child. The malpractice inflicted on me the day our son was born, gave me a front row seat to what happens before business hours. It gave me an opportunity to sit in her seat and feel what she feels. I’ve walked in her shoes, while the protestors yelled through a mega phone that I was killing my baby and would regret this decision. I’ve walked in her shoes right out of the clinic childless, broken and shamed by people who do not even know my situation or my name. It opened my eyes to the hard decisions that many women have made and many have lived for years to regret. It has given me a voice that I otherwise would not have had. The moments I spent within the four walls of the abortion clinic where I had my son ripped from my body, forever shifted the way I viewed abortion and mother’s who have made this decision.

I believe it is time to make a choice. Do not rush to answer these questions.
What are YOU doing to make a difference?
How are YOU supporting the newly pregnant mother and father?
Did YOU come alongside the family of the young child who are expecting or are you judging them?
Will you put YOUR hands and feet where theirs are afraid to go?
Are YOU willing to wash the feet of the woman who is about to abort her baby?
If she keeps her baby, how will YOU help?
Would YOU foster the child until their parents can accept the responsibility of the child’s life?
Would YOU adopt the precious child if they never do?
Do YOU feed the hungry or clothe the poor?
Would YOU go out in the streets and form life long connections?
Would YOU teach kids church or join the youth team at your local church?
What are YOUR high school kids up to… do you know?

I may not make friends when I talk about this particular topic. I have strong feelings about abortion, but I am not God and he did not ask me to be the judge of another person’s decisions. God is sovereign and I trust him to be a good and faithful God. He asked me to love first. The moral compass that holds me to my standard of living is different from the person on my right or left, it is set by the Holy Spirit. God’s Word is adamant in it’s call for action and this action is always dictated by love. This type of love is activated through relationship with him. His disciples walked out service, occasionally judging and Jesus quickly gave them a strict talking to. When pushed by the crowds for answers, Jesus replied that love was greater. I’m not here to make friends. I am here to speak up for and support the one who, for far too long, has been overlooked and mistreated. I’m here for her. I want to be her friend.

There are other more effective ways to advocate for life. If you are going to fight for birth, it would be safe to assume that you also are joining the fight for the child’s life who is desperate for your help now and the family attempting to stay afloat in the middle of their hard season.

I wish I had more eloquent words, but at this point, I am beyond flowery and pretty. I am just ready to see some real change, some real, gritty love. I am craving the type of honesty that left the group of angry, judgmental people speechless, dropping their stones and walking away when Jesus scribbled in the dirt. I will leave you today with one more question.

Are you pro-life or you simply pro-birth?