What I saw at the abortion clinic this week was lots of damp, drizzle but lots of joy behind the clouds. A perfect metaphor for Halloween!
I wanted to be at the clinic today especially because it was Halloween, the historically reverent feast of All Saints, that is, all the people who have died and are in heaven. Of course, that includes all the children who were aborted today, and all that were aborted - ever.
They are with God their creator. So that is a joyful, other worldly outcome of a hideous temporal reality. God is victorious! Life is victorious! And our efforts day after day, week after week, rosary after rosary in cooperation with God's promise, "I have come that they might have life and have it abundantly" John 10:10 are fruitful.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
10/17/ 09 - Innocents
October 17, 2009
What I saw this week at the abortion clinic was really chilling sight - adults bringing small children into and out of the abortion clinic.
This sight is so sad in itself - the sight of sweet children, innocent, trusting ,no clue where they are or what is going on. Children so small, they have to be carried. Children drinking from baby bottles and sippy cups - a set of toddlers dressed in matching outfits, holding hands with each and with their caretaker.
If you told them straight out what was happening behind the door, that a baby a bit younger than themselves, a brother or a sister, was being killed, they wouldn't understand, they couldn't understand. They would just look at you wide eyed and stare a blank stare that says they can't make sense of those words. Little lambs. Precious little lambs. To say this is heartbreaking does not even come near to what you feel when you see this.
For me though, this is an especially chilling sight because it calls to mind a true story an older German woman told me some years ago.
She was a child and then a pre-teen when the world geared up for WWII. Her father was in the army. She didn't know what it meant to be a Nazi. She was a little girl who one day went with her mother to the home of another man who was in the military. As the mothers had tea, this little girl played contentedly with the hostess's daughter in a corner of the room. But when the hostess began to sob quietly, she turned her attention to what the women were saying.
She sensed something was terribly wrong but all she could understood at the time, was that her little playmate was going away - forever. From that day on, well into adulthood, she was frightened that she, someday would go away forever. She never saw her playmate again. Years later, she learned that because the playmate was retarded in some way, she was scheduled to be killed and was killed the next day. That is what the Nazi's did to their own children.
Doesn't it sound unbelievably horrible. Doesn't it sound even more horrible than abortion - if that could be possible? Do you know there are people in the President's cabinet NOW, who advocate the killing of children up to age 2 saying such things as, until that age, children don't know there is a tomorrow. These wicked minds rely on the innocence of children to mark them for death.
The Third Joyful Mystery: The Birth of Our Lord. - Matthew 2: 16 -18
The Innocents. - Once Herod ... became furious. He ordered the massacre of all boys two years old and under in Bethlehem and its environs... What was said through Jeremiah the prophet was then fulfilled: 'A cry was heard at Ramah, sobbing and loud lamentation: Rachael bewailing her children, no comfort for her, since they are no more.' "
The hostess was crying, she learned laterBut when the hostess began to sob quietly, she turned her attention to what the women were saying. got the fright of her life, a fear that stayed with her always.
ut this is an especially chilling sight for me becaue it reminds me of a true story told to me by an older woman, a German citizen, who was a child and then a pre-teen when the world geared up for WWII.
Not knowing that this is a place where helpless chilren like themselves, as murdered. First, I'd like to relay a true story I heard from a woman who was a pre-teen when WW II broke out.
There are some really sad sights at the clinic. On different occasions, i have seen people bring children right into the clinic.
Outside the aboriton clinic I regularly see what look to be, a lot of mothers and daughters coming and going. Of course, I could be wrong, but that is how it looks. This week, I saw a stark contrast in what mother daughter relationships can be.
A woman, who I had never seen before, came to pray with a young girl who I assumed was her 16 or 17 year old daughter. As they walked from their car, I could see that they were both dressed stylishly in jeans and different white tops. As they walked, I saw they were holding hands and then, they stood together as they joined us praying. Then, shortly afterware, I saw a different mother and daughter drive into the clinic and exit their car.
The mother got out of the car, turned and walked briskly into the clinic without looking back at her passenger. That's unusual, because the passenger is usually the one getting the abortion and drivers, out of guilt or remorse or common courtesy, are visibly solitious. Then, out of the passenger's side came a girl who looked about 13 or 14 years old. She wore labender pants and a pink top. She had fluffy bangs and a short, puffy pony tail like a child, not a sleek, pulled back style of an older teen or younger woman. Her mother had taken off quite briskly ahead of her so she was following easily 10-15 feet behind in a sauntering, unawares kind of gait.
It looked like the mother was angry with the girl. Putting myself in her position, I thought, she has a right to be angry. I imagined how I would be angry if a child of mine put me in such a positio, that I never expected to be in - that I don't want to be in - the position of what to do when a child is pregnant. i would like to think I would choose adoption becuase that is the life-giving alternative. Byut, I also pary the "Our Father" each day and ask god to "lead me not into temptation." I realize tha that mother ocule be me. i could be foreced into a corner andhave a terrible decision ahead of me. I could make the wong choice. She was forced ito doint something she did not want to do. But the mother was stealing herself, to go thought iwth ti. How many others have been put in this position by their daughters and sons? How many pepole are affected when our hcildren get in volved with illicit sex.
What I saw this week at the abortion clinic was really chilling sight - adults bringing small children into and out of the abortion clinic.
This sight is so sad in itself - the sight of sweet children, innocent, trusting ,no clue where they are or what is going on. Children so small, they have to be carried. Children drinking from baby bottles and sippy cups - a set of toddlers dressed in matching outfits, holding hands with each and with their caretaker.
If you told them straight out what was happening behind the door, that a baby a bit younger than themselves, a brother or a sister, was being killed, they wouldn't understand, they couldn't understand. They would just look at you wide eyed and stare a blank stare that says they can't make sense of those words. Little lambs. Precious little lambs. To say this is heartbreaking does not even come near to what you feel when you see this.
For me though, this is an especially chilling sight because it calls to mind a true story an older German woman told me some years ago.
She was a child and then a pre-teen when the world geared up for WWII. Her father was in the army. She didn't know what it meant to be a Nazi. She was a little girl who one day went with her mother to the home of another man who was in the military. As the mothers had tea, this little girl played contentedly with the hostess's daughter in a corner of the room. But when the hostess began to sob quietly, she turned her attention to what the women were saying.
She sensed something was terribly wrong but all she could understood at the time, was that her little playmate was going away - forever. From that day on, well into adulthood, she was frightened that she, someday would go away forever. She never saw her playmate again. Years later, she learned that because the playmate was retarded in some way, she was scheduled to be killed and was killed the next day. That is what the Nazi's did to their own children.
Doesn't it sound unbelievably horrible. Doesn't it sound even more horrible than abortion - if that could be possible? Do you know there are people in the President's cabinet NOW, who advocate the killing of children up to age 2 saying such things as, until that age, children don't know there is a tomorrow. These wicked minds rely on the innocence of children to mark them for death.
The Third Joyful Mystery: The Birth of Our Lord. - Matthew 2: 16 -18
The Innocents. - Once Herod ... became furious. He ordered the massacre of all boys two years old and under in Bethlehem and its environs... What was said through Jeremiah the prophet was then fulfilled: 'A cry was heard at Ramah, sobbing and loud lamentation: Rachael bewailing her children, no comfort for her, since they are no more.' "
The hostess was crying, she learned laterBut when the hostess began to sob quietly, she turned her attention to what the women were saying. got the fright of her life, a fear that stayed with her always.
ut this is an especially chilling sight for me becaue it reminds me of a true story told to me by an older woman, a German citizen, who was a child and then a pre-teen when the world geared up for WWII.
Not knowing that this is a place where helpless chilren like themselves, as murdered. First, I'd like to relay a true story I heard from a woman who was a pre-teen when WW II broke out.
There are some really sad sights at the clinic. On different occasions, i have seen people bring children right into the clinic.
Outside the aboriton clinic I regularly see what look to be, a lot of mothers and daughters coming and going. Of course, I could be wrong, but that is how it looks. This week, I saw a stark contrast in what mother daughter relationships can be.
A woman, who I had never seen before, came to pray with a young girl who I assumed was her 16 or 17 year old daughter. As they walked from their car, I could see that they were both dressed stylishly in jeans and different white tops. As they walked, I saw they were holding hands and then, they stood together as they joined us praying. Then, shortly afterware, I saw a different mother and daughter drive into the clinic and exit their car.
The mother got out of the car, turned and walked briskly into the clinic without looking back at her passenger. That's unusual, because the passenger is usually the one getting the abortion and drivers, out of guilt or remorse or common courtesy, are visibly solitious. Then, out of the passenger's side came a girl who looked about 13 or 14 years old. She wore labender pants and a pink top. She had fluffy bangs and a short, puffy pony tail like a child, not a sleek, pulled back style of an older teen or younger woman. Her mother had taken off quite briskly ahead of her so she was following easily 10-15 feet behind in a sauntering, unawares kind of gait.
It looked like the mother was angry with the girl. Putting myself in her position, I thought, she has a right to be angry. I imagined how I would be angry if a child of mine put me in such a positio, that I never expected to be in - that I don't want to be in - the position of what to do when a child is pregnant. i would like to think I would choose adoption becuase that is the life-giving alternative. Byut, I also pary the "Our Father" each day and ask god to "lead me not into temptation." I realize tha that mother ocule be me. i could be foreced into a corner andhave a terrible decision ahead of me. I could make the wong choice. She was forced ito doint something she did not want to do. But the mother was stealing herself, to go thought iwth ti. How many others have been put in this position by their daughters and sons? How many pepole are affected when our hcildren get in volved with illicit sex.
10/24/09 - More about Escorts
October 24, 2009
On October 3rd, I wrote about the abortion escorts who showed up at the clinic one week to escort clients into the clinic from the street. But I didn't know why they appeared on the scene until I attempted to get on my own blog and instead came upon a blog sponsored by a group called "40 Days for Choice." I did a double take since I know there is a group called "40 Days for Life" which, on Sept 23, 2009 began another period of intense prayer and fasting to end abortion. This group follows the model of Jesus, who fasted and prayed in the desert for 40 days before He began His public ministry. So, I decided to correspond with the group. Here's what happened.
On Tues, Oct 20, 2009 at 6:58 AM
So, if you don't mind my asking, what is really at the bottom of your attitude? Why does it matter to you whether some other women- women who you don't eve know - have an abortion or not? Why does it matter so much that you escort them, blog about it and invite others to do the same? Generally speaking people are moved to action by emotional, financial or religious motive. I rule out religious and financial. That leaves emotional. Would you like to talk about that?
God bless,
Jay
From: clinic Escort [mailto:clinicescortblog@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, October 21, 2009 12:55 PM
To: Jay
Subject: Re
Perhaps I was not sufficiently clear. I will try again: I've said all I care to say to you. Bye now.
On Oct 21, 2009, at 3:23 PM
"I've said all I care to say to you" Yeah and I listened politely and responded politely but you did not afford me the same courtesy :(
You don't have to, of course. But it makes me wonder if you were sincere about having a conversation or if you just wanted a platform. Regrettably, I am left to conclude that you may be a person with no real thoughts on this subject, just strong prejudices and a lot of anger.
So here's my unsolicited advice.
CALM DOWN. If you have grounded convictions on this subject, study up and be prepared to speak to the issue, rather than just attack a person with a different point of view than yours. Those are the rules of civilized conversation, SPEAK TO THE ISSUE, DON'T ATTACK THE PERSON. And of course, allow the other an opportunity to speak. I'll be praying for you.
God bless you.
Your friend,
Jay
From: Clinic Escort [mailto: clinicescort@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, October 21, 2009, 5:03 PM
To: Jay
Subject: RE: a polite so-ling
Oh please. You cede your right to lecture me about uncivil discourse when you say that terrorizing women outside of clinics is A-OK because this country protects that form of expression. Yet I cross a line when I say, for the SECOND time, that there is nothing left to discuss? That's protected too. Well within my rights, I daresay. Further, you know what else is protected speech? This: Fuck you. Fuck you and all your Christian Taliban buddies. Fuck anyone who thinks your god or your government has a right to decide for me that I will give birth. You're scum: it's just that simple and you're absolutely right I'm angry: YOU WILL NEVER CONTROL MY LIFE.
Last word's your if you want it.
From: Jay
Sent: Wedneday, October 21, 2009 6:50 PM
To: "Clinic Escort"
Subject: RE: A polite so-ling
I don't want to one-up you. I'm not in a match with you.
But, heah, reality check!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO ABORTION and I can't take it away. So, why be so angry toward me?
Has this or any government - have I- has any religion - forced you to become pregnant? You control yourself - have relations or not. I control myself - have relations or not. Why blame me or anyone for any pregnancy? Why kill an innocent child when you can place it with someone who wants children? It's not a blameworthy situation, as I see it. It's a reality of human life and it is something to be dealt with humanly. End of story.
But you seem to want the children dead. Why?
But that's not really the issue, it is?
I am sorry that something(s) or someone(s) has hurt you so deeply to make you so angry. It must be very painful. I do not wish you harm or upset. If I knew how, I would extend some understanding, some compassion towards you because, as one human being to another, that is what I seek when I am hurt.
I actually have a few friends who are pro-abortion. We absolutely disagree. But we do not verbally abuse one another. Come on. No need for that.
Not afraid of a lot of noise,
Jay.
To: clinic escort
Neither you or I have the last word in this, you realize. God does. So consider this reality.
Jesus was an innocent, divine person who forgave his murders who crucified Him. So, any child can forgive the parents that murdered them. This is real - just like love and hate are real.
Jesus is Risen! By His Resurrection, He has destroyed the power of death, and therefore the power of abortion. The outcome of the battle for life has already been decided. Life is victorious! Pro-lifers spread this victory of every segment of our society.
The victory pro-lifers spread is this - every innocent child that is aborted is living with God in heaven right now. Every innocent child is praying that his/her parents will turn their hearts with love to him/her and claim them and desire a joyous reunion together in the next life. Every abortion an and will be made right by God, who heals us with love when we acknowledge our wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. On this earth, we can have a new life - no matter what we have done.
That's the good news of the Christian gospel. Everyone can be healed who is sorry for their hurtful acts towards others. Everyone. But they must acknowledge they have been wrong and ask God for His mercy.
That's the answer to your anger and my anger and every one's anger. Christ heals us because he loves us.
Have a happy life, not an angry life.
Jay
A day or so after this correspondence, I caught up with my e-mail and learned a little more about the escorts.
From: 78974@priorityoneemail.com on behalf of David Bereit, 40 Days for Life [david@40daysforlife.com]
Sent: Tuesday, October 20, 2009 12:01 AM
To: Jay
Subject: DAY 28:Whom do you serve?
Dear Jay,
We're hearing a lot about service these days -- giving back to the community. What better way to give back something truly valuable than by taking part in this fall's 40 Days for Life campaign!
I have a particular reason for mentioning this.
This past Friday, President Obama spoke at a forum on volunteerism at Texas A&M University in College Station -- the same community where 40 Days for life began. His speech was delivered just over one mile away from the site of the first-ever 40 Days for Life campaign back in 2004.
During his remarks, President Obama promoted a government web site that identifies various volunteer opportunities for people.
While that web site does include information about some pro-life organizations, I was more than a bit miffed to learn that one of the posted "volunteer opportunities" comes from the Houston-based Planned Parenthood operation that runs the abortion facility in College Station.
The recruitment post asks young people to do "public service" work for their organization and pleads, "We need your help with a very simple but honorable job."
The so-called honorable job? Abortion escorts -- specifically to counter the effectiveness of 40 Days for Life.
Planned Parenthood describes 40 Days for Life vigil participants as people who "want to deceive our clients with misinformation and lies than prevent them from entering our health center for care." That in itself, of course, is an extreme example of misinformation.
But this shows why 40 Days for Life needs more faithful volunteers for the simple -- and TRULY honorable __ Task of praying for an end to abortion outside the very places where this evil is practiced. ....
More about "40 Days for Life" at: http://www.40daysforlife.com/
On October 3rd, I wrote about the abortion escorts who showed up at the clinic one week to escort clients into the clinic from the street. But I didn't know why they appeared on the scene until I attempted to get on my own blog and instead came upon a blog sponsored by a group called "40 Days for Choice." I did a double take since I know there is a group called "40 Days for Life" which, on Sept 23, 2009 began another period of intense prayer and fasting to end abortion. This group follows the model of Jesus, who fasted and prayed in the desert for 40 days before He began His public ministry. So, I decided to correspond with the group. Here's what happened.
On Tues, Oct 20, 2009 at 6:58 AM
To: Abortion Escorts
Without knowing about your blog, I started a blog recently entitled, "What I Saw at the Abortion Clinic this Week." I am pro-life and I participate in the "40 days for Life" so we are at opposite ends of the pole. I spotted escorts at the clinic where I pray, but didn't fully appreciate that they were from your organization (40 Days for Choice) until, trying to get on my own blog, I ended up at yours.
You are obviously very intent in your purpose. So, would you be interested in a little friendly conversation on this subject? Since you requested that no one mess up your blog, I assume you will extend the same courtesy to me and respond to me at this e-mail, if you choose.
God Bless, Jay J.
From: clinic escort [mailto:clinicescortblog@gmail.com
Sent: Tuesday, October 20, 2009 12:04 p.m.
To: Jay
Subject: Re
Thanks for writing a polite email. Because of that, I was inclined to say, sure, why not, you won't change my mind on anything and I most likely won't change yours, but let's talk.
And then I went and found your blog, read one single entry, and I'm no longer feeling charitable.
1) This is offtopic to be sure, but: I am aware that people on the right think that "racist" is an over-used word, yet it's the only one to describe the worldview of someone who thinks it is noteworthy that some man somewhere failed to be"apologetic" regarding the views or actions of another man simply because the two share a skin color. Your guy in the Special Forces Halloween costume doesn't speak for black humanity any more than you speak for (I'm guessing) white humanity.
2) I'd be more able to muster respect for your viewpoint if your heart had sank when you saw the gore posters, not when you saw they'd been defaced. Those things are harassment pure and simple. They do NOT change hearts and minds, they terrorize and intimidate. They are NOT a substitute for substantive discussion on morals or ethics or whatever word you use to justify your attempts to take reproductive decision-making out of the hands of autonomous women. ---you know, I had a benign lump taken out of my breast a couple of years back. I didn't get to see what was removed, but I bet it looked pretty nasty. Bloody and meaty and all. So OBVIOUSLY we should ban lumpectomies. They're ugly to look at, therefore obviously bad, therefore obviously wrong! (How's your sarcasm detector?)
3) Dressing up in quasi-military gear to lurk outside of clinics and shout at strangers is sick. What is the point of that besides to instill fear? What possible goal can be achieved other than intimidation? Admiring people who do it is equally sick. They should be ashamed and so should you. Making women afraid for their safety IS NEVER A DEFENSIBLE ACTION, EVER. It is not serving good and it is not serving God and if you think it IS, I really just don't have anything left to say to you.
On Tues, Oct 20, 2009 at 9:16 PM
Fellow blogger,
Thanks for taking up the invitation to correspond. I accept your criticism graciously and I will try to refine my writing in the future. The last think I - or any blogger wants to do is to put people off. To answer your remarks -
First, I do not condemn or judge people because I am not God. But I know God. I know He is truth. He cannot deceive or be deceived. God is the giver of all life. He is merciful and forgiving. That is my message as a Christian.
I have no hidden agenda. I do not intend to change your worldview - I wrote to that in one of my other blogs. Personally, I don't consider that I have a worldview. I just try to find the truth and speak the truth. Probably you do the same. That leads to a philosophical problem because both your point of view and my point of view are mutually exclusive. One must be true and the other false. Which is which? That is for each of us to uncover and to uncover the truth, we need intellectual honesty. Abortion is either murder and immoral, or it is not murder and it is not immoral. Would you agree on that statement of the problem?
I am not sure that you would agree on this statement of the problem because, if I understand correctly, you likened your benign breast tissue (I am happy for you that it was not malignant) to an embryo, which medically speaking is the pre-natal period from 2-8 weeks. At 21 days of life, just 3 wk, an embryo has a beating heart and at 10 weeks as a fetus, it has all its fingers and toes, legs, arms, head, neck, eyes, organs. etc. These are facts. I have had a malignant breast removed. My understanding, and I did lots of research, is that it takes about 8 years for cells to become cancerous and develop into a detectable tumor stage. So, a tumor, a breast and an embryo - are not anything alike. A tumor will never be anything but a mass of tissue with no life of it's own but an embryo, is already a developed human being. With this clear understanding, I am not repulsed by the sight of human organs or tissues with which I have worked. But because I have the clear understanding that an embryo and/or a fetus is a living human being, and not just tissue, a photo of a dismembered child is indeed disturbing and I am greatly repulsed to see it dismembered.
I think too many people, and I mean this respectfully, perhaps you yourself, do not comprehend this great difference. If the embryo or fetus (8wk-birth) were only tissue, it would not be murder to remove it. But the embryo or fetus is a human being and so, it is murder to remove it before its time, because that causes its death of an innocent human being and to intentionally cause the death of another human being is murder. Do you agree with that?
It seems to me that your issues are that you do not like the way 1) a black man made his statement against abortion 2) the way I wrote about it 3) the use of graphic pictures of aborted fetuses.
Personally, I do not do anything at the abortion clinic except stand outside and say the rosary with about 5-6 others across the street from the clinic. I, we have no pictures, signs, literature, interaction. Just rosaries. Pray and go home-that's it for us. But this one time, I did break ranks. No one else did.
There was another time when a young man came along with a young woman. At the sight of us praying across the street, he yelled some profanities. I yelled back, "If you choose adoption instead, the baby can live an you and your partner won't be murders for the rest of your life. Isn't that too high a price to pay for such a short time of inconvenience?"(meaning the 9 months of pregnancy) It was impulsive on my part for sure. But, I am a mother by adoption. Some young womEn gave me the joy of raising their children, gave me the joy of motherhood, when I could not have children biologically. I am forever in the debt of these women, these strangers. who choose me to raise their children. So, I have a prejudice for adoption. I know it is a joyous outcome.
As for the black anti-abortion protesters, I recognize as I am sure you do, that each person has their own voice. Some are radical, perhaps, some are soft spoken, some are eloquent, some are direct. As for the gentleman who dressed in military gear, he has his form of expression which in America, we allow. I wouldn't degrade him by saying he wore a Halloween costume any more than I would call your escorts, "deathscorts." Did you read that blog of mine? Let's not kill the messenger because we don't like the message. You will not deny that many people in your pro-abortion camp, have some pretty distasteful tactics of their own. Take for example Norma McCorvey - the Jane Roe of the Roe v. Wade case that made abortion legal in this country in 1973. Did you read her books?
She tells what she and others did as abortion activists in her book, I am Roe, My Life, Roe v. Wage, and Freedom of Choice. Her second book was Won by Love. I recommend them both because they represent a journey to intellectual honesty. If you don't already know, she repented of her lie. She admitted she lied when she said she was raped in order to secure sympathy for her desired abortion but she never had an abortion. She has 3 daughters, she became Christian and then Catholic. Most recently, she was jailed for showing up on the campus of Notre Dame when Obama was given an honorary doctorate of law. What a change of heart she experienced in her lifetime! What a response to truth! And, in her book she tells how those pictures of now familiar aborted Baby Malachi came to be. Yes, those photos are very disturbing because they are real. And they are heartbreaking.So, if you don't mind my asking, what is really at the bottom of your attitude? Why does it matter to you whether some other women- women who you don't eve know - have an abortion or not? Why does it matter so much that you escort them, blog about it and invite others to do the same? Generally speaking people are moved to action by emotional, financial or religious motive. I rule out religious and financial. That leaves emotional. Would you like to talk about that?
God bless,
Jay
From: clinic Escort [mailto:clinicescortblog@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, October 21, 2009 12:55 PM
To: Jay
Subject: Re
Perhaps I was not sufficiently clear. I will try again: I've said all I care to say to you. Bye now.
On Oct 21, 2009, at 3:23 PM
"I've said all I care to say to you" Yeah and I listened politely and responded politely but you did not afford me the same courtesy :(
You don't have to, of course. But it makes me wonder if you were sincere about having a conversation or if you just wanted a platform. Regrettably, I am left to conclude that you may be a person with no real thoughts on this subject, just strong prejudices and a lot of anger.
So here's my unsolicited advice.
CALM DOWN. If you have grounded convictions on this subject, study up and be prepared to speak to the issue, rather than just attack a person with a different point of view than yours. Those are the rules of civilized conversation, SPEAK TO THE ISSUE, DON'T ATTACK THE PERSON. And of course, allow the other an opportunity to speak. I'll be praying for you.
God bless you.
Your friend,
Jay
From: Clinic Escort [mailto: clinicescort@gmail.com]
Sent: Wednesday, October 21, 2009, 5:03 PM
To: Jay
Subject: RE: a polite so-ling
Oh please. You cede your right to lecture me about uncivil discourse when you say that terrorizing women outside of clinics is A-OK because this country protects that form of expression. Yet I cross a line when I say, for the SECOND time, that there is nothing left to discuss? That's protected too. Well within my rights, I daresay. Further, you know what else is protected speech? This: Fuck you. Fuck you and all your Christian Taliban buddies. Fuck anyone who thinks your god or your government has a right to decide for me that I will give birth. You're scum: it's just that simple and you're absolutely right I'm angry: YOU WILL NEVER CONTROL MY LIFE.
Last word's your if you want it.
From: Jay
Sent: Wedneday, October 21, 2009 6:50 PM
To: "Clinic Escort"
Subject: RE: A polite so-ling
I don't want to one-up you. I'm not in a match with you.
But, heah, reality check!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO ABORTION and I can't take it away. So, why be so angry toward me?
Has this or any government - have I- has any religion - forced you to become pregnant? You control yourself - have relations or not. I control myself - have relations or not. Why blame me or anyone for any pregnancy? Why kill an innocent child when you can place it with someone who wants children? It's not a blameworthy situation, as I see it. It's a reality of human life and it is something to be dealt with humanly. End of story.
But you seem to want the children dead. Why?
But that's not really the issue, it is?
I am sorry that something(s) or someone(s) has hurt you so deeply to make you so angry. It must be very painful. I do not wish you harm or upset. If I knew how, I would extend some understanding, some compassion towards you because, as one human being to another, that is what I seek when I am hurt.
I actually have a few friends who are pro-abortion. We absolutely disagree. But we do not verbally abuse one another. Come on. No need for that.
Not afraid of a lot of noise,
Jay.
To: clinic escort
Neither you or I have the last word in this, you realize. God does. So consider this reality.
Jesus was an innocent, divine person who forgave his murders who crucified Him. So, any child can forgive the parents that murdered them. This is real - just like love and hate are real.
Jesus is Risen! By His Resurrection, He has destroyed the power of death, and therefore the power of abortion. The outcome of the battle for life has already been decided. Life is victorious! Pro-lifers spread this victory of every segment of our society.
The victory pro-lifers spread is this - every innocent child that is aborted is living with God in heaven right now. Every innocent child is praying that his/her parents will turn their hearts with love to him/her and claim them and desire a joyous reunion together in the next life. Every abortion an and will be made right by God, who heals us with love when we acknowledge our wrongdoing and ask for forgiveness. On this earth, we can have a new life - no matter what we have done.
That's the good news of the Christian gospel. Everyone can be healed who is sorry for their hurtful acts towards others. Everyone. But they must acknowledge they have been wrong and ask God for His mercy.
That's the answer to your anger and my anger and every one's anger. Christ heals us because he loves us.
Have a happy life, not an angry life.
Jay
A day or so after this correspondence, I caught up with my e-mail and learned a little more about the escorts.
From: 78974@priorityoneemail.com on behalf of David Bereit, 40 Days for Life [david@40daysforlife.com]
Sent: Tuesday, October 20, 2009 12:01 AM
To: Jay
Subject: DAY 28:Whom do you serve?
Dear Jay,
We're hearing a lot about service these days -- giving back to the community. What better way to give back something truly valuable than by taking part in this fall's 40 Days for Life campaign!
I have a particular reason for mentioning this.
This past Friday, President Obama spoke at a forum on volunteerism at Texas A&M University in College Station -- the same community where 40 Days for life began. His speech was delivered just over one mile away from the site of the first-ever 40 Days for Life campaign back in 2004.
During his remarks, President Obama promoted a government web site that identifies various volunteer opportunities for people.
While that web site does include information about some pro-life organizations, I was more than a bit miffed to learn that one of the posted "volunteer opportunities" comes from the Houston-based Planned Parenthood operation that runs the abortion facility in College Station.
The recruitment post asks young people to do "public service" work for their organization and pleads, "We need your help with a very simple but honorable job."
The so-called honorable job? Abortion escorts -- specifically to counter the effectiveness of 40 Days for Life.
Planned Parenthood describes 40 Days for Life vigil participants as people who "want to deceive our clients with misinformation and lies than prevent them from entering our health center for care." That in itself, of course, is an extreme example of misinformation.
But this shows why 40 Days for Life needs more faithful volunteers for the simple -- and TRULY honorable __ Task of praying for an end to abortion outside the very places where this evil is practiced. ....
More about "40 Days for Life" at: http://www.40daysforlife.com/
Saturday, October 17, 2009
10/10/09 - Spear through the Heart
October 10, 2009
What I saw this week at the abortion clinic was a group of black pro-life activists.
They come by this clinic from time to time. As I understand their mission, they protest at one abortion clinic one week, a different abortion clinic the next week, until they cover all the clinics in our broad area on a rotating schedule. so, I don't see them very often.
There were about 15 black men and women in this church group of no-nonsense people. They come in a truck, the size of a medium Budget moving van which they park strategically so it will be seen by women driving into the clinic. Covering the sides of the truck are pictures, fully 8’ x10’ of dismembered aborted fetuses.
My black brothers and sisters stand on the sidewalks in front of and behind the clinic carrying large 4’ x 4’ pictures of aborted fetuses and a variety of pro-life messages. They have an urgency about them. As cars whiz by on the busier, back street of the clinic the men and women are talking, yelling, preaching incessantly in the fervent style of preachers of the black community. No matter that no one probably hears them even in their loud tones, they just keep spreading the word of the evils of abortion, of what goes on inside the clinic, of how it ruins us as a race of people and as a people - they are not even afraid to say the word – of GOD. In front of the clinic, where women drive in and out, their messages are more poignant and personal, “Why you kill ya own flesh and blood.” “Why you do that evil thing to that helpless baby?” “Why you murder that child?” “That baby don’t belong to you. That baby belong to Jesus.”
Some of the men are dressed in distinctively military style uniforms of their own making. They wear maroonish-red barrettes with some type of insignia front and center, in the style of the Green Barrets. They have black, military style jackets belted at the waist with their names embroidered over their breast pockets and they wear bright yellow-gold ascots. Their pant legs are tucked into their high top, black boots tied with white laces. They are fighting a war and they know it and they want others to know it. The sight of them, so sure and so bold in their delivery of the message, was a deep encouragement to me and I couldn’t hold back. I broke ranks from my rosary group as I saw they were about ready to pack-up and leave and I went over to talk with one of the “military men.”
I first thanked him for coming so courageously with his group to the front lines. I meant what I said. And then I asked him what was in my heart, “What do you think of our President’s stand on abortion?”
He was up front and non-apologetic in decrying Obama policies. He was not angry, but he was not hedging either when he said Obama “signed the paper for more abortions.” He said Obama has no love in his heart for the children and he added that the old people are no better off either. And then, unprodded by me, he added his unequivocal condemnation of homosexuality as unnatural and an abomination. He said, “Obama is just in it for the money.” So, he said, his group prays for everyone - the babies, the parents, the president.
I told him how it hurts me every time I see an Obama bumper sticker. “How,” I asked, “can anyone in this country call him their leader when he openly endorses the murder of his own innocent citizens?” “Not me,” I said to this “military man.” But, of course, it was not a question at all, but my own lament. And after I said it and he said “Amen” I felt relieved that I could say this to a black man and not be accused of racism or political incorrectness or anything at all .
Maybe I was just testing the waters, by approaching him - testing whether we could still be human to one another in this political atmosphere that pits black against white and white against black, life against death and death against life, truth against lies and lies against truth - because that is where we are, that is how confused we are. This morning, we cut through all that and stood on the same side, he and I and the others, behind Jesus.
He went his way but not before extending his hand to me. “My name is Lloyd” he said, and I told him my name. “God bless,” we bid each other.
And as I went back to my group to pray the rosary, I watched Lloyd turn the truck around to drive off. I saw that the same picture on the other side of the truck had been defaced by spray painted and my heart sank.
The fifth sorrowful mystery - the crucifixion. "When they came to Jesus, they saw that he was already dead... One of the soldiers thrust a lance into his side..." John 19:33-34
What I saw this week at the abortion clinic was a group of black pro-life activists.
They come by this clinic from time to time. As I understand their mission, they protest at one abortion clinic one week, a different abortion clinic the next week, until they cover all the clinics in our broad area on a rotating schedule. so, I don't see them very often.
There were about 15 black men and women in this church group of no-nonsense people. They come in a truck, the size of a medium Budget moving van which they park strategically so it will be seen by women driving into the clinic. Covering the sides of the truck are pictures, fully 8’ x10’ of dismembered aborted fetuses.
My black brothers and sisters stand on the sidewalks in front of and behind the clinic carrying large 4’ x 4’ pictures of aborted fetuses and a variety of pro-life messages. They have an urgency about them. As cars whiz by on the busier, back street of the clinic the men and women are talking, yelling, preaching incessantly in the fervent style of preachers of the black community. No matter that no one probably hears them even in their loud tones, they just keep spreading the word of the evils of abortion, of what goes on inside the clinic, of how it ruins us as a race of people and as a people - they are not even afraid to say the word – of GOD. In front of the clinic, where women drive in and out, their messages are more poignant and personal, “Why you kill ya own flesh and blood.” “Why you do that evil thing to that helpless baby?” “Why you murder that child?” “That baby don’t belong to you. That baby belong to Jesus.”
Some of the men are dressed in distinctively military style uniforms of their own making. They wear maroonish-red barrettes with some type of insignia front and center, in the style of the Green Barrets. They have black, military style jackets belted at the waist with their names embroidered over their breast pockets and they wear bright yellow-gold ascots. Their pant legs are tucked into their high top, black boots tied with white laces. They are fighting a war and they know it and they want others to know it. The sight of them, so sure and so bold in their delivery of the message, was a deep encouragement to me and I couldn’t hold back. I broke ranks from my rosary group as I saw they were about ready to pack-up and leave and I went over to talk with one of the “military men.”
I first thanked him for coming so courageously with his group to the front lines. I meant what I said. And then I asked him what was in my heart, “What do you think of our President’s stand on abortion?”
He was up front and non-apologetic in decrying Obama policies. He was not angry, but he was not hedging either when he said Obama “signed the paper for more abortions.” He said Obama has no love in his heart for the children and he added that the old people are no better off either. And then, unprodded by me, he added his unequivocal condemnation of homosexuality as unnatural and an abomination. He said, “Obama is just in it for the money.” So, he said, his group prays for everyone - the babies, the parents, the president.
I told him how it hurts me every time I see an Obama bumper sticker. “How,” I asked, “can anyone in this country call him their leader when he openly endorses the murder of his own innocent citizens?” “Not me,” I said to this “military man.” But, of course, it was not a question at all, but my own lament. And after I said it and he said “Amen” I felt relieved that I could say this to a black man and not be accused of racism or political incorrectness or anything at all .
Maybe I was just testing the waters, by approaching him - testing whether we could still be human to one another in this political atmosphere that pits black against white and white against black, life against death and death against life, truth against lies and lies against truth - because that is where we are, that is how confused we are. This morning, we cut through all that and stood on the same side, he and I and the others, behind Jesus.
He went his way but not before extending his hand to me. “My name is Lloyd” he said, and I told him my name. “God bless,” we bid each other.
And as I went back to my group to pray the rosary, I watched Lloyd turn the truck around to drive off. I saw that the same picture on the other side of the truck had been defaced by spray painted and my heart sank.
The fifth sorrowful mystery - the crucifixion. "When they came to Jesus, they saw that he was already dead... One of the soldiers thrust a lance into his side..." John 19:33-34
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
10/3/09 - Escorts
October 3, 2009
What I saw at the abortion clinic this week were two new employees.
The new employees are outside workers. They are not additional outside security guards. Security people are always visible in front of the building wearing black T-shirts that say, "SECURITY." One guard is a middle-aged black man. The other is a 40-ish black woman but I haven't seen her in a while. The security guards do no more than walk back and forth in front of the building every now and then. Sometimes they stand in one spot for a while, looking at us.
We are cordial to each other, as circumstances permit. There is sometimes a head nod going from one side of the street to the other. We and they wave as they drive off at the end of their shift. I suppose to them it's just a job. They aren't necessarily for abortion I think, but they aren't necessarily against it either. Live and let live, I think, might be their attitude. Ironic, isn't it, that I should have chosen that phrase.
The new employees are two blond, white women in their late 20's or early 30's it seems. They wear no identifying garb like the security guards or the medical assistants who I see wearing scrubs. The curly haired woman wore jeans and a brown T-shirt, the other one with a short pony tail wore a white T-shirt and khaki Bermuda shorts. They were escorts, or as someone called them "deathscorts."
I can understand why someone thought up that word, but I do not think it helps to name-call our misguided sisters. That kind of thing to easily can bring about a mind set that we are against them. We are certainly against what they are doing, but they themselves are lost souls, who think facilitating the killing of innocent children is to be encouraged. They need our pity and our prayers. So, from my point of view, we must always respect them because they, no less that us, are children of God.
The escorts are keen and determined young women, I soon learned, not indifferent like the security guards whose demeanor seems to say, "It's just a job. I don't really care."
At first glance it seemed like the escorts were just directing cars into the clinic. But that simple job could easily have been done by the security guards. So, as I watched, I saw that their job is broader than that. They are actually engaging and directing women at the street.
Here I should describe the scene. The abortion clinic itself is situated on an incline in the middle of a lot. There are 2 driveways, one on the left and one on the right, with parking on each side. When people park on either side of the clinic, they have a clear view of us, and we of them. But when they park in the back, we cannot see each other.
Besides our small group of five or six people praying the rosary across the street, there are 5 or 6 abortion protesters standing on the sidewalk directly in front of the clinic.
They bring huge, color posters of aborted fetuses. They have a microphone which they sometimes use to talk to people as they enter the clinic which is set 20 feet or so back from the street. They set out a stroller with a doll in it at the end of the driveway. One or two women hand out literature about abortion and post-abortive healing programs to those who will accept it. Someone parks his van plastered with anti-abortion bumper stickers in front of the clinic. So, the cause for life has a presence at the abortion clinic every Saturday morning. It's a peaceful presence, but unquestionably those pictures, that stroller, those women distributing literature, those rosaries are disturbing - even to me. They make the reality of what is happening inside vivid in a way that no one really wants to see.
When 2 young clinets drove by and parked on the street about 20 feet away for us, one escort ran across to our side of the street. As the women, dressed in sweat shirts and short shorts exited their car, the escort placed herself between us and them as though to shield them from any sight of us and then, briskly walked them up the driveway. So, I assume the objective of these escorts is to prevent any hesitant woman or her driver/companion from having one last, second thought about going through with abortion that just might be triggered by a glimpse of people ready, willing and able to support them in choosing life.
Every now and then a woman or a couple has a change of heart and turns back from the edge. Of course, that means a financial loss for the clinic and I did hear that the woman how owns the abortion clinic is in financial trouble and is very ill, perhaps dying, from cancer. So, at this point, the clinic might be fearful of loosing any business at all and perhaps that's why the escorts showed up this Saturday.
The escorts yell - supposedly to be heard by the drivers, but the street is very quiet with no traffic except for cars going in and out of their own clinic. They are all business with brusk, loud tones and fast, long strides up and down the driveway. When they aren't running down to the street to wave in cars, the escorts stand in the front of the building next to the security guard, as if to align themselves with authority. One held her arms crossed over her chest, with feet firmly planted two feet apart in a very stern and almost militaristic posture. The other fixed her hand on her cheek as she turned her head from side to side. It seems she is surveying the layout and pondering some strategy she might take when the next car arrived.
I wondered, "Where do you find people to do this king of job? How does the abortion clinic advertise for this kind of work? What kind of qualities are they looking for in an escort? How much does the clinic pay these escorts? How badly do they need the money?" And, what makes the escorts fierce to make women they don't even know exercise their legal "rights which are, in fact, legal and moral "wrongs."
The escorts are saying something by their actions, and I want to hear what it is. Certainly, they are saying something to the women they escort but they are talking to us as well. And I think they are even talking to themselves.
I could hear bits and pieces of things they say to the women like, "Let me show you where to go... I can help you... Park in the back," etc. But what is unspoken, what comes through loud and clear from their manner sounds like, "This is business. Let's get to it. Don't mind them. We won't let them slow you down. Go. GO. DON'T THINK . DON'T FEEL. JUST DO IT."
To us, I think the escorts are trying to say they are confident, capable and formidable in that side of the street that is their world. They seem to be saying, "We don't see you people across the street but - watch us. We're in control here."
To themselves, I think the escorts are saying "This is victory. This is our right. " To the escorts, I think it is all highly personal and deeply emotional. Temporarily, it is probably gratifying for them too.
9/26/02 - Burying the Dead
September 26, 2009
What I saw at the Abortion Clinic this Week was someone who pops into my mind’s eye every now and then as I keep vigil at the abortion clinic Saturday mornings. It's a man whom I have never met because he lives on the other side of the world from me. I've just heard about him. So the image in my mind is one of my own making. It’s vague, yet it’s vivid.
I heard his story from his daughter. She is a Vietnamese, Catholic, Dominican Sister who lives in a Religious community in Texas. I don’t remember the context of the conversation that prompted her to tell me about her father I suppose because, after I heard what she had to say, the rest of the conversation paled by comparison.
Sr. was a native of Vietnam and she grew up there during the war. Her childhood memories were of constant danger and violence all around. She said that very late at night her father would leave the home and family and not return until just before dawn. Under cover of darkness her father went through the streets, roads and villages to collect and bury the bodies and body parts of people who were killed in the war that day and who were simply left behind.
It was stocking to imagine bodies and body parts sprawled on the ground, left to rot where they had been killed, even if there were a war in that country. At the time, pictures in the news were not as raw as they are today. I just had not imagined such a scene nor do I think, had others who were themselves not in the war zone. So, I was taken aback to imagine that a man would risk his safety and comfort to do such a dangerous, frightening and unpleasant work of charity for deceased strangers who could never even thank him.
Until that conversation, I had no reason to think of such a scene as dead bodies and body parts in the streets. And still, after that, I suppose I would have considered it just a cruel reality of war that some unfortunate people – but not me – had to see dead bodies and body parts every day and night and so, were forced to decide whether to walk away or to do something. That was someone else’s life, someone else’s challenge I thought and to his credit, my friend’s father responded heroically. By his courage and kindness, he afforded the deceased the dignity they deserve as human beings, as children of God. By his heroic response, he demonstrated to me, years later and thousands of miles away, how we Christians are called upon in our own life and time, to perform the work of mercy which calls out to us to bury our dead.
If ever I had thought of what it meant to "bury the dead," I would have probably thought it meant to make funeral arrangements. I never, ever would have taken this directive literally, that is, I never would have taken it to mean going out in the dark of night to find and bury the bodies and body parts of strangers. That was beyond my imagination, until Sr. told me about her father and still, I did not take it personally.
Then, one day, while I prayed in front of the abortion clinic, I got it. I remembered that Vietnamese man because I had become like that Vietnamese man. Like him, I find myself, on my side of the world, in a state of war going into the streets and making arrangements for the dead. Every day here in my country, the most innocent people are killed and their tiny bodies are sprawled through the streets of my city, at every one of the seven abortion clinics here. Tiny bodies of murdered children are thrown in plastic garbage bags inside plastic garbage cans and eventually hauled off to medical garbage dumps - somewhere. Their graves aren’t marked. Intentionally, they and their tiny remains are obscured. The little casualties of war in my country are afforded no dignity in death. So, that’s why I go to the abortion clinic Saturday mornings.
I realize that I can’t change the law. I can’t change any woman’s mind. I can’t convince anyone to stop the war on a small or large scale. It’s so much bigger than I am that it just has to be God’s work.
But I can and I will do something for the tiny casualties of war. I can and I will do what I can to afford these tiny, innocent souls some dignity by acknowledging that they are my brothers and sisters, that I see and I know they are being murdered inside that building across the street from me and that I care that they are hurt.
So, I keep vigil as they leave this world, one after another on Saturday mornings. I stand by their side, from outside, just as I would want someone to stand by my side as I leave this world. In my prayers, I can say I care about you even though your mother, father, perhaps grandparents, aunts and/or uncles, do not care for you or maybe do not even know about you right now. I am an adoptive mother. I choose to care about you and to love you - somebody else’s child. I am here for you and I will remember you and I will be here for your sisters and brothers.
I don’t consider myself heroic because I stand on a sidewalk and say some prayers once a week. I don’t face any danger or ridicule for what I do. There is hardly any traffic along this street on Saturday morning, other than the cars driving into and out of the clinic. No one sees or cares, really. But my presence is more than a gesture, or a political or religious statement, thought at times past, it has been that too.
For me, now, there is a delicate, real and growing connection with the babies inside the abortuary across the street who are drawing their last breaths. I realize that I – anyone – can simply go out into the streets and claim these human castoffs as my own, to care for spiritually in their greatest hour of need and to love forever after.
There is a surprising sense of joy in that – a personal sense, that even as these tiny children are driven out of this ungracious world, my own family is growing. I think of these children from time to time throughout the week. I call upon them to remember me also. I feel we know each other and we care about each other and we can and will be there for each other. We have a connection and it is real, because they are now and always were and always will be - real.
What I saw at the Abortion Clinic this Week was someone who pops into my mind’s eye every now and then as I keep vigil at the abortion clinic Saturday mornings. It's a man whom I have never met because he lives on the other side of the world from me. I've just heard about him. So the image in my mind is one of my own making. It’s vague, yet it’s vivid.
I heard his story from his daughter. She is a Vietnamese, Catholic, Dominican Sister who lives in a Religious community in Texas. I don’t remember the context of the conversation that prompted her to tell me about her father I suppose because, after I heard what she had to say, the rest of the conversation paled by comparison.
Sr. was a native of Vietnam and she grew up there during the war. Her childhood memories were of constant danger and violence all around. She said that very late at night her father would leave the home and family and not return until just before dawn. Under cover of darkness her father went through the streets, roads and villages to collect and bury the bodies and body parts of people who were killed in the war that day and who were simply left behind.
It was stocking to imagine bodies and body parts sprawled on the ground, left to rot where they had been killed, even if there were a war in that country. At the time, pictures in the news were not as raw as they are today. I just had not imagined such a scene nor do I think, had others who were themselves not in the war zone. So, I was taken aback to imagine that a man would risk his safety and comfort to do such a dangerous, frightening and unpleasant work of charity for deceased strangers who could never even thank him.
Until that conversation, I had no reason to think of such a scene as dead bodies and body parts in the streets. And still, after that, I suppose I would have considered it just a cruel reality of war that some unfortunate people – but not me – had to see dead bodies and body parts every day and night and so, were forced to decide whether to walk away or to do something. That was someone else’s life, someone else’s challenge I thought and to his credit, my friend’s father responded heroically. By his courage and kindness, he afforded the deceased the dignity they deserve as human beings, as children of God. By his heroic response, he demonstrated to me, years later and thousands of miles away, how we Christians are called upon in our own life and time, to perform the work of mercy which calls out to us to bury our dead.
If ever I had thought of what it meant to "bury the dead," I would have probably thought it meant to make funeral arrangements. I never, ever would have taken this directive literally, that is, I never would have taken it to mean going out in the dark of night to find and bury the bodies and body parts of strangers. That was beyond my imagination, until Sr. told me about her father and still, I did not take it personally.
Then, one day, while I prayed in front of the abortion clinic, I got it. I remembered that Vietnamese man because I had become like that Vietnamese man. Like him, I find myself, on my side of the world, in a state of war going into the streets and making arrangements for the dead. Every day here in my country, the most innocent people are killed and their tiny bodies are sprawled through the streets of my city, at every one of the seven abortion clinics here. Tiny bodies of murdered children are thrown in plastic garbage bags inside plastic garbage cans and eventually hauled off to medical garbage dumps - somewhere. Their graves aren’t marked. Intentionally, they and their tiny remains are obscured. The little casualties of war in my country are afforded no dignity in death. So, that’s why I go to the abortion clinic Saturday mornings.
I realize that I can’t change the law. I can’t change any woman’s mind. I can’t convince anyone to stop the war on a small or large scale. It’s so much bigger than I am that it just has to be God’s work.
But I can and I will do something for the tiny casualties of war. I can and I will do what I can to afford these tiny, innocent souls some dignity by acknowledging that they are my brothers and sisters, that I see and I know they are being murdered inside that building across the street from me and that I care that they are hurt.
So, I keep vigil as they leave this world, one after another on Saturday mornings. I stand by their side, from outside, just as I would want someone to stand by my side as I leave this world. In my prayers, I can say I care about you even though your mother, father, perhaps grandparents, aunts and/or uncles, do not care for you or maybe do not even know about you right now. I am an adoptive mother. I choose to care about you and to love you - somebody else’s child. I am here for you and I will remember you and I will be here for your sisters and brothers.
I don’t consider myself heroic because I stand on a sidewalk and say some prayers once a week. I don’t face any danger or ridicule for what I do. There is hardly any traffic along this street on Saturday morning, other than the cars driving into and out of the clinic. No one sees or cares, really. But my presence is more than a gesture, or a political or religious statement, thought at times past, it has been that too.
For me, now, there is a delicate, real and growing connection with the babies inside the abortuary across the street who are drawing their last breaths. I realize that I – anyone – can simply go out into the streets and claim these human castoffs as my own, to care for spiritually in their greatest hour of need and to love forever after.
There is a surprising sense of joy in that – a personal sense, that even as these tiny children are driven out of this ungracious world, my own family is growing. I think of these children from time to time throughout the week. I call upon them to remember me also. I feel we know each other and we care about each other and we can and will be there for each other. We have a connection and it is real, because they are now and always were and always will be - real.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
9/19/09 - Looking Back, Looking Forward
Saturday, September 19,2009
Each Saturday morning at about 10:00 a.m. for the past few years, I have been going to the same abortion clinic to stand outside on the sidewalk and pray the rosary with others. At times, I've gone sporadically, but now I go regularly. After having done this for a lengthy period now, I have a lot of thoughts, feelings and observations.
At first I kept these impressions to myself, not because I'm unsure about what I've been doing, but because it's awkward to talk about this even with people who share my pro-life sentiments. Abortion is just not a topic that comes up much in conversation. But as time passed, I've found a lot of people I came across were actually curious enough to want a vicarious peak at what goes on there. So, I've found myself sharing a little here and a little there. Then today, to my surprise, a blog was born after a very long gestation period.
Easily 30 years ago, as I was driving about my own business, in an old transitional neighborhood in San Antonio, Texas, I saw a middle-aged woman by herself. Tall and thin, she was dressed in a simple, short sleeved, white blouse, a dark skirt and flats, her graying hair tied up in a bun. She was kneeling on a sidewalk in front of what looked like a small house-turned-office. She had a rosary in her hands and she was praying “Hail Marys" out loud in 98 degrees of relentless Texas sunshine. There were no signs, no crowds and no car whizzing by on the street even acknowledge that they noticed her.
It clicked almost immediately that she was in front of an abortion clinic. I saw her for only a few seconds out of the corner of my eye, but her image is a snapshot in my mind that does not fade with time. I don't recall having any thoughts or feelings about her or what she was doing at that time. I just went about my business and, without a reason to do so, I hardly recalled this scene at all. Now, I'm doing just about the same thing in a different time, in a different city, with a few other folks. Now I remember her often and with clarity.
I won't say that prayerful woman's example is the reason I go to the abortion clinic every Saturday morning. These many years later, I can say I appreciate what humility and courage she must have had to do this all alone. I can say I appreciation that she, that someone was there lifting up in prayer the poor, misguided women and the unborn babies who had fallen prey to this evil. She did not abandon them, judge them or rebuke them. She was simply caring for them in a tender and devoted way, like a mother who would kneel at the bedside of a sick child attentive and all-consumed with their welfare.
I am thankful she was there so many years ago, and that I caught a glimpse of her. I am thankful others are there with me each Saturday morning. I'm thankful we all share a bond that is deeply meaningful and important on a scale so large that in embraces all of humanity but yet on a scale so small that it embraces everyone, even the tiniest soul, personally.
The abortion clinic where I pray, like so many others, is in a hidden place in our society. Even though they have been legal for over 30 years, clinics are still "back alley" operations, still in the shadows intentionally keeping the word "abortion" off their street side advertising. Instead they are disguised under such misleading street signs as "Women's Health" or "Reproductive Health" or "Pregnancy Services" and, of course, "Planned Parenthood" clinics. But they are a wicked reality in our midst that cries out for exposure because, as so aptly put by another, silence always helps the oppressor, never the oppressed.
I hope this blog might serve as a window and as an encouragement for those who may have considered, but not yet made the move on to the front line in the anti-abortion war. I can tell you, that even from the street level, it is a deeply moving experience and perhaps the most meaningful thing you can do in life at this time in history.
Each Saturday morning at about 10:00 a.m. for the past few years, I have been going to the same abortion clinic to stand outside on the sidewalk and pray the rosary with others. At times, I've gone sporadically, but now I go regularly. After having done this for a lengthy period now, I have a lot of thoughts, feelings and observations.
At first I kept these impressions to myself, not because I'm unsure about what I've been doing, but because it's awkward to talk about this even with people who share my pro-life sentiments. Abortion is just not a topic that comes up much in conversation. But as time passed, I've found a lot of people I came across were actually curious enough to want a vicarious peak at what goes on there. So, I've found myself sharing a little here and a little there. Then today, to my surprise, a blog was born after a very long gestation period.
Easily 30 years ago, as I was driving about my own business, in an old transitional neighborhood in San Antonio, Texas, I saw a middle-aged woman by herself. Tall and thin, she was dressed in a simple, short sleeved, white blouse, a dark skirt and flats, her graying hair tied up in a bun. She was kneeling on a sidewalk in front of what looked like a small house-turned-office. She had a rosary in her hands and she was praying “Hail Marys" out loud in 98 degrees of relentless Texas sunshine. There were no signs, no crowds and no car whizzing by on the street even acknowledge that they noticed her.
It clicked almost immediately that she was in front of an abortion clinic. I saw her for only a few seconds out of the corner of my eye, but her image is a snapshot in my mind that does not fade with time. I don't recall having any thoughts or feelings about her or what she was doing at that time. I just went about my business and, without a reason to do so, I hardly recalled this scene at all. Now, I'm doing just about the same thing in a different time, in a different city, with a few other folks. Now I remember her often and with clarity.
I won't say that prayerful woman's example is the reason I go to the abortion clinic every Saturday morning. These many years later, I can say I appreciate what humility and courage she must have had to do this all alone. I can say I appreciation that she, that someone was there lifting up in prayer the poor, misguided women and the unborn babies who had fallen prey to this evil. She did not abandon them, judge them or rebuke them. She was simply caring for them in a tender and devoted way, like a mother who would kneel at the bedside of a sick child attentive and all-consumed with their welfare.
I am thankful she was there so many years ago, and that I caught a glimpse of her. I am thankful others are there with me each Saturday morning. I'm thankful we all share a bond that is deeply meaningful and important on a scale so large that in embraces all of humanity but yet on a scale so small that it embraces everyone, even the tiniest soul, personally.
The abortion clinic where I pray, like so many others, is in a hidden place in our society. Even though they have been legal for over 30 years, clinics are still "back alley" operations, still in the shadows intentionally keeping the word "abortion" off their street side advertising. Instead they are disguised under such misleading street signs as "Women's Health" or "Reproductive Health" or "Pregnancy Services" and, of course, "Planned Parenthood" clinics. But they are a wicked reality in our midst that cries out for exposure because, as so aptly put by another, silence always helps the oppressor, never the oppressed.
I hope this blog might serve as a window and as an encouragement for those who may have considered, but not yet made the move on to the front line in the anti-abortion war. I can tell you, that even from the street level, it is a deeply moving experience and perhaps the most meaningful thing you can do in life at this time in history.
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