The moon is still up as I don my old "Pray to End Abortion" sweatshirt and leave for the first day of the fall 2021 40 Days for Life campaign. My life is kind of in shambles right now. I feel like I'm already praying for life constantly with an uncle in hospice, one friend in Mayo waiting to find out if he has a treatable form of lymphoma or a variety that kills you quickly and another friend at the University Hospital where his toddler is struggling to survive to her third round of chemo. It's the last one, whether it works or not. My husband is spending his vacation trying to get his late father's neglected house in salable condition. I helped him load dozens of boxes and bags into a moving van yesterday and I ache everywhere. My step daughter is refusing to go to school. We've gone through every punishment we can think of - to no avail. My anti-depressant isn't working as well as the one I had to give up because of my auto immune condition. If you drop by my house, well, there appears to have been a struggle. The toilet is clean and there are dishes to eat off of and clothes to wear. Sorry about the dog hair. He's a German shedder. My phone fell off the charger last night and I only have 20% of my battery power.
But I'm headed out to Planned Parenthood at 7:00 in the morning on a Wednesday feeling horribly guilty that I can't quite get myself to the mental place I want to be in. "Fear not." It's all over the Bible. It's the message I try to convey to the women who I meet as a Sidewalk Advocate for Life. I have so many resources I can offer them in terms of physical and emotional support, but the one thing that I have to bring is hope. Hope that they are stronger than they feel. Hope that the people I represent really will make sure their needs are met. Hope that their baby will be worth all the challenges. Hope that I find really hard to feel on that sunrise drive.
Our rally was poorly attended. I know we were up against several other events, including The Church at Planned Parenthood, but the vigil calendar looks like a ghost town, with only three other hours filled that day besides mine. That's 8 more hours I have to find coverage for. I'm there for the first hour because I'm the leader. After volunteering for several years I agreed to take over last year when the old leader left the area to be near her grandchildren. Like me, she understood that leadership comes from getting your own hands dirty as often as not. The best way to get people to go where you send them is to invite them first to come to where you are.
Even with that calendar to fill, I spend the first half hour on my knees. This the one part I don't struggle with. Well, my knees don't love it, but I have no trouble finding things to say to God in the cool quiet of the morning. The Lord's prayer centers me. Then I pray for the clients who walk through those doors of death, the staff, their vendors, the community, the nation and the church. I pray to fight back the lie that women can't have meaningful, valuable lives unless they chase sex rather than love; that the natural rhythms and power of the female body are bad; that any other work is more important than bringing up the next generation. I pray that God will drive out the worship of self from all hearts, especially mine.
I'd love to say my work here is selfless, but that would be a lie. I'm here because too many people I love were in the cross-hairs of the abortion industry before they were born - the children of parents who were young or poor or in a bad relationship or not really in a relationship at all; people who had some prenatal diagnosis that may or may not have significantly affected their life. Some of them survived actual abortion appointments, though most of them don't know that detail. How could you ever tell your child you seriously considered snuffing out their life before they took their first breath? Too many women - and men - I know have been damaged by the abortion of their own child. Too many grandparents have had to beg for the lives of their grandchildren only to be ignored and left to grieve both the life of their descendant and a their damaged relationship with their child. The scars of abortion and its victims are real. I know people are sinful and we'll never really wipe out all abortions. I also know how much we all suffer from living in a community and a country where you can kill your son or daughter in a strip mall in broad daylight on a Tuesday afternoon.
So I pray until my knees are numb and the hope comes. The power of the Holy Spirit doesn't magically fill the calendar, but twenty or so text messages goes a long way toward that. As I read from the book of Psalms I'm reminded of contacts I haven't reached out to yet. I recall a stack of contact cards and the name of the elder I met from a large church I haven't managed to connect with. Our campaign will get through the day. God will make it possible.
Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them.
Psalms 34:19
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