From a friend:
I had a 'great' time at the clinic on Friday. It was mucky and wet, but the sun was warm and shining down on us. It was such a busy spot and the clinic was a revolving door. There were few other older ladies there praying the rosary so I joined them.
Yesterday we were in the NW all day visiting friends and ended up going to St. Peter's for Mass. Fr. Jerome in his homily (which is always so powerful!) mentioned that as a country we are in the same company as China and North Korea when it comes to unrestricted abortion. We were so astounded! How can this be??!! Two countries known for their atrocious human rights and there we are, right along side them. It was really an eye opener. We know the laws are liberal here, but to hear it in those terms was tough.
Just an early morning thought!
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The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. - John 1:5
Father of mercy and grace, thank you for the gift of children. Grant that every fiber of my being may rejoice when i a new baby is born into the world. Help me to be, for those newborn, a light shining in the darkness, welcoming them as I would welcome you. For whenever a new baby is conceived, another life to bear your image and another voice to praise and worship you is beginning. Amen.
(Prayer an excerpt from the book, 40 Days for Life, available on Amazon).
Showing posts with label Personal Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Personal Stories. Show all posts
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Friday, March 1, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Day 14 - Graphic Images
by Fawne
Our 40 Days For Life team here in Calgary has decided that we will not use graphic images for our peaceful vigils. It's not that most of the team are completely against it but it's just something that God has laid on their hearts NOT to do. I think it's neat how God does that.
I'm not against using graphic images either. I know that some people believe it's degrading to show those horrific pictures of little limbs torn asunder. And others believe it does more damage than help to the mamas walking through the doors of these clinics. I can understand that too. Although I believe that killing your child does a much greater damage to ones heart than mere pictures ever can. In other words, once you walk through those doors the damage is already done. And just like all our "damaged sin places" the only thing that will ever bring true healing is receiving the love and forgiveness of the Savior--Jesus Christ.
The thing is (ever since August 24, 2012) when I hear people talk about graphic images it makes me think of the 15 week old baby that I saw.
He was my son.
I gave birth to him early in the morning. My mind was not prepared for how wonderfully human he already was at fifteen weeks. And now, when I go and pray at the abortion clinic I don't want to hold up a sign picturing the ripped off legs and arms of aborted babies. I want to show those mamas what their baby looks like RIGHT NOW. Before they walk inside.
I wish I could have preserved my son so I could show them exactly what it is that they are killing.
Real human life.
I would point out his tiny toes . . . a perfect five on each foot. I would let them marvel, as I did, over the size of a hand that is the exact size of my baby fingernail. I would let them examine his spidery little legs and arms and show them the way you can already see perfect ears, nose and lips.
No! I don't want to hold up graphic images of bloody broken babies. I want the mamas and papas who walk through the doors of Calgary's Kensington Clinic, to see what God sees.
Perfection.
Beauty.
"Created in His image" glory.
I want them to see the truth. Oh, that they might see and know the truth!
Because it's the truth that sets one free.
Our 40 Days For Life team here in Calgary has decided that we will not use graphic images for our peaceful vigils. It's not that most of the team are completely against it but it's just something that God has laid on their hearts NOT to do. I think it's neat how God does that.
I'm not against using graphic images either. I know that some people believe it's degrading to show those horrific pictures of little limbs torn asunder. And others believe it does more damage than help to the mamas walking through the doors of these clinics. I can understand that too. Although I believe that killing your child does a much greater damage to ones heart than mere pictures ever can. In other words, once you walk through those doors the damage is already done. And just like all our "damaged sin places" the only thing that will ever bring true healing is receiving the love and forgiveness of the Savior--Jesus Christ.
The thing is (ever since August 24, 2012) when I hear people talk about graphic images it makes me think of the 15 week old baby that I saw.
He was my son.
I gave birth to him early in the morning. My mind was not prepared for how wonderfully human he already was at fifteen weeks. And now, when I go and pray at the abortion clinic I don't want to hold up a sign picturing the ripped off legs and arms of aborted babies. I want to show those mamas what their baby looks like RIGHT NOW. Before they walk inside.
I wish I could have preserved my son so I could show them exactly what it is that they are killing.
Real human life.
I would point out his tiny toes . . . a perfect five on each foot. I would let them marvel, as I did, over the size of a hand that is the exact size of my baby fingernail. I would let them examine his spidery little legs and arms and show them the way you can already see perfect ears, nose and lips.
No! I don't want to hold up graphic images of bloody broken babies. I want the mamas and papas who walk through the doors of Calgary's Kensington Clinic, to see what God sees.
Perfection.
Beauty.
"Created in His image" glory.
I want them to see the truth. Oh, that they might see and know the truth!
Because it's the truth that sets one free.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Day 39 - testimony
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Day 37 - post-abortion healing
by Kali - a Victoria vigiler
I made my way to the site of the 40 Days for Life prayer vigil yesterday. It was my first time there- and though I registered myself as a member of the 40 Days team, I hadn’t made it to actually checking the schedule and slotting myself in, officially.
Fear presents itself in subtle ways at times. This time, it was in the form of procrastination. Though I wanted to go, I realized that the thoughts of venturing out on my own made me find a zillion reasons why it was really not convenient and probably not necessary. I can pray anywhere, after all…and God knows my heart, and really, would my prayers there Really make a difference? You know how that thinking goes- though it seems absurd to actually name the feelings that way, there they are? Bottom line: I was forced to acknowledge that my actions were really not in line with my beliefs.
So I went. I casually planned to meet a friend, who was not there. I parked- and I worked on knitting a baby hat while I prayed. After 30 min or so, I realized I had to at least have my feet touch the pavement. I wanted to make my presence apparent and at the very least, support those who were quietly taking their place on the sidewalk across the road.
I said hello, I walked up & down a few times, and I prayed for all that was going on behind the closed doors of this innocent looking community building. A modern, friendly-looking establishment housed with family & maternity doctors, midwives, and a complement of natural health practitioners. Funny, there’s no mention of abortion on the signage. Only health and wellness and babies and families and a drugstore below, (one with a fine reputation as a compounding pharmacy that meets the specific needs of pediatric patients in the community.)
The contrast of nurturing health and life with the hidden agenda of promoting death was so raw, so obvious, so sad. And in the drizzly gray of the day, I lasted only a short time on that sidewalk. I knew I did what I came to do as I literally took only babysteps in the right direction.
As I walked back to the car, I identified with the loneliness and sadness these woman face: the confusing emotions of not yet wanting a baby, coupled with the devastation (or numbness) when faced with the alternative. I cried, I walked and prayed. As I neared the car (parked further down the road in a residential area as directed by the Vigil guidelines) a large sign, suspended by large oak branches in the middle of a beautiful garden border caught my eye. Engraved on it were the words:
I wept again at the goodness of my Father- who knows my love for gardens. Who knows I needed a kiss for pardon- from the True Son. It was a little gift, a nudge, to show me He was there. And that He cares for me. In my lame attempts to do what is Right- He was blessed. And so was I- and on that sidewalk near a lovely garden, I did indeed feel near to His heart.
I journalled on a scrap of paper I found in the car, jotting down more of the emotions and memories that came to me as I allowed myself to recall the experiences of my own abortion. Sad and raw on some levels, yet ridiculously straight-forward, I recalled how easily I got on with my day afterwards back in Grade 12…back to student council meetings and dance team rehearsals and a rigorous academic schedule and a scholarship resume in the works. Blah. So very wrong. I scribbled a page of reflections. On Day 29.
So in the midst of the muck & the mire, I give Him praise- and I’m looking forward to going back. Anyone want to come?
I made my way to the site of the 40 Days for Life prayer vigil yesterday. It was my first time there- and though I registered myself as a member of the 40 Days team, I hadn’t made it to actually checking the schedule and slotting myself in, officially.
Fear presents itself in subtle ways at times. This time, it was in the form of procrastination. Though I wanted to go, I realized that the thoughts of venturing out on my own made me find a zillion reasons why it was really not convenient and probably not necessary. I can pray anywhere, after all…and God knows my heart, and really, would my prayers there Really make a difference? You know how that thinking goes- though it seems absurd to actually name the feelings that way, there they are? Bottom line: I was forced to acknowledge that my actions were really not in line with my beliefs.
So I went. I casually planned to meet a friend, who was not there. I parked- and I worked on knitting a baby hat while I prayed. After 30 min or so, I realized I had to at least have my feet touch the pavement. I wanted to make my presence apparent and at the very least, support those who were quietly taking their place on the sidewalk across the road.
I said hello, I walked up & down a few times, and I prayed for all that was going on behind the closed doors of this innocent looking community building. A modern, friendly-looking establishment housed with family & maternity doctors, midwives, and a complement of natural health practitioners. Funny, there’s no mention of abortion on the signage. Only health and wellness and babies and families and a drugstore below, (one with a fine reputation as a compounding pharmacy that meets the specific needs of pediatric patients in the community.)
The contrast of nurturing health and life with the hidden agenda of promoting death was so raw, so obvious, so sad. And in the drizzly gray of the day, I lasted only a short time on that sidewalk. I knew I did what I came to do as I literally took only babysteps in the right direction.
As I walked back to the car, I identified with the loneliness and sadness these woman face: the confusing emotions of not yet wanting a baby, coupled with the devastation (or numbness) when faced with the alternative. I cried, I walked and prayed. As I neared the car (parked further down the road in a residential area as directed by the Vigil guidelines) a large sign, suspended by large oak branches in the middle of a beautiful garden border caught my eye. Engraved on it were the words:
The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,–
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
The song of the birds for mirth,–
One is nearer God’s heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.
I journalled on a scrap of paper I found in the car, jotting down more of the emotions and memories that came to me as I allowed myself to recall the experiences of my own abortion. Sad and raw on some levels, yet ridiculously straight-forward, I recalled how easily I got on with my day afterwards back in Grade 12…back to student council meetings and dance team rehearsals and a rigorous academic schedule and a scholarship resume in the works. Blah. So very wrong. I scribbled a page of reflections. On Day 29.
So in the midst of the muck & the mire, I give Him praise- and I’m looking forward to going back. Anyone want to come?
1 I waited patiently for the Lord;
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
2 He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
3 He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the Lord. Psalm 40
Monday, October 29, 2012
Day 34 - 105 minutes, 40 Days
Beautiful post from an Ottawa vigiler.
*warning - there are graphic images on some of the webpages linked to in this post.
************************************
by catholic mouse (ottawa vigil)
I find a spot on the sidewalk, next to three sisters with umbrellas and a man with a sign.
Already, I’m starting to freeze.
(Is it the temperature, or the knowledge of what has happened right under my nose?)
A stream of the everyday – cars, trucks, passersby – flows up and down the street.
(Cunningham’s “our streets run red” quote* comes to mind. I shiver.)
A girl about my age makes eye contact with me from the bus window.
(What could she be thinking?)
A pre-Halloween princess scrambles to catch up with her mother, across the road.
(You shouldn’t have to see this, sweetheart. Would that there was no need for…us.)
“Hail Mary, full of grace…” from the three beside me. Wet streaks down my nose and cheeks.
(Father, forgive us, for we know not what we’ve done.)
I feel like time has stopped for the few of us.
(Life goes on for the rest…can’t you see something is wrong!? We shouldn’t NEED to be here!)
I don’t need this…my biggest concern today should be grades and parties, not genocide!
(The apathy is killing me. But am I begging them to stand up so I don’t have to?)
A man in a silver car – he pauses, looks at us, shrugs and drives away.
(What does he know?)
Behind us, a little boy, so full of love for his life, laughs and runs from his big sister.
(How many more will be denied moments like this because WE can’t act?)
Another man looks out from his van…a split-second-glance, a dropped jaw, and he’s off.
(What is he unable to face?)
A young father stops his stroller in front of the door. He looks up…way up…to the third floor!
(Were they two of the lucky ones?)
A couple stops to peer into the window of the jewelry store.
(I want to shout at them – “Have you ever thought about the building next door?”)
A pair of teenage girls can hardly walk for laughing…at…whatever was on my mind at 15.
(How many of their sisters and friends have been inside?)
I close my eyes and try to pray again.
(Oh…God…how could this be happening?)
A few more tears…this may be the only time I have openly grieved for what the world has lost.
(And even more, for those who do not know enough to care, or care enough to know.)
*****************************************
*"the sewers of our cities run red with the blood of our children.” - gregg cunningham
Friday, October 26, 2012
Day 31 - dear God
by alisha - 15 years old
Earlier this year, I went to the sidewalk.
It was cold, the January chill wrapping itself around me like a blanket. I shook inside my thick, winter coat, but not just because of the cold.
It happens here, I thought, suddenly everything becoming more real than before.
It happens here, right across the street.
I imagined the chairs in the waiting room, the sterile rooms filled with surgical equipment. I imagined the fear the women must feel as they walked into the room. Every surgical procedure is scary; I know this well, so I think those precious women must have been scared.
I thought about how it could have been me. If things had been a little different – if there had been a test, if I hadn’t been born into the family I was, if things had been just a little different than they happened to be – that could have been my mother in there, scared, confused, thinking this was her only option, that she couldn’t raise a child who would require around the clock care, the medical bills piling up, that she couldn’t raise me.
I couldn’t find the words to say as I huddled there on the sidewalk. I kept whispering over and over, “Dear God.”
Dear God, what are we doing?
Dear God, that could have been me, but it’s not. Thank you for life.
Dear God, they are hurting.
Dear God, Dear God, Dear God.
I experienced something in those few minutes on the sidewalk that I will remember forever. I realized how real abortion is, that it happened right over there. I realized how precious life is, and how thankful I am for my own.
I prayed for everything that happens inside of those walls, for lives that are forever changed. I prayed they would all know how much they are loved, and how precious life is.
I’m so thankful for mine. In those few minutes, I decided that I wanted to make my life count for something. I didn’t want to be silent.
How can we be silent?
Earlier this year, I went to the sidewalk.
It was cold, the January chill wrapping itself around me like a blanket. I shook inside my thick, winter coat, but not just because of the cold.
It happens here, I thought, suddenly everything becoming more real than before.
It happens here, right across the street.
I imagined the chairs in the waiting room, the sterile rooms filled with surgical equipment. I imagined the fear the women must feel as they walked into the room. Every surgical procedure is scary; I know this well, so I think those precious women must have been scared.
I thought about how it could have been me. If things had been a little different – if there had been a test, if I hadn’t been born into the family I was, if things had been just a little different than they happened to be – that could have been my mother in there, scared, confused, thinking this was her only option, that she couldn’t raise a child who would require around the clock care, the medical bills piling up, that she couldn’t raise me.
I couldn’t find the words to say as I huddled there on the sidewalk. I kept whispering over and over, “Dear God.”
Dear God, what are we doing?
Dear God, that could have been me, but it’s not. Thank you for life.
Dear God, they are hurting.
Dear God, Dear God, Dear God.
I experienced something in those few minutes on the sidewalk that I will remember forever. I realized how real abortion is, that it happened right over there. I realized how precious life is, and how thankful I am for my own.
I prayed for everything that happens inside of those walls, for lives that are forever changed. I prayed they would all know how much they are loved, and how precious life is.
I’m so thankful for mine. In those few minutes, I decided that I wanted to make my life count for something. I didn’t want to be silent.
How can we be silent?
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Day 29 - despite the circumstances
This is another repost from a previous campaign. Read and be encouraged that each life is a blessing despite the circumstances.
****************************************
by denise
I was 42 years old when I discovered that I was pregnant with my second child. My only son would be turning 6 soon and my husband had been recently diagnosed with bipolar mood disorder. I was hardly coping, as it was, and I wondered how on earth I would manage to juggle all the pieces of my life to make this work.
When I went to my doctor, his reaction didn't help matters. Originally from overseas, when he saw the positive pregnancy test results he blurted, "Oh, bloody Hell!" So much for congratulations! Then he asked me what I intended to do about it and added, "Do you want to terminate?"
Since I had always intended to have the baby, I left the office in a daze, wondering if I should be seeking another doctor to monitor my pregnancy. But since this was the same office where I'd received assistance when my son was born, I decided to continue with the practice.
A few weeks later I was sent for a routine blood screening. At the time I was unaware that the test was to determine if there were any abnormalities with my child. The test results soon came back. Low risk of Trisomy 18 and spina bifida, but Downs Syndrome was a distinct possibility as my personal number was 1 in 81. The doctor called me and told me I needed to come to his office, an hour away. He broke the news that my baby might have Downs Syndrome. He told me the numbers.
But what he didn't tell me was that the figures meant that if there were 81 pregnant women, in a room, when they all gave birth, statistically 80 of them would have perfectly normal infants while one would have a child with Downs Syndrome. The doctor called a specialist in the city (three hours from my home) and made an appointment for me to go there early the following week. I went home and spent the weekend in despair. Surely my baby was doomed.
My husband took the day off work so he could accompany me to the city. We left our son with his grandparents and went to see the specialist. She was encouraging and told me that she had several other women in her office that day that were also scared, based simply on the results of the routine blood screening. She stated that once there had been a women, she had as a patient, that had been given the ratio "1 in 4" chance of Downs. Yet, when that little one had been born, it was fine. I was sent home and told not to worry so much.
However, a few weeks later, I found myself back in the city for an ultrasound as my doctor was still not satisfied that everything was all right. After the specialist performed the ultrasound, she told us we were having a girl and that there was nothing to worry about.
Finally, for the last couple of months, until my due date, I could relax a little. Since I had gestational diabetes, I had to take insulin shots every time I ate. Then I developed high blood pressure and had to be hospitalized over the weekend. Eventually I was released with pills to control my blood pressure and told that a C-section would be planned in about ten more days. At the time of the birth, I was 43.
When our daughter, who is now 6 years old and in Grade 1, was born, she was perfect in every way. But even if she had not been, would we have loved her any less? Even now, all these years later, some times I look at wee Isobel and wonder what if I had decided that I was too old to have another child or that the risks to my own health (or her potential Downs syndrome) were too much to handle? What if I had decided to have an abortion? What fun I would have missed! I'm glad I wasn't pushed into making the wrong decision by the initial negativity of my doctor but I shudder to think that other children have been aborted in similar circumstances.
****************************************
by denise
I was 42 years old when I discovered that I was pregnant with my second child. My only son would be turning 6 soon and my husband had been recently diagnosed with bipolar mood disorder. I was hardly coping, as it was, and I wondered how on earth I would manage to juggle all the pieces of my life to make this work.
When I went to my doctor, his reaction didn't help matters. Originally from overseas, when he saw the positive pregnancy test results he blurted, "Oh, bloody Hell!" So much for congratulations! Then he asked me what I intended to do about it and added, "Do you want to terminate?"
Since I had always intended to have the baby, I left the office in a daze, wondering if I should be seeking another doctor to monitor my pregnancy. But since this was the same office where I'd received assistance when my son was born, I decided to continue with the practice.
A few weeks later I was sent for a routine blood screening. At the time I was unaware that the test was to determine if there were any abnormalities with my child. The test results soon came back. Low risk of Trisomy 18 and spina bifida, but Downs Syndrome was a distinct possibility as my personal number was 1 in 81. The doctor called me and told me I needed to come to his office, an hour away. He broke the news that my baby might have Downs Syndrome. He told me the numbers.
But what he didn't tell me was that the figures meant that if there were 81 pregnant women, in a room, when they all gave birth, statistically 80 of them would have perfectly normal infants while one would have a child with Downs Syndrome. The doctor called a specialist in the city (three hours from my home) and made an appointment for me to go there early the following week. I went home and spent the weekend in despair. Surely my baby was doomed.
My husband took the day off work so he could accompany me to the city. We left our son with his grandparents and went to see the specialist. She was encouraging and told me that she had several other women in her office that day that were also scared, based simply on the results of the routine blood screening. She stated that once there had been a women, she had as a patient, that had been given the ratio "1 in 4" chance of Downs. Yet, when that little one had been born, it was fine. I was sent home and told not to worry so much.
However, a few weeks later, I found myself back in the city for an ultrasound as my doctor was still not satisfied that everything was all right. After the specialist performed the ultrasound, she told us we were having a girl and that there was nothing to worry about.
Finally, for the last couple of months, until my due date, I could relax a little. Since I had gestational diabetes, I had to take insulin shots every time I ate. Then I developed high blood pressure and had to be hospitalized over the weekend. Eventually I was released with pills to control my blood pressure and told that a C-section would be planned in about ten more days. At the time of the birth, I was 43.
When our daughter, who is now 6 years old and in Grade 1, was born, she was perfect in every way. But even if she had not been, would we have loved her any less? Even now, all these years later, some times I look at wee Isobel and wonder what if I had decided that I was too old to have another child or that the risks to my own health (or her potential Downs syndrome) were too much to handle? What if I had decided to have an abortion? What fun I would have missed! I'm glad I wasn't pushed into making the wrong decision by the initial negativity of my doctor but I shudder to think that other children have been aborted in similar circumstances.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Day 26 - abortion robs grandparents
This is a repost from a previous vigil, this entry was sent to us from a blog reader - and outlines some of the painful
ripples that abortion
brings...
****************************************
It was around midnight several years ago that I sat hunched over my computer keyboard, the light from the monitor illuminating the dark room. A message popped up from my daughter P. She asked how I was, I responded that I was well and asked how she was doing. She told me she was worried about her brother G, but angry with him too, saying he had been nasty to her lately. I sighed. I knew it was true. Then she said she needed to tell me something. Inwardly I froze. No mother wants to hear these words from her child, especially over an internet connection in a dark room late at night.
My daughter is a terrible typist so waiting for the next message, which I was sure was going to contain bad news, was endless. Finally I read: "I want to tell you something about M (my son's wife) but you have to promise never to talk to anyone about it or M and G will never speak to me again if they find out that you know - they don't even know that I know. Also I am afraid to tell you because you might treat them differently when you hear this." I promise P I will keep her secret, having no idea what she is about to divulge.
P had hinted previously that she knew something about M but I had decided to wait for P to tell me in her own time. M has always been a bit secretive but I chalked that up to the fact that I was her mother-in-law and we didn't have the sort of relationship where she confided anything to me. The next message from P tells me something disappointing about M but then another message pops up. It reads: "but there's more." I decide that since we've gone this far I might as well plunge in all the way.
I type: "she had an abortion?"
There's no hesitation in the response. The single word "yes" pops up on my computer screen.
And all of a sudden everything starts to fall into place. The outburst by my son towards a family member who innocently asked if he and his wife were planning to start a family soon, the estrangement from certain family members, the abrupt move half way across the country and the ongoing prickly attitude towards me, his father and his sister. I feel an icy hand close over my heart. I ask my daughter how she came to learn this information but I know I don't need to check her sources - she couldn't lie if her life depended on it. My daughter feels better now that she has unburdened herself but now I must carry this Cross - the knowledge that my first grandchild is dead. I want to split in half and cry forever.
Instead I begin to blame my daughter-in-law for what has happened and as time goes by I nurse this grudge until I can no longer look at her photo or speak to her on the phone. It's easy to get out of speaking to her on the phone as she has a very soft voice and I have trouble listening to her due to my hearing problems. Since she and I were not close to begin with this new pattern emerges of only speaking to my son when he calls.
As the weeks go by I try to piece together the fragments of information that P has given me and I determine that M became pregnant about nine months before her and G's wedding. This hurts me even more as it feels like she has chosen her expensive white dress and a big party over her unborn child. My anger and resentment continue to fester. I might have found relief if I could have confronted M and G but I had promised P I would not. By now my husband also knows what has happened. He is so ashamed he literally forbids me to talk to anyone about it. We are also terrified that our already strained relationship with M & G will break for good if we confront them even though we would tell them we forgive them.
Being a Christian I keep telling myself I don't hate my daughter-in-law, I hate what she did. I tell myself that God loves her and made her in His image. I tell myself that she didn't choose to abort but that she felt she had no option but to abort. Except that I cannot accept that, no matter how hard I try. My husband and I would have taken that baby in if my son and his wife couldn't care for him. We would have kept him forever or given him back when his parents wanted him. We would have given them money, support, anything to help. But they never asked us.
As the years go by I step up my commitment to ProLife. I want to spare other people the pain I have experienced. I want the babies to live. I volunteer at a pregnancy centre and join prayerful endeavours like Life Chain. Every time we hear a sermon against abortion I want to stand up and cheer - except that the sermons always encourage us to reach out in love and mercy to the post-abortive mothers and all I want to do is shake the living daylights out of my daughter-in-law. I want her to hurt as much as I do. I want her to tell me she is sorry. It's probably a good thing she lives half way across the country from me.
Finally I reach a point where I can no longer sustain this level of personal misery. And it's then that Abby Johnson comes into my life.
Abby Johnson once worked for Planned Parenthood. It was after she assisted at an abortion that she finally came to the realization of what she had long suspected. Abortion was killing babies. She left Planned Parenthood and wrote a book about her transformation from "prochoice" to ProLife. I bought her book and read it in one day. It resonated with me on every single level even though I had never had an abortion myself. More than anything I wanted to participate in 40 Days for Life, the prayerful vigil that had done so much to convert her.
Within two weeks a lady at my church announced we were going to participate in 40 Days for Life. My heart jumped and I was one of the first ones to sign up! My husband, while supporting the cause, was very concerned that I would be assaulted in front of the clinic while holding my 40 Days sign. I asked him "what if some lady had been standing in front of the clinic the day that M and G went to her abortion appointment - what if her sign or her smile or her words caused M to reconsider the abortion and carry the baby to term?" He didn't stop worrying but he didn't ask me to stop going either.
The 40 Days for Life campaign took place while the weather was damp and cold. Some days it rained, some days the wind blew through my coat. But slowly as the earth moved towards Spring my heart began to thaw a little along with the ground. I spent many hours on the front lines praying for the mothers and their unborn babies. Sometimes I thought of my grandchild. I know he is in Heaven and prays for his mom. He's forgiven her. I know I must too.
****************************************
It was around midnight several years ago that I sat hunched over my computer keyboard, the light from the monitor illuminating the dark room. A message popped up from my daughter P. She asked how I was, I responded that I was well and asked how she was doing. She told me she was worried about her brother G, but angry with him too, saying he had been nasty to her lately. I sighed. I knew it was true. Then she said she needed to tell me something. Inwardly I froze. No mother wants to hear these words from her child, especially over an internet connection in a dark room late at night.
My daughter is a terrible typist so waiting for the next message, which I was sure was going to contain bad news, was endless. Finally I read: "I want to tell you something about M (my son's wife) but you have to promise never to talk to anyone about it or M and G will never speak to me again if they find out that you know - they don't even know that I know. Also I am afraid to tell you because you might treat them differently when you hear this." I promise P I will keep her secret, having no idea what she is about to divulge.
P had hinted previously that she knew something about M but I had decided to wait for P to tell me in her own time. M has always been a bit secretive but I chalked that up to the fact that I was her mother-in-law and we didn't have the sort of relationship where she confided anything to me. The next message from P tells me something disappointing about M but then another message pops up. It reads: "but there's more." I decide that since we've gone this far I might as well plunge in all the way.
I type: "she had an abortion?"
There's no hesitation in the response. The single word "yes" pops up on my computer screen.
And all of a sudden everything starts to fall into place. The outburst by my son towards a family member who innocently asked if he and his wife were planning to start a family soon, the estrangement from certain family members, the abrupt move half way across the country and the ongoing prickly attitude towards me, his father and his sister. I feel an icy hand close over my heart. I ask my daughter how she came to learn this information but I know I don't need to check her sources - she couldn't lie if her life depended on it. My daughter feels better now that she has unburdened herself but now I must carry this Cross - the knowledge that my first grandchild is dead. I want to split in half and cry forever.
Instead I begin to blame my daughter-in-law for what has happened and as time goes by I nurse this grudge until I can no longer look at her photo or speak to her on the phone. It's easy to get out of speaking to her on the phone as she has a very soft voice and I have trouble listening to her due to my hearing problems. Since she and I were not close to begin with this new pattern emerges of only speaking to my son when he calls.
As the weeks go by I try to piece together the fragments of information that P has given me and I determine that M became pregnant about nine months before her and G's wedding. This hurts me even more as it feels like she has chosen her expensive white dress and a big party over her unborn child. My anger and resentment continue to fester. I might have found relief if I could have confronted M and G but I had promised P I would not. By now my husband also knows what has happened. He is so ashamed he literally forbids me to talk to anyone about it. We are also terrified that our already strained relationship with M & G will break for good if we confront them even though we would tell them we forgive them.
Being a Christian I keep telling myself I don't hate my daughter-in-law, I hate what she did. I tell myself that God loves her and made her in His image. I tell myself that she didn't choose to abort but that she felt she had no option but to abort. Except that I cannot accept that, no matter how hard I try. My husband and I would have taken that baby in if my son and his wife couldn't care for him. We would have kept him forever or given him back when his parents wanted him. We would have given them money, support, anything to help. But they never asked us.
As the years go by I step up my commitment to ProLife. I want to spare other people the pain I have experienced. I want the babies to live. I volunteer at a pregnancy centre and join prayerful endeavours like Life Chain. Every time we hear a sermon against abortion I want to stand up and cheer - except that the sermons always encourage us to reach out in love and mercy to the post-abortive mothers and all I want to do is shake the living daylights out of my daughter-in-law. I want her to hurt as much as I do. I want her to tell me she is sorry. It's probably a good thing she lives half way across the country from me.
Finally I reach a point where I can no longer sustain this level of personal misery. And it's then that Abby Johnson comes into my life.
Abby Johnson once worked for Planned Parenthood. It was after she assisted at an abortion that she finally came to the realization of what she had long suspected. Abortion was killing babies. She left Planned Parenthood and wrote a book about her transformation from "prochoice" to ProLife. I bought her book and read it in one day. It resonated with me on every single level even though I had never had an abortion myself. More than anything I wanted to participate in 40 Days for Life, the prayerful vigil that had done so much to convert her.
Within two weeks a lady at my church announced we were going to participate in 40 Days for Life. My heart jumped and I was one of the first ones to sign up! My husband, while supporting the cause, was very concerned that I would be assaulted in front of the clinic while holding my 40 Days sign. I asked him "what if some lady had been standing in front of the clinic the day that M and G went to her abortion appointment - what if her sign or her smile or her words caused M to reconsider the abortion and carry the baby to term?" He didn't stop worrying but he didn't ask me to stop going either.
The 40 Days for Life campaign took place while the weather was damp and cold. Some days it rained, some days the wind blew through my coat. But slowly as the earth moved towards Spring my heart began to thaw a little along with the ground. I spent many hours on the front lines praying for the mothers and their unborn babies. Sometimes I thought of my grandchild. I know he is in Heaven and prays for his mom. He's forgiven her. I know I must too.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Day 25 - this little light of mine
by richard
We arrived at 6:55 and there was no one to replace. The night was not unseasonable cold but the dark abortion clinic seemed to make the world a colder place. Soon night fell; illuminated by a street light and the gas station sign, only the price of gas at $1.16 would have been noticed. We began with the Joyful Mysteries. Cars drove by, buses filled the air with the roar of their engines and the smell of diesel. Cyclists and the odd driver would turn their heads, but we received no sign that the world was changing. Then perhaps a seed. Perhaps a small sign of hope. An otherwise dark house is stirred to life, light comes on, and a man comes out of his front door. What moved him to investigate. Was it the light of the two votive candles of Jesus and Mary? Or was there something different in the air? He was back in his house within a couple of seconds? Was it the sight of two men praying? Was it the contemplative chant of the Rosary? Was it the presence of our guardian angels? Or was it the majesty of the presence of our Lord and King and His Mother the Queen of Angels and Saints? Reassured it seemed, he went back to the safety of his home, turned off the light and the house was like whence before. I then realized that the night wasn't that dark and cold anymore.
We arrived at 6:55 and there was no one to replace. The night was not unseasonable cold but the dark abortion clinic seemed to make the world a colder place. Soon night fell; illuminated by a street light and the gas station sign, only the price of gas at $1.16 would have been noticed. We began with the Joyful Mysteries. Cars drove by, buses filled the air with the roar of their engines and the smell of diesel. Cyclists and the odd driver would turn their heads, but we received no sign that the world was changing. Then perhaps a seed. Perhaps a small sign of hope. An otherwise dark house is stirred to life, light comes on, and a man comes out of his front door. What moved him to investigate. Was it the light of the two votive candles of Jesus and Mary? Or was there something different in the air? He was back in his house within a couple of seconds? Was it the sight of two men praying? Was it the contemplative chant of the Rosary? Was it the presence of our guardian angels? Or was it the majesty of the presence of our Lord and King and His Mother the Queen of Angels and Saints? Reassured it seemed, he went back to the safety of his home, turned off the light and the house was like whence before. I then realized that the night wasn't that dark and cold anymore.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Day 24 - i had to laugh
by Liisa
I am thankful that when I went to the vigil on Wednesday that there were three other people there. It is so heartening to get there and see that the sidewalk isn't bare. I am thankful that before I left an elderly lady joined me saying that she had a few friends meeting her soon, that it was her first time at the vigil and seeing what she saw at the clinic (and hearing that I had seen about 5 cars drive in during the hour I was praying there) that although it was her first time there and she had been planning on coming once a week she now felt that she should come more frequently. And finally, I had to laugh when a woman stopped her van in front me and two other prayer volunteers and shook her finger at us as she said, "Shame ... on ... you." Because really, there is no shame in standing peacefully on a sidewalk praying to God for an end to the killing. There is no shame in holding a sign asking, "What do you need?" or "For post abortion counselling visit .... website." I had to laugh because really, shame on her for supporting a mother's right to murder her own child. I am thankful that because of the Holy Spirit, I have the confidence to stand up for what is right when people tell me I should be ashamed for doing so.
I am thankful that when I went to the vigil on Wednesday that there were three other people there. It is so heartening to get there and see that the sidewalk isn't bare. I am thankful that before I left an elderly lady joined me saying that she had a few friends meeting her soon, that it was her first time at the vigil and seeing what she saw at the clinic (and hearing that I had seen about 5 cars drive in during the hour I was praying there) that although it was her first time there and she had been planning on coming once a week she now felt that she should come more frequently. And finally, I had to laugh when a woman stopped her van in front me and two other prayer volunteers and shook her finger at us as she said, "Shame ... on ... you." Because really, there is no shame in standing peacefully on a sidewalk praying to God for an end to the killing. There is no shame in holding a sign asking, "What do you need?" or "For post abortion counselling visit .... website." I had to laugh because really, shame on her for supporting a mother's right to murder her own child. I am thankful that because of the Holy Spirit, I have the confidence to stand up for what is right when people tell me I should be ashamed for doing so.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Day 19 -Boy or Girl? What Matters?
Repost - i love this way of thinking...
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by jessica
When I was pregnant with our little Eva, a family friend asked my husband Curt if he was looking forward to having a boy or a girl.
"Well, it doesn't really matter!"
She laughed and then said something that a person hears a lot when they are expecting:
"Yeah, i guess so. As long as the baby is healthy!"
Curt blurted out, "Actually, that doesn't really matter either."
She looked a little taken aback. Curt tried to explain what he meant. "Well, i know what you mean but... We've had 6 children born to us so far. They were all "healthy" and "perfect". Seven years after our first son was born, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. At three, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare hormonal deficiency called diabetes insipidus, and then at 5, it was discovered that this original diagnosis was caused by a rare cancer-like disease growing on her pituitary. There are no guarantees in life, and although we don't want our children to be in pain, we know that even this present suffering can be "worked out" for good as we love and train our children in the middle of their suffering."
When he got home that night, he brought up the conversation with me and how he had surprised himself with what he had blurted out. "But Jess, it's true."
Yeah, it is.
Why do we say those words... "As long as they are healthy?"
"As long as they are healthy..." what?
-then i'll be happy?
-then i'll be thankful?
-then i'll know that the pregnancy was "worth it"?
-then i'll know that they will have an easy life and not worry?
Not true.
If they are not healthy... then what?
What will be lost?
Our joy?
Our faith?
Our love?
Our peace?
Our patience?
Our self control?
Our goodness?
Our kindness?
Our faithfulness?
...Jesus,
My children are in your hands.
I give them back to you.
With their strengths,
with their frailties....
as long as they remain in your love...
then I'll know that they have been *fully delivered*.
*****************************************************
Do you have a story to share? Send it to me using the 'contact' tab above, or post it in the comments section. Opening up the doors of conversation brings the fresh winds of change...
*************************************
by jessica
When I was pregnant with our little Eva, a family friend asked my husband Curt if he was looking forward to having a boy or a girl.
"Well, it doesn't really matter!"
She laughed and then said something that a person hears a lot when they are expecting:
"Yeah, i guess so. As long as the baby is healthy!"
Curt blurted out, "Actually, that doesn't really matter either."
She looked a little taken aback. Curt tried to explain what he meant. "Well, i know what you mean but... We've had 6 children born to us so far. They were all "healthy" and "perfect". Seven years after our first son was born, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. At three, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare hormonal deficiency called diabetes insipidus, and then at 5, it was discovered that this original diagnosis was caused by a rare cancer-like disease growing on her pituitary. There are no guarantees in life, and although we don't want our children to be in pain, we know that even this present suffering can be "worked out" for good as we love and train our children in the middle of their suffering."
When he got home that night, he brought up the conversation with me and how he had surprised himself with what he had blurted out. "But Jess, it's true."
Yeah, it is.
Why do we say those words... "As long as they are healthy?"
"As long as they are healthy..." what?
-then i'll be happy?
-then i'll be thankful?
-then i'll know that the pregnancy was "worth it"?
-then i'll know that they will have an easy life and not worry?
Not true.
If they are not healthy... then what?
What will be lost?
Our joy?
Our faith?
Our love?
Our peace?
Our patience?
Our self control?
Our goodness?
Our kindness?
Our faithfulness?
...Jesus,
My children are in your hands.
I give them back to you.
With their strengths,
with their frailties....
as long as they remain in your love...
then I'll know that they have been *fully delivered*.
*****************************************************
Do you have a story to share? Send it to me using the 'contact' tab above, or post it in the comments section. Opening up the doors of conversation brings the fresh winds of change...
Friday, October 12, 2012
Day 17 - another vigil
by Alison
It never fails. As I drive to vigil I listen to the chatter of my girls in the back seat laughing, singing. Yet as soon as I catch sight of the gas station on the corner of 5th my inner calm is gone. My stomach swarms with butterflies. I don't want to come here. I don't. Yet I am drawn back time and time again. My Father has called, and for reasons beyond my knowledge He has chosen to use me here. The vigil is a roller coaster for me. Some days I am cheerfully greeted by others praying before me, and join them in prayer. Other days I stand on the corner or stroll the sidewalk with Him praying my rosary. These days I can feel peace on "our" side of the street. I can almost see the angels standing along the path. And then there are the days that tire me. The days I feel sick to my stomach the entire time I vigil. I feel an emptiness and almost ache as if it were my womb ... I literally shake each time I see a momma leave. The heavy feeling of death lingers. Tears that I will not to - fall regardless. I am surrounded by a desperate sense of sorrow. These are the times I cannot pray, so I let Him take over and trust that the Holy Spirit knows the words to use. These days I feel broken and don't want to return. But He meets me here and he is calling. What else can I do but come?
It never fails. As I drive to vigil I listen to the chatter of my girls in the back seat laughing, singing. Yet as soon as I catch sight of the gas station on the corner of 5th my inner calm is gone. My stomach swarms with butterflies. I don't want to come here. I don't. Yet I am drawn back time and time again. My Father has called, and for reasons beyond my knowledge He has chosen to use me here. The vigil is a roller coaster for me. Some days I am cheerfully greeted by others praying before me, and join them in prayer. Other days I stand on the corner or stroll the sidewalk with Him praying my rosary. These days I can feel peace on "our" side of the street. I can almost see the angels standing along the path. And then there are the days that tire me. The days I feel sick to my stomach the entire time I vigil. I feel an emptiness and almost ache as if it were my womb ... I literally shake each time I see a momma leave. The heavy feeling of death lingers. Tears that I will not to - fall regardless. I am surrounded by a desperate sense of sorrow. These are the times I cannot pray, so I let Him take over and trust that the Holy Spirit knows the words to use. These days I feel broken and don't want to return. But He meets me here and he is calling. What else can I do but come?
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Day 11 - Don't Stop
Something that hasn't been a part of our campaign up to this point has been protesters. The other night, that changed. We wondered what it would look like for our prayer warriors if they were challenged by individuals protesting the peaceful, prayerful presence of 40 Days for Life - and now we know.
Our campaign director sent us a quick email:
It happened. There was a demonstrator out on the sidewalk tonight at 7:00.
Kay'd and I were out there from 6:00 - 7:00, and were relieved by a group of four wonderful people: Richard, Alex, Bob, and Aurora.
As we were getting in our car, we saw a young woman getting out of a black van, and we asked her if she was 40 Days. She smirked and said no. Then she went out to the sidewalk and was yelling out at cars, gesturing to the prayer vigil folks, and had a sign that was generally illegible except for "closed minded".
I went back and talked to the group, told them that she was an abortion center person, and said to stay peaceful and prayerful.
Richard had brought a small table and had several votive candles burning. It was getting dark, and looked really peaceful.
I asked them to e-mail me to let me know how it goes.
Please say a prayer for them.
I'll let you know if anything comes of this.
Later on, we were updated by one of the prayer volunteers:
We had a lovely evening. The opponent couldn't stand the power of [prayer] or the cold or both. She left quietly leaving her sign behind. We did get approached by a woman wanting to know what we were doing. She was surprised to learn she was standing in front of an abortion clinic. She thanked us and said she was going to pray for us.
Richard
And so i guess the issue is a small one. We learned from our praying friends that in the face of protest? Our response must be to remain peaceful and prayerful... There is no question that our presence there is having an impact on the community around us - let's continue to allow it to be one that shows the love of God.
Friday, October 5, 2012
day 10 - grieving daddy
by gwen
On day 1 of 2012 fall 40DFL prayer campaign at the Kensington abortion clinic, a young man approached us and shared his connection with the abortion clinic. His girlfriend had aborted their 14 week son there. They had already bought clothes and had names picked out. He had tried to talk her out of the abortion but her mother and girlfriends kept telling her it was the right thing to do and she was beautiful for doing it. When he found out she was at the abortion clinic, he drove there so fast that he attracted the police who followed him into the clinic. He saw unhappy looking girls sitting there and a white door that separated him from his pregnant girlfriend. He said if one person (pro-life) had talked to her, maybe the baby would still be alive.
He is grieving and feeling guilty because he couldn't talk her out of it because he couldn't defend his son.
We suggested he name his son and contact Rachel's Vineyard. We were reminded that abortion hurts men too.
On day 1 of 2012 fall 40DFL prayer campaign at the Kensington abortion clinic, a young man approached us and shared his connection with the abortion clinic. His girlfriend had aborted their 14 week son there. They had already bought clothes and had names picked out. He had tried to talk her out of the abortion but her mother and girlfriends kept telling her it was the right thing to do and she was beautiful for doing it. When he found out she was at the abortion clinic, he drove there so fast that he attracted the police who followed him into the clinic. He saw unhappy looking girls sitting there and a white door that separated him from his pregnant girlfriend. He said if one person (pro-life) had talked to her, maybe the baby would still be alive.
He is grieving and feeling guilty because he couldn't talk her out of it because he couldn't defend his son.
We suggested he name his son and contact Rachel's Vineyard. We were reminded that abortion hurts men too.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Day 7 - She Didn't Go In
by Sharole
Today was my second time praying at the vigil and I found myself alone again for a while as I prayed for the people going in and out of the clinic.
The last time I was there I prayed for taxi drivers that took the women to and from the clinic. I prayed that God would work through these taxi drivers.
I wasn't "seeing" any visible results, but I felt God working. Everyone that came, went into the clinic despite my desperate prayers to not go in. This morning I saw a taxi pull into the parking lot, and I prayed like crazy "Don't let her go in God, don't go in!" I heard a door open, but nobody got out. Then a miracle happened, the taxi turned around and drove out, with it's young female passenger still inside. She looked relieved and at peace. This was in harsh contrast to the other women that came out of the clinic, every one weeping, limping and broken.
I can hardly believe that this happened before my eyes. It's one thing to pray for a miracle, but another to see it and believe it. But now I believe we are making a difference!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Day 36 - as long as... repost & update
i'm re-posting this beautiful post my sister wrote during our last vigil. As i write this, my niece Sadie is over half way done her chemo treatments for LCH. It has been a rough year - praying, hoping and trusting - and leaving her precious life in the faithful hands of the Father who loves her the most.
by jessica
When I was pregnant with our little Eva, a family friend asked my husband Curt if he was looking forward to having a boy or a girl.
"Well, it doesn't really matter!"
She laughed and then said something that a person hears a lot when they are expecting:
"Yeah, i guess so. As long as the baby is healthy!"
Curt blurted out, "Actually, that doesn't really matter either."
She looked a little taken aback. Curt tried to explain what he meant. "Well, i know what you mean but... We've had 6 children born to us so far. They were all "healthy" and "perfect". Seven years after our first son was born, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. At three, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare hormonal deficiency called diabetes insipidus, and then at 5, it was discovered that this original diagnosis was caused by a rare cancer-like disease growing on her pituitary. There are no guarantees in life, and although we don't want our children to be in pain, we know that even this present suffering can be "worked out" for good as we love and train our children in the middle of their suffering."
When he got home that night, he brought up the conversation with me and how he had surprised himself with what he had blurted out. "But Jess, it's true."
Yeah, it is.
Why do we say those words... "As long as they are healthy?"
"As long as they are healthy..." what?
-then i'll be happy?
-then i'll be thankful?
-then i'll know that the pregnancy was "worth it"?
-then i'll know that they will have an easy life and not worry?
Not true.
If they are not healthy... then what?
What will be lost?
Our joy?
Our faith?
Our love?
Our peace?
Our patience?
Our self control?
Our goodness?
Our kindness?
Our faithfulness?
...Jesus,
My children are in your hands.
I give them back to you.
With their strengths,
with their frailties....
as long as they remain in your love...
then I'll know that they have been *fully delivered*.
by jessica
When I was pregnant with our little Eva, a family friend asked my husband Curt if he was looking forward to having a boy or a girl.
"Well, it doesn't really matter!"
She laughed and then said something that a person hears a lot when they are expecting:
"Yeah, i guess so. As long as the baby is healthy!"
Curt blurted out, "Actually, that doesn't really matter either."
She looked a little taken aback. Curt tried to explain what he meant. "Well, i know what you mean but... We've had 6 children born to us so far. They were all "healthy" and "perfect". Seven years after our first son was born, he was diagnosed with epilepsy. At three, our daughter was diagnosed with a rare hormonal deficiency called diabetes insipidus, and then at 5, it was discovered that this original diagnosis was caused by a rare cancer-like disease growing on her pituitary. There are no guarantees in life, and although we don't want our children to be in pain, we know that even this present suffering can be "worked out" for good as we love and train our children in the middle of their suffering."
When he got home that night, he brought up the conversation with me and how he had surprised himself with what he had blurted out. "But Jess, it's true."
Yeah, it is.
Why do we say those words... "As long as they are healthy?"
"As long as they are healthy..." what?
-then i'll be happy?
-then i'll be thankful?
-then i'll know that the pregnancy was "worth it"?
-then i'll know that they will have an easy life and not worry?
Not true.
If they are not healthy... then what?
What will be lost?
Our joy?
Our faith?
Our love?
Our peace?
Our patience?
Our self control?
Our goodness?
Our kindness?
Our faithfulness?
...Jesus,
My children are in your hands.
I give them back to you.
With their strengths,
with their frailties....
as long as they remain in your love...
then I'll know that they have been *fully delivered*.
Monday, March 26, 2012
day 34 - it's not over yet
A repost today... i wrote those words, "it's not over" at the end of this post - hoping & believing that one day it will be over. One day, our culture will begin to see the value of human life once more... One day, babies will be protected in their mother's wombs... This is an issue that is worth stepping out of your comfort zone on.
********************************************************
We got to the vigil in the afternoon... i brought some girls to play at the park, and i brought my heart, heavy with questions to that street corner where i have learned that He is faithful to meet with me.
i ache for all involved. For that poor man i saw carrying garbage bags from the back of the facility, for the taxi drivers who come to pick up those women who have come here alone, for the ones who stepped out in faith to organize a vigil in our city - and sustain negativity from without - and even from within.
Oh, Father - i'm so weak and ignorant. i have so much to learn. It's bigger than i thought it was, and the battle - that wages not against flesh and blood - is so much more sophisticated than this 35 year old stay at home mom.
My understanding comes so slowly. Teach me, teach me, teach me...
i get home, and i hide in my husband's office. i bow my head and let the tears fall.
In my honesty, i look at the ugliness that abounds, and give words to the things that try to make me run.
i want to be liked. But what i have to say... it's so hard to hear. There will be persecution for speaking truth.
i'm so ignorant. But i refuse to stay there. i want to learn, i want to grow - and i'm willing to do whatever it takes to hear His voice.
i'm such a coward. But now that i see it, i can't hide behind it any longer. God is faithful - and He will help me to obey, even when my flesh wants to shush truth - He'll help me proclaim it.
My husband looks at me questioningly.
"i'm so tired, babe..." i say wiping the tears from my eyes.
"But it's not over."
********************************************************
We got to the vigil in the afternoon... i brought some girls to play at the park, and i brought my heart, heavy with questions to that street corner where i have learned that He is faithful to meet with me.
i ache for all involved. For that poor man i saw carrying garbage bags from the back of the facility, for the taxi drivers who come to pick up those women who have come here alone, for the ones who stepped out in faith to organize a vigil in our city - and sustain negativity from without - and even from within.
Oh, Father - i'm so weak and ignorant. i have so much to learn. It's bigger than i thought it was, and the battle - that wages not against flesh and blood - is so much more sophisticated than this 35 year old stay at home mom.
My understanding comes so slowly. Teach me, teach me, teach me...
i get home, and i hide in my husband's office. i bow my head and let the tears fall.
In my honesty, i look at the ugliness that abounds, and give words to the things that try to make me run.
i want to be liked. But what i have to say... it's so hard to hear. There will be persecution for speaking truth.
i'm so ignorant. But i refuse to stay there. i want to learn, i want to grow - and i'm willing to do whatever it takes to hear His voice.
i'm such a coward. But now that i see it, i can't hide behind it any longer. God is faithful - and He will help me to obey, even when my flesh wants to shush truth - He'll help me proclaim it.
My husband looks at me questioningly.
"i'm so tired, babe..." i say wiping the tears from my eyes.
"But it's not over."
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Day 22 - Thoughts on 40 Days for Life Calgary
by liisa
My friend and I went to pray outside of the Kensington clinic together twice last week.We are both fairly new at this. We did the life chain together in the fall and then realized it was not as scary as we thought to publicly proclaim our Pro-Life status and it is good to know that we can do something. It was also really nice to have a few other people there on Thursday! For a while we were relegated to the field while a group of four ladies finished their vigil on the street. And after we took our place on the street there were a few ladies praying up and down the sidewalk. We got quite a few thumbs up and honks of support, even though we had our signs ("God gave you a choice - Choose Life" and "Abortion Hurts Women"). We've found that people are much more vocal when we have our signs. But there was one person who yelled out their car window: “How many foster kids are there out there?” My friend and I were wondering how that correlated (clearly the people whose children are in foster care did not consider abortion, or chose not to abort, so what does that have to do with anything? Or were they saying that foster children should not have the right to life? I am sure the people who are or have been in foster care would be extremely insulted by that comment).
But, on Tuesday, there was a car with a couple in it which turned into the clinic parking lot then backed out immediately.We cannot say for sure whether they were going to go there for an abortion or not (we did not talk to them), but it could have been a life saved ...
My friend and I went to pray outside of the Kensington clinic together twice last week.We are both fairly new at this. We did the life chain together in the fall and then realized it was not as scary as we thought to publicly proclaim our Pro-Life status and it is good to know that we can do something. It was also really nice to have a few other people there on Thursday! For a while we were relegated to the field while a group of four ladies finished their vigil on the street. And after we took our place on the street there were a few ladies praying up and down the sidewalk. We got quite a few thumbs up and honks of support, even though we had our signs ("God gave you a choice - Choose Life" and "Abortion Hurts Women"). We've found that people are much more vocal when we have our signs. But there was one person who yelled out their car window: “How many foster kids are there out there?” My friend and I were wondering how that correlated (clearly the people whose children are in foster care did not consider abortion, or chose not to abort, so what does that have to do with anything? Or were they saying that foster children should not have the right to life? I am sure the people who are or have been in foster care would be extremely insulted by that comment).
But, on Tuesday, there was a car with a couple in it which turned into the clinic parking lot then backed out immediately.We cannot say for sure whether they were going to go there for an abortion or not (we did not talk to them), but it could have been a life saved ...
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Day 21 - my ministry
by gail
The first Saturday afternoon I had no idea what I was in for. I knew where I was to stand, and what I was to do but I had no idea how I’d feel. I checked the weather and shuddered. I bundled up for the weather, although I wore light gloves that would enable me to turn the pages of the book of verses I was going to softly read from to help me stay focused. Two things that I didn’t realize until I took my stand were due to the nearby playground, vehicles would be going past at 30 Km/h and due to the traffic light, there would be vehicles stopped for brief time spans. I got a few looks but nothing that made me feel uncomfortable.
Two weeks later I had a better idea what I was in for. The weather was also much nicer, and I was able to wear light outdoor clothing. Again I brought my book of verses, which would help guide my prayers. This time the traffic was heavier, and there was foot traffic. I almost felt like a homeless person, as most people did their best not to make eye contact. Thankfully the few that did gave me a smile of encouragement.
Saturday evening at church we were to raise our hands if we were ministers. I put my hand down. You see my ministry isn’t the kind of thing you want to form a small group around. It’s not a nice one by Mainstream Society’s standards and even some Christians don’t want to think about it. My ministry is to teach that abstinence and adoption are choices. One crime committed against a female could be a couple’s blessing. There are false positives for disabilities and God never gives you more then you can handle. A woman’s body knows what to do and should have the freedom to do it.
I first said adoption should be a choice in 1979, when I was eleven years old. Thirty-three years later, I’ve become like an industrious beaver. I go about doing what I am guided to do, persevering until the tree falls, and going on to the next tree. The lodge I am creating is one of safety, of respect, of creating a safe place that does not leave one feeling guilty or ashamed of their choice but guiltless and comforted. That’s why I’ll keep coming back until the 40 Days for Life is done.
Gail Cary
The first Saturday afternoon I had no idea what I was in for. I knew where I was to stand, and what I was to do but I had no idea how I’d feel. I checked the weather and shuddered. I bundled up for the weather, although I wore light gloves that would enable me to turn the pages of the book of verses I was going to softly read from to help me stay focused. Two things that I didn’t realize until I took my stand were due to the nearby playground, vehicles would be going past at 30 Km/h and due to the traffic light, there would be vehicles stopped for brief time spans. I got a few looks but nothing that made me feel uncomfortable.
Two weeks later I had a better idea what I was in for. The weather was also much nicer, and I was able to wear light outdoor clothing. Again I brought my book of verses, which would help guide my prayers. This time the traffic was heavier, and there was foot traffic. I almost felt like a homeless person, as most people did their best not to make eye contact. Thankfully the few that did gave me a smile of encouragement.
Saturday evening at church we were to raise our hands if we were ministers. I put my hand down. You see my ministry isn’t the kind of thing you want to form a small group around. It’s not a nice one by Mainstream Society’s standards and even some Christians don’t want to think about it. My ministry is to teach that abstinence and adoption are choices. One crime committed against a female could be a couple’s blessing. There are false positives for disabilities and God never gives you more then you can handle. A woman’s body knows what to do and should have the freedom to do it.
I first said adoption should be a choice in 1979, when I was eleven years old. Thirty-three years later, I’ve become like an industrious beaver. I go about doing what I am guided to do, persevering until the tree falls, and going on to the next tree. The lodge I am creating is one of safety, of respect, of creating a safe place that does not leave one feeling guilty or ashamed of their choice but guiltless and comforted. That’s why I’ll keep coming back until the 40 Days for Life is done.
Gail Cary
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