A disappointing day yesterday at the abortion mill, with no saved babies that we counselors know of. I had my line-up of 4 little clay fetal models I had made in my pocket. The one I made the night before, the 19 week old baby, I prayed especially would open the door to a divine encounter. I felt God had prodded me to make that little model, representing the oldest age baby that women in that clinic can still abort. I had stayed up late repairing her and preparing her, hoping she would help change someone's mind. Surely God would bring just the right person to me at just the right time. It was not to be, not this week.
But two experiences there yesterday pointed out one of the biggest hypocrisies and lies of the abortion industry. The first was a couple who chose to go into the Pro-life RV for a free ultrasound. (Over 90% of the women who see their baby on ultrasound choose life.) When they emerged, it seemed the woman wanted the baby, but the man did not. He was eager to get the counselors away from his girlfriend. He whisked her away, saying they needed to talk privately. They drove away, and we felt a glimmer of hope, but then they circled back and entered the abortion mill. I continued to plead with the man as he stood on the front porch, but he ignored me. As far as we know, the young lady had the abortion. But she did not want the abortion, from what we could tell. Her "choice" was impeded by the man with her.
The second incident was also heart-breaking. Two young women pulled into the mill. I noticed the passenger, visibly pregnant, covered her eyes as she saw our poster of an aborted baby, the infamous Malachi poster. As they got out of the car, I called out, "I saw you cover your eyes. That's because it is horrific, and we all know it. What you are doing is wrong. You don't have to do this."
"Yes she does!" yelled the driver, in fury. As the pregnant woman hurried into the clinic, only briefly glancing back, the driver came over to us, yelling and angry. I let two of the seasoned counselors handle it, but I stayed nearby to listen. The driver said the pregnant girl, her best friend, could not afford to have the baby. She could barely make ends meet now. The counselors told her there were women lined up and eager to adopt. The friend told us the mother could never carry the baby 9 months just to hand it over to someone else. She was looking out for the best interests of her baby. (?)
"So she would rather kill it?" we asked.
"That baby will be better off with Jesus than here," she said.
"So would I!" I blurted, "But that isn't a reason to kill me!"
The woman softened as the counselors pleaded the baby's case.
"Is that a real picture of an aborted baby?" asked the friend, a pained look on her face, as she pointed to the poster of Malachi.
"Yes, we are not trying to manipulate or lie. That is what happens in an abortion."
I am reading a book, called Won By Love, written by Norma McCorvey, who was Jane Roe of Roe V Wade, the landmark Supreme Court case that legalized abortion in America. Jane Roe ( Norma) became a Christian as she grew to know the people in the pro-life Operation Rescue mission. She quickly changed sides in the abortion debate, horrified by the scourge she had helped bring to our nation. The baby of our poster, Malachi, was an aborted baby that some workers from Operation Rescue found in a back room of an abortion clinic. They took the frozen jar of baby remains, thawed it, pieced together the poor dismembered baby, photographed him, named him, and then gave him a formal burial. The photograph became a favored Right-to-Life activist poster to show graphically the brutal horror of abortion. Malachi means God's Messenger.
It turns out that the young lady speaking with us had had an abortion at age 14.
"It still hurts me today," she admitted, now 20, "Not a day goes by that I don't think of it and feel sorrow."
"Why did you feel you needed to do that?" asked the counselor, gently.
"I didn't want to. I was forced. I was 14. I heard you protestors from the room where I was. I was bawling my eyes out. I stood up to leave, to go to you, and my mother pulled me back down. I had no choice."
But I thought abortion was all about choice....
"I grieve every day for what I did," she said, sorrow on her young face.
"You can right the wrong a little bit," I said, "Go back in there and tell your friend what is the right thing to do. Bring her our literature. You may be the only voice offering the choice for life." The other counselor urged her to do so, as well, saying that God had given her the opportunity to drive her friend for a purpose.
She seemed to consider that, but then backed away again, with more reasons why the pregnant girl needed to have the abortion. Finally, in anger, she stormed away again. I saw her on the phone on the front porch. I prayed she was speaking to her friend, but we never saw the pregnant woman come out.
I had heard a sermon as I drove over to the abortion mill that day. The pastor talked about how we often fight spiritual battles with physical tools. Spiritual battles must be fought with spiritual tools -- prayer, the word of God, and conviction of the Holy Spirit. We counselors can only speak Truth, and pray for softened hearts to receive it. We can no more take the credit for the victories than for the defeats. The battle is not ours to win or lose.
Still, it was with a heavy heart that I drove back home. The cold rain had been relentless all morning and had chilled me to the bone. It is hard not to feel sadness as the parking lot fills and our message seemingly falls on deaf ears. And I had had such high hopes for the little 19 week old fetal model I had made so lovingly the night before.
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