Strange story. I was leaving church when a stranger called me. He sounded old, and a little confused. He had found a black backpack with my name and number. I had not lost a black pack as far as I knew. He said it was filled with women's clothes. Small clothes. Well, I am a woman and I am small.... However, he was located 40 minutes from me, and had found the backpack in a park I have never been to. How could that be my pack?
Then he said the only name he could find was mine on a pamphlet in the backpack. What pamphlet? It was Healing the Hurt, the booklet we hand out at the abortion mill to women who have had abortions. I always put my name and number on it so that if the women need to talk to someone, they have a contact. Often the grief hits them much later, and can be unexpectedly devastating.
I asked him to see if he could find any other names in the pack, since by now, I was feeling it must belong to someone who met me on the sidewalk of the abortion mill. He dug deeper into the backpack and found a pink paper in it, with a woman's name, and the address of the abortion mill where I volunteer as a pro-life sidewalk counselor.
"Is the woman's phone number on that paper?" I asked.
He read me the phone number on the pink paper, and I told him I would call him back if I was able to track down the owner of the backpack.
I figured God sent this strange incident for a reason. I called the number. Guess who answered? A receptionist of the abortion call center! I was surprised as I thought they didn't work Sundays. I asked if they had a client whose name was the one the man gave me. She said they could not divulge that. I explained the situation with the lost backpack and that I felt it likely belonged to someone who had had an abortion there. I was also concerned that she had been grieving as she had the pamphlet, Healing the Hurt, with her. I added that I was a little worried about her, given that the backpack was in this remote wooded park with clinic info and a pamphlet about grieving after abortions. The receptionist promised to call me back after trying to track her down.
I never got a call back. I searched for the woman's name on Facebook. I found several people with that name, but one by one eliminated them. Many were not small women, and none lived in my city. Except one. From the Facebook photo, she appeared to be a small woman, and was the only one with that name in our city. It must be her. I sent her a message on Facebook and hoped that whatever reason God had for bringing this strange encounter, I will handle it properly, as He would have me handle it.
I hope I did the right thing. I had a strong sense God wanted me to act on this. So wherever she is, I am praying for this small, young woman who must have been despairing if she kept the pamphlet I'd given her about dealing with the grief of abortion. I hope she is ok, and I hope she finds solace in God, whose mercies are new every morning and who can offer hope in the most grievous of circumstances. I hope that I did what God had wanted me to do with the information. I don't know what else I could have done.
Meanwhile, this morning I am off to my sidewalk counseling work at the abortion mill again, with six blessing bags filled with baby items donated by two sweet families. My car is overflowing with their kindness -- gift bags for any mamas that decide to turn from abortion and embrace life. I hope I get to give all of them away today. I so much prefer giving gift bags to the mamas who choose life rather than the pamphlets, Healing the Hurt, to the mamas who choose abortion. I also hope that the lady of the lost backpack will return my message. My heart is heavy for her.
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