March 11, 2006

Today a smaller group of us was praying at the mill. In the middle of our rosary, a black SUV pulled up alongside the road and a woman got out and began walking toward us. Usually when this happens, my first instinct is to think that the person is hostile and will begin screaming at us, but I could tell by the way she walked that this woman was not angry.

She was a beautiful woman in her mid thirties, and she stopped to tell us her story. Years ago, when she was newly pregnant, her abusive husband wanted her to have an abortion. However, with great bravery, she made a sweeping decision to thwart his will and to keep her baby. They were later divorced. "And now," she said, with tears in her eyes, "my daughter is ten years old, and I couldn't imagine my life without her." She couldn't believe that the man she had married had wanted to kill their own child. Her husband had scheduled an abortion for her at the very clinic at which we were praying. We thanked her for sharing her story and encouraged her to consider becoming a sidewalk counselor.

I tried to counsel to the girls going into the mill, but as usual, they just ignored me. I said to one woman, "Good morning. Please come talk to me; I have some information for you about your options." She was a large woman, and she was absolutely incensed. She stomped up to me until she was right in my face, and her spittle was flying at me as she raged. Angry words describing her multiple medical problems and her deformed fetus rained from her lips like fire. I didn't back away, I simply listened. Amidst the profanity and insults, I had to remember that this was the language of a woman who had killed her baby; this was the language of a woman whose soul and heart and mind were in utter torment. I was moved with pity, and seeing that she did not want to dialogue or hear words of comfort, I said simply, "I am praying for you, m'am." "Go f--- yourself!" was her vehement reply as she entered the mill of death for a follow-up appointment.

A young, dark-haired woman entering the clinic screamed at us, "My baby is already dead, so maybe you had better think before you try and jam all of your talk down other people's throats!" Later, we learned from the friend who drove her that the dark-haired woman's baby had died in utero two weeks prior to this appointment, and the girl was going in to make sure all of the parts had been removed. I told the friend that there is absolutely no reason for her to give her business to this place, and that any procedure that needed to be done could be done elsewhere. The friend agreed, but said that "it wasn't her choice" and that she was just there for support.

As we were nearing the end of our vigil, a Baptist man from Texas came by to applaud us for doing what we were doing. It is nice to have positive feedback, but at the same time, I wish the people who honk at us or stop to commend us would come out and pray with us too!

No lives were saved, but I know Our Lady and Our Lord use our presence at the abortion mill for good, always.