Little Miracles
(Saturday, July 29, 2006)

Yesterday was a Friday, and I worked very late. By the time I got home, my husband had already gone to work his second job as a pizza delivery man. But though we missed each other, he left a small reminder for me to let me know that he cares and that he loves me and was thinking of me. There on the table, greeting me as I opened the door, was a lovely large pink daisy in a vase. My heart melted as I thought of him and reflected on the loving gesture. Truly, that flower made my day.

My husband worked until closing on that Friday, which meant that he didn't get home until 3:00am, and I awoke at 6:00am to get ready to go counsel at the mill. As I was rushing around trying to get ready and trying to be quiet, that beautiful flower caught my eye more than once, and started me thinking about the mill.

The mill we counsel at is, incidentally, called "Bread and Roses," and their logo is a woman's face within a beautiful rose--a brilliant deception about the purpose of the place, but an eye-catcher. I started to think about the meaning of flowers, and how every woman loves to receive them. They represent life, beauty, delicacy--they bring out a woman's womanliness, our need to nurture and our love of beauty. That's when I had the idea.

What girl would turn down a rose, if offered? Why not give out roses along with the prolife literature we hand out at the mill? What a perfect symbol of life, what a lovely reminder of the tiny new life inside of them! And what a "spoonful of sugar" to help the "medicine" of Truth go down! (That's from Mary Poppins, in case you were wondering.)

When I arrived at the mill, I decided to put the plan into action. Across the street was a grocery store, and I found some gorgeous mini rose cluster bouquets that I purchased along with some water.

But we were too late. It was already after 8:00am, and most of the women had already entered the mill to keep their appointments with Death. The beautiful roses stayed there in the jug of water, without a home, without a heart to touch. I decided to see if any of the women leaving the mill would take them along with some literature about Project Rachel and healing the wounds of abortion.

It was hot out, my infant son was getting warm, and I needed to leave. That's when I prayed specifically asking for the intercession of both the Blessed Mother and of Maura, a late sidewalk counselor who had led a holy life. "Please," I prayed, "just let me give out one rose today!"

Just then, a white car pulled out of the parking lot. The windows were black, and I could not make eye contact with either the woman who had killed her child or the accomplice who was driving her away. But I smiled my brightest smile, approached the car as it stopped to make sure the way was clear, and offered the rose and the Project Rachel brochure.

Amazingly, the window opened. A wan woman with a weak but sad smile accepted the flower and brochure, and I said compassionately, "We love you and want you to know that there is healing after an abortion. Please know that we are praying for you." Then they drove away.

Before leaving the mill, a white van with a carport on top pulled into the lot and let the abortionist out. It was the owner of several mills, the infamous "ringleader." He's about middle aged with a full head of dark gray hair, and on this day he was wearing a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt and some khaki shorts. The van was being driven by a younger strawberry blond woman who left the parking lot immediately after dropping off the killer.

My friend walked me to my car to help me load up the stroller, chair, and other items. As we were doing this, she grabbed my arm gently and directed my attention to the next row of cars. "Isn't that the van that dropped off the abortionist?" It was! The blond woman was sitting with the car door open strumming on a guitar. I decided to approach her.

Very gently I went up to the car door and commented on the beauty of the music. She looked up and thanked me. Very gently I asked, "Are you the woman who brought the abortionist this morning?" This immediately cued her into the fact that I was a prolifer and it was not the best introduction, but I just could not bring myself to call him a "doctor," especially since my father is a doctor and would never kill a baby.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because I just want you to know that we are praying for his conversion so that he will come to know that abortion is murder and that what he is doing is wrong. We are a peaceful, non-violent group, and we are truly concerned for his soul."

Tears were silently streaming down her face, and I knew in a moment that they might turn into a torrent at any moment. "I don't want to talk about it," she said, and she turned away. I began to tell her about the Centurions group, but she didn't look at me.

I wondered if she was his wife or his daughter. Maybe her tears were because she thought we hated the abortionist, or maybe because he had wounded her, perhaps killed even her own children. My thoughts went back to a story my father had told me about an abortionist in his medical circle who was very wealthy but who, in the end, had lost everything. He had killed his very own children by abortion. Eventually, his wife left him, and he ended up committing suicide on his boat out in the middle of the ocean. That is the kind of pain abortion sows, and I could see that pain in her eyes.

I left, but my friend wanted to give this woman a rose. She tried to do so, but the woman refused, so she put the rose in the back of the truck on top of the guitar case. My prayer is that the woman will see it and remember...someday.

My friend and I lamented that we often wish we could go back and say things differently, and that we wish we had the gift to change hearts with our words. I told her that we must not think that way, because God uses our witness for good, and the Holy Spirit can put power into what we say that we aren't even aware of.

"There was one small miracle that happened today though!" my friend assured me.

"Really? What?"

"I said a fervent prayer that the next car that pulled out of the parking lot would take a rose from you. I said, 'Please, Lord, let her give away just one rose!' And the next car that left was the one that took the rose!"

"That's amazing! I was praying the exact same thing at the exact same time! How powerful and wonderful is prayer."

God bless you.

Update: The woman in the van was the wife of the abortionist. He committed suicide in the spring of 2007 (within 6 months of this post). His wife is pursuing a career in country music, but keeps the abortion mills open because they are her source of income.