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.

Interview with a Killer
(Saturday, July 22, 2006)

The day at the mill began like countless before. Our prayer group steadily moved from one rosary bead to the next, over and over, while our counselors attempted to gain even a glance from the poor souls going in to murder their children.

The parking lot was packed, a disheartening fact in itself, but we've always known that the good effects of this outreach are not always visible to the warriors, so we pressed on in prayer and in fortitude.

As a young girl, I had accompanied my family to prayer vigils at the mill and had stood by in awe as my mother bravely confronted the women and men going in. I was shy back then, nervously clutching my rosary and trying unsuccessfully not to cry. Even as an adolescent, I could feel the spiritual battle raging, and could hear the silent screams and the spiritual death knells that were ringing just beyond the wall; it always made me shiver.

Now I do not shiver anymore. I still cry sometimes, when the reality of the blood of the innocent, spilled so heartlessly inside those abortion mill doors, confronts me as boldly as a red hot sunset across the sky. But that's good, I think, because if we become so numb that we cannot cry for the babies, how can our hearts plead effectively for their lives?

For awhile, I was numb, and essentially forgot my unborn neighbors. While I prayed to end abortion, I did not go to the mills to counsel, making up excuses that allowed me to be comfortable with not fighting the fight. It wasn't until I was pregnant with my first child and past the seemingly interminable nausea and vomiting that I went back out to the mill to pray and to counsel. My pregnancy allowed me to relate to the women going in, and our outreach was blessed with several turn-arounds over the period of several months.

Then I had my baby on Holy Thursday, a beautiful little boy with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, and I did not return to the mill for several months while I was recovering. My little one was already a prolife warrior, having been a beautiful testimony in utero to the miracle of new life. When I returned to counseling at the mill, I brought my precious bundle of joy to continue to be a witness to all about the horrors of abortion. I wanted everyone to know that abortion kills children like my baby.

My words often fail, and I truly wish I had the gift to be able to talk to anyone and have them believe me. But my being there on the street corner in front of the abortion mill, holding my baby in one arm and my rosary in the other, says volumes. Many of the abortion-bound don't even stop to listen to what we counselors have to say, but my baby makes them stop. They always shout out, "I don't know why you have your baby here! He should be at home!" And I always reply that I am sorry if he makes them feel guilty or ashamed for not choosing life, and that abortion kills babies just like him.

One abortion clinic worker had a baby around the exact same time I had mine. She approached me today and stated that it was horrible that I had my baby out there in the hot sun, stating that that was child abuse. "Do you want to know what the real child abuse is? It's ripping children limb from limb; it's killing them. That's what you're doing in there," I said. She could not reply.

Not long afterwards, the abortionist arrived. He's an a very old man who in all appearces looks like he could be anyone's grandpa. Noting the packed parking lot, he droved up to the side of the building and parked by the sidewalk. Another counselor and I realized that he would have to enter the mill via the sidewalk, and we realized that we had the perfect opportunity to approach and talk to him, so we hurried to meet him. I was holding my baby, and as he got out of his car, he reached toward my child with a huge grin on his face and said, "What a beautiful baby! May I hold him?"

I was stunned. This man, this murderer, this killer guilty of shedding the blood of thousands of innocent babies, wanted to hold my child. Part of my heart wondered if holding a baby would change his evil heart, but my motherly instinct responded before this thought was finished. "No, you can't." He came up to me and placed his hand on my shoulder, putting lots of pressure on the shoulder blade and smiling with a sickening smile. "Now isn't that too bad? Isn't that too bad?" he said.

"Tell me, how can you do it? How can you kill hundreds of innocent babies every year?" I asked him.

"Oh, they're not babies," he "pshaw"ed, and smiled. "They're not babies when the women come to me. And I am not going to stand in the way of a woman's choice."

"Choice to do what?" asked the other counselor.

"To end her pregnancy," replied the smiling reptile.

"Those are convenient words for murder," said the other counselor. She then proceeded to tell him that she was one of millions of women hurt by abortion, and informed him about the Centurions, an organization consisting of reformed abortion providers.

"We are praying for your conversion and for you to come to the realization that what you do is murder. Stop the slaughter of unborn babies."

Throughout this interview, the killer put an arm around each of us counselors and started walking to the mill as if we were lifelong buddies. He was actually doing this for protection, because if anyone was going to take him out, we would be his shield. Obviously he does not understand the nature of our protest, which is prayerful and non-violent, but all the same, he is a wilely old serpent.

So there you have it straight from his own lips: one way an abortionist can live with himself and not go insane because of his crimes is because he believes that unborn babies are not babies, and that hurting women is actually helping them. The fact that this illogic is directly opposed to reality does not seem to bother him...yet.

Guidelines for Counseling
(taken from an email by Patte Smith, SWC)

• BE ON TIME
• THE WORD
• HOW TO RESPECT ONE ANOTHER ON THE MISSION FIELD

BE ON TIME
Please have respect for your brothers and sisters in Christ and arrive on the sidewalk in time to greet all of the women and men who are killing. Make a commitment to be there at a particular time, and KEEP YOUR COMMITMENT.

Keep in mind that those who have arrived earlier than you have already been through the ordeal of engaging many lost (and sometimes hostile) neighbors. They are more familiar with the women and men at the killing place than you are. Please allow the missionaries who are the earliest to arrive to hold more of the "court," so to speak. Stand and pray and listen for a bit when you arrive. The missionaries who are already there have been pleading with the abortion-bound and they know what they has been said to them and have heard the women and men's responses. If you are late, you will not have been privy to the interactions that have taken place in the time leading up to your arrival.

It is good to keep in mind that since the earlier first phase of our ministry is the "Good Samaritan" model, the missionaries who arrived on time have been tirelessly spending themselves in offering practical help and friendship in kindness and compassion to every single woman and man who has come to murder their baby. If you come later, the missionaries may very well be in the second phase of ministry, which is the Law part of the Gospel, which is more confrontational regarding the willful sin of murder and a biblical call to repentance. Which brings us to another suggestion ....

THE WORD
The sin of presumption is definitely one of the most frustrating parts of our missionary labor to the lost at the killing place. We meet so many lost women and men who are inoculated against the Gospel by the false message in today's modern churches--which believes in utilizing grace but does not utilize the Law of God. (Galatians 3:24). Be reminded that one of the abortionists at Orlando Women's Center and many of the women who work at the death mill are professing Christians. Long-time clinic worker Sonya prayed over a woman IN JESUS' NAME after she delivered her dead infant inside the killing place at six months gestation. Another abortionist at EPOC has been seen regularly attending church. With this in mind, we are not to be timid about confronting the women and men who are killing with the strong language of the Scriptures regarding murder.

Once we have pleaded with everyone with the Good Samaritan model (offering practical help and educational information regarding fetal development, violence of the murder to the baby, risks of child-killing surgery, and information on adoption) for the first hour or so, it is time to use the Gospel to proclaim the Law of God. The Gospel message that Jesus sent His disciples out to preach was "Repent or perish!" We should not be ashamed to preach this same Gospel message which Christ gave to His apostles. (Insert from editor: Though we must always do this firmly, let us never lose the compassion that changes hardened hearts, nor offer outright condemnation to those whose hearts we are trying to change. It has been my experience that fire and brimstone do not save babies; compassion, understanding, and the offer of tangible help does.)

How to Respect One Another on the Mission Field
DO NOT INTERRUPT! If someone is already engaging an individual (or the crowd), do not talk over them or divert the conversation. This can sometimes be very hard! We have all violated this simple courtesy at one time or another. We are under a lot of stress because babies’ lives and other’s souls are at stake, and we feeling desperate to do whatever we can before it's too late. But please, submit yourself to the Lord when you are tempted to interrupt anoher missionary when they are speaking to someone.

There are two reasons why you MUST wait until you are given the opportunity to speak:

• #1) The lost person cannot hear two (or more people speaking at once). It causes confusion and contributes to chaos, which is just what the devil wants.
• #2) It undermines the authority of the missionary who is already being faithful to interact with that lost person (or those lost people).

The only exception to this guideline would be if the missionary who is speaking is finished and indicates to you that they need your help because they have "given it their all" and recognize that they are not "connecting,” etc. & want to hand it over to someone else. Sometimes a sidewalk counselor will even call you over so that you can reason together with the abortion-bound mother or father. We could all use help every now and then.

DO NOT APOLOGIZE FOR or DISMISS WHAT ANOTHER MISSIONARY SAYS! Each of us comes from a different background and experience in our own personal lives and in our walk with the Lord Jesus Christ. This is one of the reasons that our missionary labors together are precious and powerful. We learn so much from one another! If you do not agree with something another sidewalk counselor has said, do not side with the lost person AGAINST your brother or sister.

Also, do not interfere with or undermine the prophetic words of the Gospel. It is not all about our comfort or the comfort of the lost, it is all about Jesus and pleasing Him as our Master and Savior and the Great Commissioner. If you have an opportunity to speak to a lost person AFTER they have listened to another counselor's words, be sure not to dismiss their words.

For instance, if one of the other missionaries has told the person you are speaking to that they are murdering an innocent person if they kill their baby, ADD to what they have said by asking: "What do you think of God's command, "You shall not murder?" or say "If your baby is made by God and is a person in her own right, taking her life is murder, right?" If you have another view, say something like ,"Let me put it this way ... " and then speak in your own words with your own voice. When a person who has come to kill a baby would complain to me about the harsh words of another counselor I would often quietly say: "My friend cares very deeply about you and your baby. She knows that your baby is going to be dismembered. How can you blame her for being upset?" You would be surprised how often that seemed to really hit home for the "offended" party. A baby is being led to slaughter. There is a reason for our strong admonitions and warnings. This is a matter of life and death.

Insert from editor: Read your Bible often. Have some scriptural verses on hand that may speak to a person on any level regarding abortion. Pray the rosary. Respect those who are praying at the mill; do not interrupt their prayers with chatting unless it is relevant. We need both Marthas and Marys at the mill--those who pray and those who work. Both fight the battle.

God bless you.

Take a Stand

(Originally posted on the Catholic Women in Christ Blog on March 10, 2006)

Fr. Frank Pavone has informed us via his article on catholicexchange.com that March 10 is a day set aside by abortion promoters to encourage abortion providers to continue to offer their "services;" it's a day of praise for abortionists and their nurses, a day to applaud murderers.

In retaliation of this, I have decided to make March 10 a day when I can, in my free time, revisit the reasons why I am prolife and why abortion is wrong, and rekindle in my own soul the passion and sorrow that have lead me to a life of prolife activism.

My first step in this reflection was to read the article, then check out the Priests for Life website. On the website, Fr. Pavone aptly points out that "America will not reject abortion until America sees abortion." If you click the link, you will be taken to a page where you can view images of babies developing in the womb as well as graphic images of aborted babies from the first trimester to late-term.

I forced myself to look at every image of the aborted babies, and tears were streaming down my face. I felt very close to the wounded heart of God, because I could see the works of His hands torn to shreds in rivers of blood. I felt so drawn to His pain and told Him, "I am so sorry for what they have done to all of your masterpieces. How can you stand it, Lord?" All of those little, beautiful people, ripped to shreds...My heart just cried out to those children, "Why was this done to you? I would have loved you! I would have kept you!" I wanted to adopt them all.

It was good for me to look and to cry, and to be wrapped in the wounded Heart of God. I think many times we can forget the horror that plagues our world. 4,400 babies die every day from abortion, and since 1973, more lives have been lost from abortion than the combined number of fatalities of all modern wars. Yet sometimes, even we who "fight the good fight" with our prayers and our witness can forget the depth of the pain, horror, and injustice that is going on in our world so casually. Behind those abortion clinic doors, blood is being spilled. Hearts are being broken. Lives are being lost. Souls are being seared with guilt and anguish. Christ is being crucified, and the unborn with Him.

Before I was trained as a sidewalk counselor in college, Sam and I would go to pray every Saturday at the abortion mills in Pittsburgh. While praying the rosary, tears would just stream down my face. I could feel in my soul the spiritual battle that was being waged all around; there was a profound sense of evil and pain, and I could hear the babies' screams with my soul's ears. I cannot describe it in words, but it was such an intense experience every time that my body would be completely weary and utterly spent after a few hours, and I would go home and rest and sleep all day. I felt so embarrassed that this kept happening to me, and I wanted in my heart to have the strength and fortitude to be a sidewalk counselor, to be able to share the truth with women and men entering the mills. But to do this, I had to get past the tears.

So I prayed, and in a few weeks, I felt like that grace was given to me. Now when we would go to pray at the mill, a spirit of resolve and a desire to speak out filled my heart and soul, and I no longer cried or felt as intensely the raging battle. I knew God had helped me to move on to the next stage, so I was trained as a counselor along with my (then future) husband.

Everyone is called to serve in the prolife ministry, and each person has his own method of doing so. Some pray at the clinics, some counsel, many pray for the ministry in their own private prayers at home, and many write letters or volunteer at pregnancy care centers. Thank you for the way in which you serve God and His little children. You're great!

On March 10, when the pro-abortion side is having its day of "praise" for murderers, I encourage you to look into your own soul and become renewed in your own personal resolve to continue to fight this fight until it is over. God will not cease to bless you or your efforts.

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.