Saturday, December 21, 2013

Caroling at the Abortion Clinic

          This morning I woke much earlier than I usually do and went with Dad to sing carols and pray at the abortion clinic. I had never been there before today and the experience was not as I expected it to be. The innocent looking building sits behind the Hobby Lobby surrounded by equally non-descript vehicles, holding average looking people. The moon still glowed in the dark sky when we arrived at 6 am and a light wind made little chills scurry up my arms and around my shoulders. The same wind had more force further above and the wispy clouds furled around the moon.
            As I walked down the road towards the group of people who were there for the same reason as I, I was affronted by many signs with the faces of children, signs with pleas for woman to choose life, signs offering help and hope. Pastor Brito's voice swelled as he read the Word and Dad and I quietly slipped into the group.
            I didn't have time to think anything at first, in fact I tried not to, but soon the thoughts would press through.
           Even as we sang Christmas Carols I wondered how anything like this could happen. The idea that someone could be so desperate as to feel they had nowhere else to go made me bristle with anger against the poor woman’s family and friends who aren't there to support her and encourage her. Then on the other side it crossed my mind that some of these woman choose, for no better reason than the inconvenience, to kill their child. When I thought of that sadness and absolute incomprehension overwhelmed me.
              The morning progressed and the sun began to make his appearance. Men spoke through their megaphones pleading with the woman to turn around, urging the men to man up and protect her and the child. On the back window of a vehicle decals decorated the glass; a father, a mother and two children held hands.
               I looked down at the paper and sang the familiar words printed there. Someone from another group was trying to talk to a lady that was standing outside of her car. I looked and saw her shouting back as she flung her arms behind, "I'm not getting anything done today!" She turned and sat angrily back down in the car.
           We finished the carols and a man from another church came and prayed with us. He knelt forward on his knees and lifted his hands towards Heaven. He pleaded that God would convict the security guard, the workers, that he would destroy this place of death. That he would convict the mother’s, and if they did not know what they did was wrong, that he would show them so they would choose life for their baby and not death.

          The "doctor" arrived in his grey-tan car and nonchalantly clambered out smoking a cigarette without giving our large group even a glance. He wore glasses, had a ball cap, and looked very unkempt with his long hair and dingy jacket. He took a few steps and stopped to re-adjust his pants around his slightly voluminous belly. The security guard met him and escorted him the remaining eight feet to the door. The gaping mouth of Death engulfed the executioner and sheltered him under its wings of legality and choice. Soon he would begin his rampage of blood and slaughter, all the while assuring mothers it was the right choice to kill her child.
          More vehicles arrived soon after the doctor.
         
         I could no longer stomach the images that assailed me and I turned my attention towards the cars, the parking lot, and the conversations around me. Mr. Price was making his rounds with a flat full of doughnuts.
         He came with a smile and leaned in, "This one's got your name on it right here." he pointed to one decorated as a wreath with red icing bows.
          "Oh, it sure does!" I took it and lifted the sticky bun from the box.
           I chewed and thought if only these mothers had a close friend who would urge them to keep their babies. Abortion, in addition to the death of a child, has many adverse effects on the women who have them. Depression and increased risk of breast cancer just two of them that I can remember off the top of my head.


                It wasn't long until it was five till seven. By then the sun had made his appearance and began to warm the day. Dad and I said our goodbyes and we left the clinic. I couldn't collect in my mind what I felt about the experience, but I knew I wanted to come back. We cannot have a place like this, this doctor flying in every week, to put to death innocent children every single week.

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