From the jaws of death.


It’s the Saturday before Thanksgiving at the only free standing abortion mill in Missouri. There’s that word again…mill. I wonder out loud why, if what an abortionist does to an unborn child is such a good thing- and so many parents have lost their children to abortionists in this country- is it likely that when we all gather at table on Thursday, no one will pray a prayer of thanksgiving for the abortion committed against their child?

For that matter why don’t we have “Happy Abortion Day” parties? Why do we discriminate against this “choice”? A “choice” so “sacred” that a majority of Albuquerque’s voters just went to the polls to ensure they remain the late term abortion capitol of the world. And yet even in Albuquerque it’s a sure bet that no one will give thanks (save the abortionists and Presidential Medal of Freedom (for some) recipient Gloria Steinem) for this “choice” on Thanksgiving.

We would be hard pressed, even as we enter a FIFTH decade of Roe and Doe, to find such celebrations. Not even in NY where over half of unborn human beings are victimized by this “choice.”?

If abortion is simply one of two “legitimate choices” why do we EXPECT to see ultrasound pictures of one “choice” on Facebook but would immediately defriend anyone who would post images of the other “choice” on social media? Which brings to mind one of the true ironies when it comes to parents at abortion mills: baby’s first (and last) picture is an ultrasound taken by their child’s assassin to better target his victim. Most choose not to view the picture, much less display it on the mantle.

So why no social norms for celebrating this “fundamental human right?” After all there are plenty of possibilities.

In fact we could use the same song we’ve been singing for birthdays for generations. Most fitting since the events being commemorated are simply opposite sides of the same coin. Just insert “abortion-choice” for “birth-day” and you’ve got it. Imagine a room full of adults and children (the survivors that is) singing that tune we’ve all known since ……birth(?).

Likewise fitting would be the lighting of a candle each year on the anniversary of that “choice”. Although in this case forever it would be just one ONE candle. And when it comes to blowing out that candle it would be the parents doing the honors on behalf of their child, perhaps with the help of those who aided and abetted or even coerced them into the act being celebrated. An act recognizing the life which was extinguished.

And why not dads proudly giving out cigars while beaming and bragging about their aborted boy, wondering aloud if he was the “spittin’ image of the old man?”

How is it that as a society we celebrate such “choice” but at the same time seem to instinctively know that we are not to celebrate THE “choice?” Where are the sociologists when we need them?

I’ve yet to get a good explanation for this at the mill from parents, Deathscorts, nor even the occasional drive by abortion promoter. Not one.

So today began with all these thoughts racing thru my head as I sought inspiration for the words of counsel to offer parents at the mill. Some lied, like the father who indicated abortion was not his purpose there. They were just there to “see someone”. Others were belligerent. But most were about tuning out the words of help. Rushing head long into death and despair.

Make no mistake about it, the poor are not clamoring for abortion. Anyone who has done sidewalk counseling at an abortion mill will tell you we stand a far greater chance of getting thru to an obviously poor person (often arriving via city bus) than the parents who arrive in the BMW’s, SUVs, Cadillacs, etc. In fact there’s almost an inverse relationship between parent’s receptivity to our offers and their apparent socioeconomic status.

Today was to be no different. The Beamer’s rushed in, showed little sign of receptivity to our message of hope only to be seen a couple of hours later shuffling back out in obvious discomfort with a violated and now barren womb. It was to be a poor mother with her young teen daughter (arriving by bus) who were to accept our message of hope this bitterly cold day.

As usual it was a team effort. Led by the Holy Spirit. Mary Maschmeimer met the young mother who arrived with her own mother (Missouri has a parental consent law) at the gates of Hell where Mary had but a few moments to connect with them.

It’s only a month before Christmas but this mom, the age of Mary when the Angel Gabriel brought news of the unborn Christ, confirmed she was here to abort her child. Only minutes from the scheduled execution they went inside.

Later I spotted the mother and daughter exiting the mill. They slipped thru the gathering of activists at the gate almost unnoticed. I walked alongside as they approached the nearby corner. I offered them help. The mother looked to be perhaps 15. I pointed to the Thrive Mobile Medical Center across the street as a refuge. While they did not respond, they did cross the street and turn towards the Thrive van. I held my breath silently praying and urging them on as the ever faithful group of 20 somethings stood before me keeping their weekly Rosary vigil.

Instead of entering the van, they stopped at the nearby bus shelter. Time was short. I ran across the street to reach them one last time before the bus arrived. I pleaded with them to go in the van and get out of the cold, assuring them I would give them a ride home. They declined my offer, but what came next was a wonderful affirmation of the often frustrating work we do. “She came for an abortion today but changed her mind.” Praise God. “Then you’re the baby’s grandmother?!” “Yes.” She smiled. “Congratulations grandma!” I again offered help. Grandma took the Thrive card for contact. “There’s our bus.” As they turned I asked “Did we make a difference today?” Without hesitation she turned to me “Oh yes you did!” And one last request, May I know your daughter’s first name so we can pray for her? “Theresa”. “The Little Flower” I exclaimed as they turned for the bus.

I crossed back to the mill to continue my efforts I made it a point to let the others know of the life they had helped save and to ask their prayers for Theresa, her child and family.

So there you have it. Theresa’s child saved thru the combined efforts of the Body Of Christ PRESENT in our brokenness to be God’s instruments: Mary’s first contact; the Rosary brigade; sidewalk picketers; Evangelicals’ prayerful witness; others carrying signs; a couple who come regularly to silently pray; and of course the ever present Thrive oasis of Life. Together we had made a difference. And at least one more family will be celebrating birthdays the way they were meant to be celebrated- cumulatively. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Little Flower. Happy birthday to you.


2 thoughts on “From the jaws of death.

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