“You should’ve aborted that girl. She’s using resources that could be used for other people. You Bible-thumping pro-lifer who doesn’t understand the real struggles of the real world.”
Bible-thumping pro-lifer. I actually wish I fit that description. I am guilty of sharing a few stats, sharing some infographics, praying for babies and women and workers, and donating to LifeChoices centers. I’m definitely pro-life. But I haven’t been vocal enough. Or done enough.
The truth is that my country legally kills babies. Even the abortionists, behind closed doors at their national death meetings, admit they are violently, killing living babies. Unless you’re into magical superstition, science says it’s a living person. Pro-lifers say it’s a living person. The ‘doctors’ performing the abortions say it’s a living person. If you are still denying it’s a person, you’re actually in the minority.
Abortionists don’t have problems killing children, because they believe they’re doing something worthwhile. Protecting women from the inconvenience of incontinence, stretch marks, bad skin, and that pesky newborn who wants to change your breast shape and give you a muffin top. Saving women, one abortion at a time. So you can finish high school/college/your phd, travel, have a baby when you planned, have a perfect baby, and live a convenient life.
And if you’re poor, we will send you the money to kill your child. And if you’re black, we will bend over backwards to help you kill your child. Because kids use resources and we feel like some cities here and entire countries there just shouldn’t be using those precious, beloved resources on life.
To a naturalist, it’s the obvious action. Kill what gets in your way. They’re just following through on their beliefs. Justified killing. And how do we change a culture that worships convenient killing as its god?
We don’t stop praying for leaders who will overturn our barbaric laws. We don’t stop praying for abortion workers to walk away from a business that makes money from literally ripping children limb from limb. We don’t stop praying for the moms who our country has legally provided a way to ‘end pregnancy’ by killing a child. We pray for all these things to change. But if we’re just praying, we’ve missed what God is calling us to do next.
If I’m not showing up at my pro-life medical center and saying, “I’m here for you. What do you need?” I’ve missed the mark. If I don’t support a woman after she has decided not to kill her child, then I’ve missed the mark. If I don’t hold the hand of a woman who did choose to kill her baby, then I’ve missed the mark. We can’t stop with praying. Satan wants us to be so busy praying, that we forget to actually go out and be Jesus’ hands and feet in a world that legally kills children and profits from it.
But it’s not actually about the baby parts being sold. If that allows leaders to defund and do investigations, that’s fine. Everyday, babies have their heads ripped off. Their arms cut off. Their legs cut up into pieces. Their eyeballs taken out. Their brains taken out through the fronts of their faces. Then, those parts are sold. Or donated. Or exchanged. Or whatever they want to call it when the feds come knocking.
They sell baby parts. The proof is there. But did we really expect more from people who kill children by the millions? Really? If we find out they are paying poor women to get pregnant, then pay them for the abortion, and then get money for a baby’s body — it wouldn’t surprise me. We aren’t talking about people who are above it. But even if it stops at selling the sifted through parts of destroyed babies, let’s not lose focus on the real problem here. They killed those babies in the first place.
The internet allowed a faceless stranger to say to me that it would’ve been better for everyone if I would’ve gone somewhere and had Adelaide ripped apart and taken from my womb. That the world would’ve been better off to not have her. My daughter, a human from day one, who didn’t magically become a person just because Dave and I wanted and loved her. Who didn’t become a person after they cut through five layers of my body to get her out of me in that labor and delivery operating room. No, she was a person from the start. But this stranger, and an entire subculture, say we all would’ve been better off if she had been killed. Never allowed to live outside my body, where she was growing. And if the abortion ‘doctor’ had accidentally delivered her alive, well, he or she would’ve just killed her on that table. Pulled off all her limbs, pulled her brain out of her head via her face, and then sold her brain for research. Her brain is one-of-a-kind, so it would’ve brought in some good money. But don’t forget the original act. They would’ve killed Adelaide. If I had wanted them to do it. They would’ve legally killed Adelaide.
If I had been a mommy panda bear at a zoo and the doctors said they were going to rip my baby panda out and sell her parts, people would be boycotting the zoo and screaming for animal rights to be defended. And they would be on the nightly news with headlines and airtime.
Getting a bumper sticker that shows a panda wanting to save a baby human is cute. But let’s drive that car, filled with supplies, to a pro-life center. Let’s ride that bicycle to a silent protest. Let’s drive that van to the home of the new mom who walked out of that death clinic and is now scared out of her mind and needs help. Let’s go to the woman who bought into the lie that her baby wasn’t fully a person. Or a person at all. Grieve with her. Get her the help she needs, so she can heal. And, yes, we drive to the capitol. We show that we cannot live in a place that legally kills children.
I was told that I don’t understand the real world. By a woman who didn’t even have children. Or had already aborted them. I understand the real world. I take care of a child who scored in the 2nd percentile. A child who may grow in stature, but may never grow in wisdom. A child who may always be my responsibility.
I literally carry her everywhere, and delight in the eye contact I sometimes receive. I sing to her, just to see her eyes sparkle. Those same eyes a complete stranger wanted plucked out of her head. Those same eyes Dave and I used thousands of our own dollars to fix.
It’s morbidly ironic that a person who called herself pro-choice is only interested in choice when it lines up with her demented worldview. Choosing not to kill Adelaide was unacceptable to her. But I don’t expect anything different from a woman who thinks she can make a judgment call on my daughter’s worth. But my country has given her the means, and she’s justified the way. All under a strawman argument about coat hangers and some unicorn magic about cell clumps.
If you call yourself pro-LIFE, I beg you to look up the phone number and address of your nearest pro-life pregnancy crisis center. Call. Ask how you can help. Change your budget to buy what they need. Use your skills to help them. Mine is only three minutes away. Three minutes. And I haven’t stopped to drop off all the change Graham collected for them. He collected pennies, dimes, and nickels. Said his coins were teensy-weensy cute like teensy-weensy babies growing in their mommies’ bellies. My own son, who knows literally nothing about abortion, did more this summer than I did. I don’t feel guilt from that. I feel conviction.
And I am ready to act on that conviction. I know I’m not the only one. But the pro-abortionists want me to believe I am. They want me to feel like I can’t make a difference in a world where our laws say it’s silly and outdated to protect the smallest among us. But I believe with Graham that his teensy-weensy change can change this world.