Both of my babies are asleep safe and snug in their beds tonight. We ran our very first 5k today, and the children (who are used to sleeping past 8) were up at 6am, and our whole household is exhausted. MM has her sheep and her blankie as she is resting gently dreaming of tomorrow and the adventures that await while Little Man is snoring so loudly from his bassinet that we may have to consider moving him to his room eventually. Yes, my babies are sweetly sleeping.
But not Amber’s (name changed) baby.
Amber’s baby is dead.
Amber’s baby was murdered today. Her baby was cut into pieces and stolen away from her as a nurse full of lies and deception held her hand and told her that this was going to be a quick procedure. It was soon be over, and she could go on with her life as normal. However, Amber was smart. Smart, scared, and felt as if she didn’t have a choice. The baby’s father and his friend drove out of the clinic yelling obscenities at someone praying and encouraging another young lady, and Amber drove her truck (alone) out of the clinic. She paused briefly to roll down her window and accept a present. Her mascara was running as she shed tears from the most severest of heart break. I froze, I asked her name, told her I loved her, and she was gone.
I know that look. The look of a mother who has lost a child. I have held that expression, I have seen it on my husband’s face, and I have seen it on friend’s faces. Amber, along with about 30 other women today, lost their precious child. Their child was murdered by a society of deception that values money, education and success OVER human life. Their child was murdered by a society that claims to empower women while destroying their confidence and softly whispering, you are not strong enough. You are not capable. You are not enough. Today, on the battle grounds, my heart sank and the realization of this legalized murder finally had a face. It had a name.
It was in the face of the 14-year-old girl who was escorted to the clinic by her grandmother. A small child wobbling in pain with her head down in defeat as one of the female security officers cried from joy proclaiming that the child made the best, the only, choice and was now able to continue her life.
It was in the face of the mother who dropped her daughter off at the door, threw her car in reverse, and attempted to take off out of the parking lot before she was waved down and told that she had to sign for her daughter’s procedure. As she took a bag from me in frustration, it was in the face of her daughter with her hoodie hidden face and tear hidden sunglasses.
It was in the face of the woman who stopped to talk to me but was quickly ushered into the clinic’s parking lot while one of the female security guards ran at me screaming to get out of the way so that cars could pass freely. It was in her face as she quickly pulled out of the parking lot with her daughter in tow racing past me without stopping, and without a gift that we desired to give her.
It was in the face of the girl bent over in pain with tears streaming down her face while her boyfriend walked her to the car.
I must have watched 25 girls walk in and out of that clinic, and I have no clue how many entered before we got there or after we left. Not a SINGLE girl that walked into or out of that clinic thought they had a CHOICE. There wasn’t a choice. There were only lies, and each one of those girls tonight will lay in their bed, holding their aching stomachs, alone. They will be alone. The escorts and security guards will be gone, and they will lay down alone.
We called out from the side walk that God loved them. God was not ashamed of them, nor was He ashamed of the baby that was growing in their womb. I shouted they were fearfully and wonderfully made. They were loved and desired, and they did have choices. They had options, resources, and they did not have to do this. The escorts covered the women with black umbrellas, opened a cold metal door to the clinic, and then did all but physically push the girls into the clinic. These girls will go home tonight and feel shame, but it won’t be because of us. The escorts that so highly praised each woman as she left the clinic in pain, empty handed are the ones that were used by the enemy to create the shame.
My prayer (other than that God will rain down fire upon the clinic during the night), is that each woman will find Jesus through her healing experience, and right now…. my heart cries out for Amber.
I yearn to hold her and tell her how special and love she really is, and that if she would give her life to Jesus, she would see her baby again. I will never meet Amber again, but oh how I hope that I get to see her in heaven. I hope that I get to watch as she and her baby are reunited.
And as for the clinic, oh we will be going back. We will stand in the freezing cold water of the sprinkler system, and we will pray and hope that the next woman will see us and see Christ and decide she does have a choice. Really, no mother would really ever wish her baby dead if she really felt that she had a choice.