Prayers from the Sidewalk: A Meditation

There was a day that I thought I couldn’t do it.

I could never stand outside an abortion mill and pray. I was so scared, so afraid. You may think I might have been intimidated by people who drive by and yell, or give you the ‘salute’. Maybe I’d be frightened of what others thought of me, that I was some sort of zealot. Or, you may think I was in fear for my own safety. So many of us can feel any or all of these things, but none of them would have been true about me.

My fear was genuine, rooted in a past I was not proud of sharing.

My fear could not be described as a fear that others would know or would find out about my ghosts. My fear was that I could not stand on the sidewalk; that I would collapse and be reduced to a puddle because I knew…I knew what was going on in those buildings, those places of death, because my ghosts, by children too died in one of those mills so very, very long ago.  You see, I wanted to be there, to pray for the madness to stop, to save those precious babies, but the horror was still fresh in my memories of long ago.  How could I ever go back, stand at the front line, knowing the pain of the child’s death?

My fear was that I could not stand on the sidewalk; that I would collapse and be reduced to a puddle because I knew…I knew what was going on in those buildings, those places of death, because my ghosts, by children too died in one of those mills so very, very long ago. 

But God called me out of my fear.

He gently healed me and called me out of myself, out of my pain. He asked me to go, to pray, not only to stop the holocaust, but to pray for those broken women who go in, and who come out far more broken than they ever imagined they would be when they entered.

So I go. I pray.

People yell; they give the middle finger salute. Some rev their car engines and drive close to intimidate, but I stand there anyway and I pray. And some people? Some stop and offer a cup of water on a hot day or hot coffee on a cold, blustery day. Some just say thank you.

And you know what?

I’m not reduced to a puddle. I smile, thankful to be there, and yes, even thankful for the hecklers because they need me there too. They need my prayers, for me to say, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” It could be there is no one else to pray for them, that no one ever has.

So yes, I will go, and I will pray.

Maybe someday, one of those on the other side of the sidewalk will be with me praying too, because they know. They know the horror and the pain inside those walls, but someone prayed for them, and God has healed them too, and taken away their fear.

Will you put aside your fears? Will you head the call? Will you pray too?

Join us on the sidewalk on Thursdays. It’s the day when prayer is most needed. It is the day for standing for what is probably the worst day for those women. It is the day that is most assuredly the worst day for the pre-born baby.

Submitted by Betty.