We can tell her she is loved and seen and known, even without saying a word. We can pray for her and look her in the eye. The best part is, Jesus can be with her, through you and me. He would never and will never leave her side. He is reminding her of His strength and His goodness when the world is telling her this thing called motherhood is too hard for her, that she’s too young, too addicted, too irresponsible to make another choice. He is sitting next to her in every waiting room at every doctor’s appointment, wiping away tears of pain and sadness and fear even as the same heartbroken tears stream down His own face. He is consoling her through every tough conversation. He is with that woman when she reads the test. I like to stop and think, where would Jesus be in this situation? A peaceful presence there (no yelling involved) is a way to speak the truth. Holding a picket sign is not the same thing as peacefully praying for or counseling women in need outside of an abortion clinic. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a place for pro-life people at these places.
The fear and pain of a woman walking toward abortion is unimaginable, and I have a hard time believing it can be soothed by picket signs with pictures of dead babies. When it comes to being pro-life in a pro-choice world, here are some things I’ve found to be helpful to remember. It seems that the conclusion is this: If you’re pro-life, you hate women, and if you’re pro-choice, you hate babies. Like most people probably are, I’m tired of childish arguments surrounding this important issue, tired of the mud slinging and name calling on both sides. Now that I’m older, married, and have chosen the Catholic faith for myself as an adult, my pro-life stance has grown solid, unshakable roots.
Raised by a pro-life dad and a pro-choice mom, I’ve heard the arguments on both sides. We knew that abortion was wrong, but the thought of actually facing the reality of an unplanned pregnancy shook us both to the core. Later, as we watched movies and ate popcorn on her basement couch, we - two very Catholic, rule-following teens - wondered aloud what we would do if we were actually faced with that choice. In high school, my best friend and I sat in the back of theology class quietly listening as our teacher instructed us on the Church’s teaching on abortion. It was in that season that this issue became ever more real and more personal to me. A perfect storm of fear and shame and family pressure was louder and more forceful than the unrelenting but quieter voices of love, compassion, and mercy. Several years ago, someone I love very dearly had an abortion.
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