This is why I don’t want anything to do with bloody-baby pictures outside abortion facilities or on billboards or anywhere else.
Thank you, Leticia. Your tweets hit me where I need to be hit.
I was always squeamish about demonstrations showing the dead bodies left behind by abortion. The “ewwww” factor was overwhelming.
Then a few years ago I read Abby Johnson’s Unplanned, and her more recent The Walls are Talking. I met my near neighbor Catherine Adair. Together, they burst my bubble. Troublemakers, the pair of them.
Catherine has said, “The worst thing we can do [when meeting abortion workers] is be confrontational, antagonistic. I think the best thing we can do is smile, say hello – just be that peaceful, kind, loving presence they need.” This from a former worker at an abortion facility, who knows what a sidewalk looks like in the hands of people being antagonistic.
Surprise: it wasn’t the truth in bloody pictures that changed her heart, or Abby’s. It was the truth in relationships. Patience, love, grace, and time were relevant, urgently so.
I need those reminders. Anyone who’s heard me testify at the State House (as has been my custom for the better part of 30 years, God help me) knows that patience is not my strong suit. Dang, some of those political types are dense. No names, please.
And yet…”You know what changed my mind? Grace.”
How did I pick one that out of this morning’s torrent of mostly-forgettable tweets? No matter. Twitter’s existence has been justified for another day. Carry on.