Written Thursday, October 23, 2008 "Yup," he said, and walked swiftly back up to his bench, far away
When I first heard about 40 Days4Life I thought the most difficult
thing I would have to do was to stand in front of Planned Parenthood
and pray. But that was before God had me do it alone. Standing in
front, praying with others, while hundreds of cars honk and flip you
off seems fairly easy once you have to do it by yourself. Then, when
I figured out God wanted me to carry a sign which reads "Twenty-one
years ago I had an abortion, I still ache," I thought that would be
the hardest thing I would have to do, until, of course, He had me do
that alone as well. After that, I felt talking about my experience
was going to be next to impossible. That seems easy as well; now that
He's made Himself clear that He now wants me to talk to the people
going in to Planned Parenthood. Uuggh!!
I know that I'm the perfect person to talk to them. Who else knows
better how much their lives are going to be affected by going through
with this? Who better to understand what they are feeling at this
crucial moment and who else can talk to them about what they are
about to experience without making them feel more defensive, on edge
and hostile? I know all this but still, I pray desperately for
courage every time I go.
I get ample opportunities to talk. There are plenty of people coming
and going at the PP that I try and visit three or four times a week.
My sign actually helps me as a conversation starter which I suspect
may be the main reason God gave it to me to hold. It also acts as my
shield if you must know; I feel safe behind it now that I've forgiven
myself, even as I know there are some who judge. That isn't any of my
concern. I spent the last twenty years in a guilt- induced fog; I
don't allow myself to go there anymore.
Still, even with my sign I shy away from most of them, because it's
so important for me that I don't make them feel worse than they
already do. Also, it makes me very uncomfortable. This is my hang-up.
God had given me a purpose, has turned my horror around and given me
the opportunity to make something good of it. I cannot let those
opportunities pass because of my fear and objections to venturing
outside of my comfort zone. Still, I wrestle with it each time I'm
there.
Yesterday, I had the opportunity to talk to three couples who pulled
up one right after the other. If someone had actually looked at me
they probably would have found me comical with all the agonizing
faces I was surely making in my inner struggle to open my mouth and
say something. But each time, because they wouldn't look at me,
because they seemed angry, because they went right in and didn't give
me ample time to muster courage, etc, etc. etc. I didn't say a thing
to any of them. And I beat myself up for twenty-four hours, telling
Jesus I would do it next time, I promised. I'm sure He just raised
His eyebrows, smiled and said, "Ok, we'll try again."
I had spent about forty minutes in front of Planned Parenthood this
morning without one opportunity to speak to anyone. I continued to
sweat and tell myself I was going to talk to the next person who
pulled up…until they pulled up. I made eye contact until I was sure a
burning ray would materialize, forcing them to look at me, but nope,
I stood rooted to the spot and they ignored me and went inside. I
stood kicking myself and mad. Why was this so difficult for me?? I
had five minute left before I had to go and I told God, "OK!! Give me
one more chance and I promise I'll talk to the next person! No matter
what!!
A man who had been sitting outside the clinic when I first got there
had gone next door to an antique store. At that moment he came out
carrying a metal toy car about a foot long with white wall tires and
a swing back tailgate.
I automatically said, "Did you get something good?"
He detoured going back to the clinic and with prize in hand came
toward me to show off his treasure.
"Guess how much I paid for this?" he asked, obviously excited.
"Um, ten bucks!" I said, just as enthusiastically.
He gave me a frown, "Uh, no, $43.75," he said in a low voice.
"Oh," I said, "Well, how much is it worth?" I asked hopefully. I
didn't want to make him mad on a totally unrelated subject.
He perked right back up, "Well, this here is probably worth…one maybe
two hundred dollars!" he said, holding it proudly up for me.
"Well, that's great!" I said to him, "At least you got one good thing
out of being here today!" I thought that would be a good opening.
from me. Dejected, I once again went back to my easy task of walking
up and down the sidewalk with my sign, by myself.
"That is not what I had in mind when you said you would talk to him,"
God whispered in my head.
I turned around and march up to the invisible barrier between my
acceptable spot and the fence that kept us from harassing PP's
customers.
"So what's your story?" I yelled at my new friend, "Why are you here?"
He sighed and slowly got up, coming as close to me as the gate and
shade would allow. "You don't want to know," he said with another
sigh.
"Well, I bet it's not any worse than my story," I said, hoping it
wasn't.
"Well, I didn't realize until I pulled in here that this was wrong,"
he said, his voice breaking. "I was totally ok with it, well, not
totally ok but I know now, it's not right."
He went on to tell me that he had pulled up, saw the volunteers
praying on the sidewalk and knew he didn't want his girlfriend going
through with it. He had spoken to a few of the volunteers that were
there before me as well. He told me he and his girlfriend had fought
and she had paced up and down for awhile trying to decide but in the
end had gone in. She had been in there for over an hour by the time I
had got there. I begged him to text her to come out and talk to me
but he wouldn't. I told him my story and how hard life had been. I
begged him again to try and call her. He said she would not talk to
me. He told me he considered himself a Christian but hadn't lived
like one in a long time.
Finally, after thirty minutes of talking to him, I asked, "What's
your name?"
"Raymond," he said.
"That's my Dad's name," I said, smiling.
"From today on, my life is going to be different," Raymond said
softly.
"I hope it is," I said, "The best things we can do with our mistakes,
is learn from them and try and do some good with them," I said, "This
is my good," I added, shaking my sign at him. "Maybe you could get to
know God, go back to church," I suggested, shyly.
He looked at me, thoughtfully, as the waste truck pulled into the
parking lot.
"Well, Raymond, I will pray for you and your girlfriend," I said in a
hurry, "I got to go, I can't stand watching them bring out their big
yellow and red barrels," I said to him.
"Why, what is it?" he asked, eyeing the truck.
"It's the baby parts," I said quietly to him. "Are you sure you don't
want to call her?"
He shook his head slowly. "She won't listen. I tried more than once."
"Well, will you try and tell her what I said if for some reason she
comes out and hasn't gone through with it?" He said he would try.
"Ok, well give me a hug, Raymond. Do something good with this ok?
Promise me?" I asked, as I gave him a hug.
"I'm gonna live my life differently from now on, Shelley. Nothing is
ever gonna be the same…" he said, his voice shaking.
"God Bless you, Raymond," I said softly in his ear.
I went to leave but looking back, I couldn't help noticing Raymond's
shoulders slump as that weight settle comfortably on his back and I
wondered how long he would carry it. Would he, like me, carry it
around for twenty years? Or maybe, hopefully, because I had been
there, and had accepted the courage God offered me, would he give
that weight to Jesus and let Him carry it for him, much like He did
when He carried His cross that long, difficult road up to Calvary.
Stepping Outside My Comfort Zone