Thursday, March 09, 2006


Driving away from the killing clinic, she uttered a silent prayer. “Lord, let some of
the women change their hearts and minds. Father God, put obstacles in the way
of the abortionist that he might not be able to destroy the gifts of life, you’ve
so beneficently bestowed. Lord, I pray that the clinic workers will be horrified
by what they do. Let them dream about the blood that is on their hands.”

She was distracted as she drove by the sight of a disheveled black man, sitting street-side on a dusty side yard.

“He’s probably drunk,” she thought continuing toward the golf course
club house, where several rescuers had agreed to gather.

A myriad of thoughts bubbled in her sub-conscious as the car
progressed another two blocks. Her own father and brother might have been
that individual at another point in history.

“Kind of a strange place to be sitting,” popped into her mind. “What if he is
more than inebriated?” nagged at the back of her mind.

Putting the car into reverse, she backed up to where he sat.

“Are you ok?” she asked. He said, “No!”

“Are you intoxicated?” she continued.

“I think I’m having a heart attack!” he shouted. “Oh, my God,” she thought.

She grabbed her cell phone and jumped out of her car, racing to the man’s side.

Dialing 911, she told the dispatcher that she was at 20th and Gaylord by the side
of a man she had found, who believed he was having a heart attack.

Other pro-life rescuers assembled around the elderly gentleman as he screamed out
for his mother. Ken asked his name, Jo shouted, “Where does your mom live?”

In the ensuing chaos, Ralph told us his name and that his mom lived around the corner
just before going into a minor seizure.

Jo ran to his mother’s house while Ken lent comfort and the conversation with
the dispatcher continued.

“Please hurry,” “Oh Jesus, don’t let him die,” she spoke into the mobile phone.

Neighbors of the killing clinic who regularly criticized this group stopped, on their
way to church, upon seeing the commotion.

Ralph did admit, to those trying to help him, that he had been drinking – in between
seizing and sitting up calling out for his mom.

His history of cirrhosis came to light as the paramedics and the fire truck arrived very
shortly after the initial call was made.

Jo and Ralph’s mother arrived to support him as he was gingerly placed upon the
gurney, for what must have been “another” trip to the hospital.

As the crowd dispersed, she wondered what the neighbors were thinking of those
they regularly criticized for shouting to moms going in to kill their babies.

Would they recognize that their care for life transcended the pre-born to all
made in God’s image?

Would they see the connection on their way to worship? Would they care? Would they
join them in their quest for “justice for all” sometime in the future?

“Lord, let this all be for your glory.” Her reverie continued as she drove away from
the momentary detour from her life’s yearning.