Holy Saturday Miracles in Dallas

“Pray for the girl in the truck. She’s reading the literature I gave her.” I motioned towards the truck as I spoke to Joe, Holly and Oscar, and the Christians formed a circle and began to pray. I held back– hoping that mother and daughter, talking and reading the literature and looking at the photos of pre-born babies, would choose life. I didn’t want them to feel pressured, but I was torn – should I say something? I knew that the Holy Spirit could speak to them more powerfully than I. Yet, when the doors of the vehicle opened, I knew that it was time for me to act. “Are y’all Christians?” I asked. I had seen their bumper sticker, “God Bless America” and hoped to engage them in conversation. Mother and daughter both assured me that they were Christians. “Well, then you know abortion is wrong, don’t you?” Mother took charge of the conversation, admitting that she knew abortion wasn’t a good choice, but assuring me that I did not understand their situation. “You know - you’re right. I have no idea what your situation is. But I know this – God works in the midst of life’s most difficult circumstances. It’s in those tough times that the Lord makes us stronger and blesses us and shapes our character.” Mother went on to explain how her daughter already had two babies and that she herself suffered from nearly unbearable physical problems. “Anyway” she said, “It’s not a baby.” It might surprise the reader to know, that in all my years of pro-life work and sidewalk-counseling, I have almost never heard an abortion-bound person claim that the life about to be extinguished was not a baby. “Not a baby?” I looked over at the young mother and asked her gently, “How far along are you? Do you know?” She had such a sweet face – the tender face of a child and a mother. She told me of her pregnancy and we talked about her baby. I called her baby “she” and spoke of her already-beating heart and of the fact that her little fingers and toes were already forming. Mother interrupted. “Well, it’s not a baby yet,” she exclaimed. “Not a baby yet? What about Psalm 139 where God proclaims that He knitted us together in our mother’s womb? What about John the Baptist, leaping for joy in his mother’s womb in the presence of Jesus, himself pre-born, alive in the womb of Mary?” Mother had no answer. She looked at me and smiled. “You must be an angel,” she said, as a tear welled in her eye. “My name is Michael.” Mother began to crumble. She told me how hard her life was and that I did not understand. We hugged, and I assured her that she was not alone. Her daughter seemed to gain strength, even as she spoke in a near whimper. “Mommy, I don’t want to do this. Let’s leave here.” The struggle had not ended. Mother said, “No. We’ve got to at least go inside and talk to the people.” She reached for her daughter’s hand. Her daughter resisted and replied ever more forcefully, “No – let’s go to this other place (The White Rose Center; staffed by Christians.) I want to see my baby on the ultra-sound.” Mother scowled, “I am mad at you Michael” even as she made her way back to the driver’s side of the vehicle. I motioned to Joe. “Joe, go ahead and get in your car. Get ready to lead them to the White Rose.” Before departing, this sweet mother hugged me – her embrace was one of thankfulness and joy. She had chosen life because Christians prayed and acted in loving obedience to God. And she was not the only one who had chosen life on Holy Saturday, 2006, at the Fairmount Center in Dallas. There was yet another. I cried that day.

Michael
Rockwall, Texas