After our time at the abortion mills yesterday the three of us met, as usual, at La Rosita where, as usual, we gave out diapers and groceries to four orfive mothers who met us there.  I then drove to the west side to make a delivery to a mom there, while Anne and Alicia went in the other direction, to Mexican town, to visit our friends Ana and Carmelo in their new home.  Later, when I had finished my errand, I drove back downtown to meet them there.  This home is theirs, not rented, and they are very proud of that.  And knowing that they purchased it for just a few thousand dollars, I was prepared for something a little rough–but not as rough as I found it.  The interior is a shell.  There are no finished walls and no finished floors.  Wiring is only half completed, and the bare wires run along the floor and up the walls.  There are no windows on the first level.  Those that were there have been removed and are boarded over.  There is no shower.  The family members shower in the basement with a bucket.  There is no kitchen.  There is a room with a  stove in it, but the room has no water lines and no sink. 

They were very glad to see us, though, and as soon as I walked in Ana insisted on feeding me.  She set me down at a little folding table and gave me one of the two chairs that i saw in the house.  She gave me a taco with onion and cilantro and tomato, all flavored with lemon.  Some of the kids stood or perched around me, to see what I would think of their momma’s cooking.  And then, just before we left, the baby woke up and one of the older daughters brought him in.  And as I looked around at the bare poverty, it occurred to me that nothing was lacking in the picture.  The family was complete.

We worked with a skeleton crew yesterday–two at American Family Planning and two at Summit.  The Summit counselors reported that they gave out a lot of our material and that the numbers there were not as high as in previous weeks.  Over at American Family Planning, our friend Chris, who goes there every day, says that the number of clients there is less than he’s ever seen.

Standing at the door of American Family Planning, I had an interesting conversation with a young white man.  His girlfriend, standing with her head bowed, wearing sweat pants with skulls, never said a word.  He had shoulder length stringy hair, a scraggly beard, piercings here and there; and from the outset, his mouth issued such a string of profanities like nothing I have ever heard.  In some sort of mock religious ceremony, he poured water on me, then swelling with rage, he informed me and Alicia that we were going to hell for our pride. 

At La Rosita, five mothers came for diapers  and clothes; one came also for a crib and playpen.  Later that morning, in two cars, we criss-crossed a neighborhood looking for a white van belonging to Ana and Carmelo.  They have moved into a different neighborhood, which we knew, but when we called to get a specific address the recording told us their phone had been disconnected.  In the last phone contact we had with them, Ana told us that they had no sink in the kitchen and they were bailing water out of their washing machine.  Well, we were not able to find the van, and I am concerened about them.  This is an intact family of eight children–but very poor.  Pray that we find them.

It was an extremely sad day at the Summit Saturday.  Around thirty women went in for abortions.  This was the highest number that we have seen since our presence there starting in March 2009.  John Peters, who has been sidewalk counseling there for more than a decade, has warned us that he has seen numbers like this before.

Please pray for the women who have had abortions that Christ may heal them from their physical and spiritual wounds.

A black cloud dominated the sky to the south.  I was forced to turn  and stare at it, because the bitter cold wind out of the north pushed my face in the opposite direction.  The street was very quiet, except for one municipal truck which was taking the garland and bows off of the street light poles.  One car was in the abortuary parking lot.  When I approached it to hand the occupants our envelope, they waved me off–as did the second car and the third and the fourth.  Eventually,  two out of the four cars did leave; but there was never any kind of meaningful exchange with anyone, either coming or going.  For an hour and a half, then,  our basic job was to stand there in the bitter wind and take it.

When there was no longer much hope, we left–and as soon as I pulled away my phone beeped.  It was a text message from the Summit group, informing us that they had just had a turn-away.  Later, when we met them at Rosita’s for breakfast, Monica had a second success story to telll us.  During the drive home, she sent the message that there was a third who had just called her.

Once again, God tells us that what He mainly wants from us is our perseverance.  I had driven 17 hours straight on Friday in order to be able to go to the abortuary on Saturday.  And when the world looked bleak and we felt completely alone standing there at American Family Planning, other Guadalupe Partners, several more than usual, had gathered at Summit.  God worked with our perseverance, as I know He always does in one way or another.

A week after we had met Nicole at the abortuary, it seemed as though she was going to keep her abortion appointment on December 12.  Reluctantly she agreed to meet with us one more time; during that meeting we again emphasized that we were going to stick with her through and beyond the pregnancy.  Learning that she and her sister were piling eight children into a Ford Escort to take them to school each morning, to prove our sincerity I promised her that I would be back the next day with a minivan. When we showed up the next evening and handed her the keys, she guardedly asked how long she would be able to use it.  It’s yours, Alicia told her, and then handed her the title. 

December 12th came and went.  No Nicole at the abortuary.  We visited her again yesterday, taking Christmas gifts for her and for her children.  Alicia described the glow that she saw in Nicole’s face.  I think she called it a “baby glow.”  She has placed herself in our hands.  We have become the family that she never really had.

The sidewalk counselors at Summit have asked us to pray for Janell, whom they met yesterday morning at the abortuary.  We also received a call from a woman who received our number while at American Family Planning on Thursday.  Even though she is of age, she says her mother will “kill her” if she finds out that she is pregnant.  We ofered her refuge in the Ypsi area, but she says she doesn’t want to leave Detroit.  Meanwhile a woman that we turned away from the abortuary about two years ago has begun helping us in Detroit.  She is bringing us the names of mothers in crisis, and she has begun helping us do deliveries in Detroit.  Yesterday we met her at La Rosita, gave her the supplies, and she took it from there.

A group of University of Michigan students spent a Saturday helping us prepare Guadalupe House II for residents, as did some helpers from Spiritus Sanctus Academy.  Another benefactor provided new carpet.  The house is almost ready.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, please remember all our mothers.  Give hope to the hopeless, just as you did so long ago in Mexico.

Since we have been so busy,  I will focus on one story–the one requiring most prayer,  I think.  She came to the abortion mill last Saturday.  Alicia crouched down between the door and the driver’ s seat and talked to her, there in the parking lot, for about a half hour.  Later that day we went to her apartment with winter coats for the kids and groceries.  During the week, though, her family got to her–in the wrong way.  She lives with a sister, and between the two of them there are 8 children in the house.  Meanwhile, this young woman recently got a new job–and now she feels that she’s just going to lose it and will be back where she started.  So we met with her again yesterday, and as she and Alicia conversed in Spanish, I could see that the woman was deliberately trying to be hard, tough.  She didn’t want to let herself trust anyone–and then she finally said why: she was afraid, afraid that we would abandon her.  I told her then to name the one most pressing need.  A car, she said.  They press eight children into a Ford Escort to take them to school each day.  I said I would be there the next day with a car.  I asked one of our helpers to send out an appeal, and that night I received a call from a Saline family willing to donate a Caravan.  Perfect.  Last night we prayed Psalm 138.

We were at American Family Planning on Wednesday of this week, which is unusual, but we had deliveries to make in the city so I thought we might as wll make a day of it.  To our dismay, a little after 9:00 Rosa pulled in.  We had turned her away from the abortuary almost two years ago and had made many visits and deliveries to her apartment.  She was accompanied by two “gang bangers”–teenage boys wearing the over-large clothing, baseball caps turned sideways, tattoos, shaved heads.  They were very much in our faces with violent gestures and obscene language.  But, while the staff whisked Rosa in through the back door, with one of the boys standing right up against me I managed to open a pamphlet and hold up the photograph of an eight week old aborted baby.  Suddenly I had his attention.  “What’s that?” he asked.  I explained what it was; and after several more conversations, while the boys went in and out and in and out of the abortuary, I had them working on our side.  Rosa came out in less than half an hour. 

We’ve visited Rosa twice since then.  We will be giving her rent assistance through the winter, a promise made to her at the door of the abortuary.  One of the boys, meanwhile, is in jail, picked up on charges of robbery and assault.

Later that Wednesday we went to see Ana and Ricardo.  They were turned away from the abortuary more than a year ago.  Lately, they have been on my mind; and after rummaging through a lot of papers, Alicia managed to find their phone number.  They were very happy to see us and to show us the baby–the youngest of their 8 children.  Their house displays simplicity and poverty.  The children are quiet, absolutely serene, but always ready to respond and smile.  And extremely handsome, every one of them. But whenever I looked at one of them, I couldn’t help thinking, “what does this city hold for them?”  Their mother, as good as she is, once ended up at the abortion mill.  What guarantees are there that they will be protected? 

I asked Ricardo if he had ever thought of leaving the city.  Often, he responded. Since then I have resolved that we will somehow bring them out. 

On Saturday we were back.  Alicia conversed with a young Hispanic woman for more than a half hour.  She did leave, and later that day we visited her and her family.  She seems fragile to me, frightened.  I don’t think the baby is really safe yet.  Please pray for her–Nicole.

A Vigil Mass in honor of Our Lady of Guuadalupe will be celebrated Dec. 11, Archbishop Allen Vigneron, celebrant, Bishop Daniel Flores, co-celebrant. The Mass is at Blessed Sacrament Cathedral at 7:00 with a rosary program beginning at 5:30.

The baby’s heart is terribly enlarged, she was told, filling most of his chest cavity.  The Oakwood hospital doctor told her it would be best to kill the baby, in order to avoid future risks and complications.

We did not meet this mother at the abortion mill.  She was brought to us by her aunt, whom we did meet at the abortion mill a few years ago.  Late Saturday morning we went to her home, where we were welcomed at the door by her grandmother.  Mariah came in a few minutes later.  We sat together in the livingroom and she poured out her load of pain and confusion.  She didn’t know how she would be able to continue carrying a dying child, how she would be able to go through labor and end up holding a corpse. 

We reminded her, though, that to a great extent this is the human condition.  Spouses commit themselves to each other for years and years.  Theirs is a labor of love–yet, eventually, one will end up holding a corpse. Wherever we love, whenever, we put ourselves at risk of pain and loss.  Mariah’s own grandmother told the story of her own losses–two sons who met violent, premature deaths.    But never would we say, Mariah was reminded, that we wish the loved one had never been conceived or born. When Alicia told of how she had carried a child weeks after she knew it had already died, Mariah’s eyes grew wide with amazement.

At one point, Mariah’s aunt asked her, “Are you still confused?” She smiled and answered, “No.”