The abortion mill was busy this past week. The Friday and Saturday crowds were largely unresponsive and in some cases mocking. There was, however, a turn-away on Friday. One of our meekest sidewalk counselors spoke at length with an Islamic man, who eventually pulled out his cell phone and telephoned his companion inside the mill. She came out, they both left. On Saturday morning they lined up at the door, which we haven’t seen happen at the mill for a long time. Each Guadalupe Partner singled out someone to talk with while the clients stood waiting for the door to open. The woman I talked to had a black eye, which she pointed to as the reason she was seeking the abortion. She received the black eye, she said, from her boyfriend. She couldn’t accept that the abuse she was about to give her child far surpassed anything she had received from her boyfriend. Or maybe she simply didn’t want to accept that truth.
We visited M. later that morning. I’m going to be taking my students to her house next week in order to help her winterize. While I was strolling around the house examining windows, I was told that the house was infested with fleas. The two little girls who live in the house, in fact, had fleas and lice in their hair. I went out and purchased a treatment kit for the lice and insecticide foggers for the basement. I left, though, feeling frustrated with the whole situation. Those little girls need to grow up in a clean place, a place where they can enjoy air and sunshine and all that good stuff God gave us.
