History can repeat itself.
History can repeat itself.
Tomorrow morning is Saturday morning, the day where most people look forward to so that they can sleep in. It’s not like I enjoy hearing the alarm go off at 5:45 A.M. I hit the snooze once or twice before rolling out of bed, hopping into the shower half awake, getting dressed and heading out to the car. Putting the car into reverse so I can back out of the apartment parking lot, I look forward to the day when this will not be necessary. I turn the music up and collect my thoughts as I try to prepare for what will be a battle. It’s not that long of a drive before I turn onto Market Street in Louisville, KY. The sun is still coming up but this street already has plenty of action. Lining the sidewalk dressed in blaze orange vests, the deathscorts have already beat me to some of the best parking spots. What motivates the orange vests to come out every Saturday is a bit of a mystery to me. They are faithful in a way that puts to shame a lot of those on my side including myself. I drive past looking for a parking spot as they are lined up in front of the death mill.
It is an unsuspecting place, 138 West Market Street. The official name is the EMW Women’s Surgical Center, a name that masks its actual purpose. The initials in the title stand for the last name of the three co-founders of the place. Two of them have already passed on to see their maker; the third still lives an exuberant lifestyle that the money from this place can provide. Just as understated as the name is the look of the building. It has an awning that extends from over two glass doors to the sidewalk and two windows with the blinds drawn. There is really nothing from the looks of the outside that would draw much attention to the horrific acts that occur inside.
Every Saturday morning, actually every day except Sunday, women come to EMW to have their pre-born child slaughtered. So I find my usual parking spot and head out of the car. I meet up with a few other like-minded Christians, though there are far too few of us here. We pray and ask our Father in Heaven to shut this place. We ask God to change the hearts of the women and men who come to this place. Around 7 AM, the doors to the death mill open up. Fortunately there are not any official parking places for customers of EMW so most of them have to park on the road and walk a distance to get to it. And this is why I am there. I notice a brand new Camaro sports car pull up to a parking meter. Inside is a man dressed in designer clothing and a young lady dressed in sweats. Both of them get out the car. I approach, with the hope of being able to offer assistance and some persuasive words that will help them decide not to go the abortion mill.
Before I can get out the words “my name is,” two of the orange vested people barge in front of me. They do everything they can to try to ensure that the couple will not hear anything that I or other sidewalk counselors have to say. And so begins the march to the death camp. We walk beside the couple, pleading for the life of their child. The deathscorts sometimes mock and sometimes swear. Every once in a while a new deathscort will get too excited and try pushing us or use force in some other way. Often those who are heading in to kill their child will get angry at someone pointing out the obvious fact that they are heading in to kill their child. I am not motivated out of hate for them. I love them and their child. I do hate though. I hate that they are going to pay someone with the title “doctor” to tear their baby limb from limb. I hate that Satan has so blinded the minds of the deathscorts that they actually think they are doing good instead of evil. I hate that this place exists. I hate having to get up early Saturday Morning.
I love Christ, my King, however. He has commanded us to love our neighbor as ourselves. He has called us to stand up and speak out for those who have no voice. He has called us to speak out against injustice. So I stand with signs, tracts, and other believers. We call to those headed toward death. We call for them to turn back. We offer assistance. And most importantly we offer the good news that Christ died for them so that they do not have to continue on the path to destruction.
This particular Saturday, twenty-five women go into the clinic. The deathscorts take off their orange vests and go home, job well done. They don’t have to think about the guilt and pain those women will feel later that day, later that week, later that month, and for years after. Twenty-five women will have their womb robbed of the precious joy that God created, twenty-five mothers who through their own actions will not experience the joy of their little one smiling up at them.
Some Saturdays, not this particular one, in the midst of this tragedy there is joy to be found. Sometimes the deathscorts are not able to drown out our message of hope and love. Sometimes, a child is saved from the gruesome grip of death. God works in the heart of a mother and she changes her mind. Sometimes she leaves before getting out of the car, other times she comes out of EMW. But it is joyous and worth every 5:45 alarm. My prayer is that every Saturday morning, will see more and more of these stories. My prayer is that no Saturday ever again will contain the horror of abortion. Join me in that prayer.
(For more information about becoming a side-walk counselor or getting involved in abolishing this modern day evil check out Abolish Human Abortion or the Abolitionist Society of Louisville.