Friday, May 26, 2006

Today I saw...that abortion hurts women.

So much going on, so much to write. I'll start with the abortion.

This afternoon the whole crew went over to adoration that was in the actual space of a crisis pregnancy center (CPC). The CPC was located in a large office building complex and shares a wall with an abortion mill. As everyone went to travel to adoration, Nicole and I broke away from the group in order to go back to the house we're staying at. (Her laundry was "drying" outside, but there were two down pours, so we went back to put the clothes in the dryer.) Anyway, Nicole and I got on the road to go to adoration, took a wrong turn, and eventually arrived.

We went up the stairs to the address of the CPC. As we turned a corner, a girl, no older than 17, limped by us, clutching with one hand the shoulder of who seemed to be her mother, her other hand lay limp over her abdomen. Nicole and I let her by.

Her walk. The soft crying and moaning. The hunched over shoulders and look of defeat on her face. Nicole and I knew. We'd seen it last year in California. Women walk a certain way after an abortion. Every step belies the physical pain left from the intrusion of the vacuum. The emptiness of their womb is reflected in the emptiness in their eyes.

Once you've seen a woman walk after her abortion (if it can be called that), you automatically understand that the phrase "Abortion Hurts Women."

The girl was about to turn the corner. What could I say? What could I do? I had less than 1 second. She had her whole life ahead of her. I said in the most compassionate and earnest way, "Are you okay?"

There was a pause. She looked at me. I wanted to tell her she'd be alright, but didn't know how the mother would react. She whispered, "Yeah" and then was gone.

Nicole and I looked at each other, paralyzed in the hallway.

Her baby was just vacuumed out of her. She was so young.

We knocked on the doors of the CPC. No one answered.

I went downstairs to the doorway to gain cell phone reception. After I came back upstairs, Nicole reported, "I saw her. In the hallway. She was going from one room to another. She had the scrubs on, a face mask. The metal scrapping instruments in her hand. She stopped in the hall and we starred at each other."

"Oh my gosh..." I covered my mouth.

"They are doing them right now."

Nicole and I sat on the stairs and prayed the Rosary. Friday. Abortion. The Sorrowful Mysteries. Agony in the Garden. Scourging at the Pillar. Crowning of Thorns. Carrying of the Cross. The Crucifixion.

After we prayed Nicole noted, "If there were a two year old being dismembered in there, there would be outrage. But the unborn? It's legal. We can't do a thing. Well...we can pray."

Just then the doors opened and a priest came out of the CPC. Adoration was over. We went inside. I grabbed every spanish language pamphlet they had. I'm the official spanish speaker on the trip. It's an intimidating responsibility based on the fact that I barely know Spanish. Though I know enough to teach myself more. I will learn.

These past two days I've contemplated how much I can put into this summer in regards to pro-life work. I need to find a job. I need to find an apartment where I get a job. I need to...hmmm...okay those two things are about it. Pray for me.

That is all. Pray for all the girls who had an abortion today. Pray for abortionists.


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Who we are?

Every summer we, the Missionaries of the Eucharist, are walking from Lewiston, Maine to Washington, DC to proclaim the beauty of the Catholic faith to everyone we meet, specifically through the Theology of the Body.

Conversion begins in our own hearts,which is why prayer is so important to our ministry. For this reason, everyday of our ten week walk begins with daily Mass. By receiving Christ in the Eucharist, we are given the grace to be the Love of Christ not only to those in our community but also to those we meet in the streets.

We walk throughout the day to be a witness of love. We are grounded in prayer-we pray with our lips, our hearts, and our bodies. In walking an average of twenty-five miles per day, we offer our fatigue as a gift of love to Christ and the people we meet. Our walking is both sacrifice and prayer.