Karen R. Myers
Last Friday over the lunch hour, I was on-site with about 20 other Christians. I will never forget the sight of car after car, couple after couple (or sometimes parents and daughter) driving in to have their babies butchered. A total of 38 babies were killed there that day. Because it was so busy and because Linda (the security guard who always "pats 'em down" before they can enter the clinic) was talking to the police for a while, there was a time for about 15-20 minutes when eight different couples (most of them in their teens to early twenties) were standing in line outside waiting to get in. I pleaded with these mommies and daddies to please "listen to Jesus and listen to your baby crying." I pleaded with them to remember that one day they would stand before Almighty God and have to give an account of how they spent the day of October 19th, 2001. "You can tell Him that was the day you let your baby be chopped up like spaghetti or you can tell Him that was the day you decided to do the right thing and let your baby live," I said. "Please don't turn your back on Jesus. He hung on a cross for you. He is the one who holds your life in His hands. Mommy! Daddy! Listen to Jesus and listen to your baby crying." One of the guys stood there eating lunch. I told him that his baby [would look like his lunch] unless he listened to Jesus. Then the sight of all sixteen of these parents lined up outside the door at Tiller's brought to my mind the sight of something else . . . eight little dead children: (What I saw was so gruesome and terrible that I will not mention it here.) It was so vivid-so horrific--and I silently begged God not to let it happen. Then a guy and girlfriend walked back to their car as if they were going to leave. Did they change their minds? Dared I hope? But, about five minutes later they got out of the car and went back to wait in line. This was practically too much. The burden was too great. I had been calling out off and on to people for the last 45 minutes, and now to these eight couples for the last 20 minutes straight. My voice was very hoarse-almost gone. I cried out one more time, "Please do not do this! You will never be able to see your baby smile, never be able to hold your child's hand. Never be able to see your child throw a baseball or pick flowers. Please do not mock Jesus!" (I could hardly talk-I was starting to cry) "Listen! Please listen! I will not be able to call out much longer. But when my voice is silent, Jesus will still cry out to you. Your baby will still cry out to you. Please listen! Listen to Jesus and listen to your baby crying!" Later on that afternoon, I found out from another sidewalk counselor that one daddy and mommy came out happy and did not have an abortion on Friday. And for that I am eternally grateful. But for the other 38 boys and girls that died there that day, I will mourn-no one else is there to mourn for them.
