Ash Wednesday
Planned Parenthood, Ventura. Our signs were wet and rain was dripping off my umbrella onto my Rosary. I was on the sidewalk with a few stalwarts on a rainy Ash Wednesday, also the first day of 40 Days for Life.

We had barely started the Hail Marys when a car zoomed past and pulled over to the curb. I braced myself. Usually that kind of hasty stop signals an angry tirade. Instead a young woman got out with a smile. She had made a detour because she wanted some Cheetos, she said, but she knew God had actually directed her.

She had seen us many times; today she finally pulled over to ask what we were all about. We explained that we were praying, hoping our signs reached someone, grateful when someone occasionally rolled down a window to talk.

She shared that after being pro-abortion by default, she had converted to being Christian and pro-life. When she had gotten pregnant, she insisted on having the baby, showing her boyfriend videos of pre-natal development and convincing him that abortion was not an option. Later he talked his sister out of an abortion. She knew God was calling her to do more.

We talked about both Protestant and Catholic sidewalk efforts.
Could we have looked any more Catholic, my son observed on the way home. Rosaries, ashes on foreheads, pro-life hoodies from our Catholic school.

She pulled away, and we resumed our prayer. We were finishing up when a car pulled out of the parking lot. A little girl — that was the only way I could describe her — stared out at us. There was so much pain on her face. Not just physical pain. Anguish. She gave us the finger as the car drove away.

Someday, will she remember the signs that said “We can help you” and “healing after abortion”? One can only pray.

“How senseless is everything that can ever be written, done, or thought, when such things are possible.” – All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Maria Remarque

– By Monica Seeley