Keep out of sight, this is our neighborhood

I was walking down the sidewalk outside the abortion mill today, rosary in my hands, praying and meditating on the scenes of our Lord’s life called the Glorious Mysteries. I had just turned down the alley and had gone a few feet when I heard a car behind me, pulling, so I thought, into the alley. But he hadn’t turned down the alley. He pulled into the clinic parking lot, then across the alley in front of me to block my path.

Now I’m a little woman with graying hair (lots of silver, a pretty shiny silver, actually) and I am, hands down, the least threatening looking person imaginable, which is why, I imagine, I’m the one people usually gravitate toward. There were others out there with me today, but all of them were much taller than me, so I was the lucky pray-er chosen to be his target.

The driver of the car, a young man of 30 or so years, rolled down his window and said something that I couldn’t understand. I stood still and said, “Excuse me?” I really couldn’t understand him. Then he said, “Keep it over there, why don’t you,” motioning to the sidewalk in front of the abortion mill. “This is our neighborhood, you know.”

This is not my first experience with those who are far more comfortable with great sin in their midst than they are with the public and prayerful witness of Christians. I held my rosary in my hands and said, gently, “This is a public street, a public alley. God drew me to this alley to pray here.”

“Stay over there!”

“I’m trying to do what He wants me to do. I’m trying to obey Him.”

“That’s real Christian of you!”

Then he stomped on the gas and shot across the alley and into the driveway of a house just off the alley.

That young man needs prayer.

I told my Divine Mercy prayer partner about what had happened. She saw him pull in front of me and wondered what was going on. A few minutes later she left. I was walking down the alley and she pulled in alongside me, rolled her window and said, “Keep up the good work, Lady!”

I laughed out loud. I’d been ready to jump out of the way in case it was the earlier driver, come back to finish me off. I spent most of the rest of my vigil time praying the Rosary and the Divine Mercy, imploring the Lord for conversion, for him and for all the others in his neighborhood and in the world who are satisfied to have a place of horror right next to them or across the street or anywhere in their neighborhood, but are angered by the sight of those who will not turn a blind eye to the holocaust of victims who have no one else to stand up for them.

In fairness to many of his neighbors, a good many people have offered their support or, at least, their friendship during our vigil. And we have plans now to continue our vigil long after the 40 Days for Life are at an end. For as long as it takes for God to move hearts and minds to close that place down.

And I will continue to pray on the sidewalk in front of it and down the alley beside it. As long as the Lord gives me breath and allows me to put one foot in front of the other, I’ll be there. Because obeying our Father in Heaven and following in the footsteps of my Lord is very Christian of me.

Peace be with you.


Note: An interesting thing just happened. I wrote this whole post and was going to hit Save Draft. Something told me before I did that to copy the text first. So I did. Then when I hit Save Draft, the page re-directed to a log-in page (I’ve been logged in for more than an hour). When I came back to this page, my post was gone. Now I’ve been writing and working online in this coffee shop for months and this has never happened to me before. Strange, huh? My guardian angel is on duty, as usual. He was with me today when that angry young man confronted me. He is with me every day when I drive through the city I grew up in and have lived in most of my life. I never realized how full of darkness it really is. The last few weeks have brought it home to me, though. There is so much darkness around me. But I’m not afraid. The Lord is with me, whom then should I fear? Whom then should I fear?



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