As every other day, I force myself out of bed already in a state of exhaustion, you see, it is another weekday and I must go down to the Death Center again. I push myself while making up all sorts of excuses as to why maybe I shouldn't go today. I am tired! It doesn't do any good! The Church and the Christians around here don't care! I am so behind on my other work! But, I shower and go thru the morning routine, feed the cats, walk the dogs. Everyone looks so cozy asleep at this early hour, I long to crawl back into bed, but no.
I race off to Mass for some spiritual nourishment to see me through another day, then on to the *clinic* 30 miles away, fighting to keep my eyes open. It is getting hotter each day out here in the desert, summer is early and it is already into the second month of temps over 100 degrees. So today, I forget to bring water! Oh well, I will get by.
Each day we stand in front of this vile place and listen as the staff and drs. arrive and heap insults and abuse upon us. We pray for them and offer prayers for them and they range from angry to mocking smiles in return. And then there are also those that like to mock God, such as one that enjoyed grabbing a Rosary out of a little girls hand as her mother dragged her into the *clinic* with her. He then took great pleasure in breaking the Rosary in front of us and throwing it into the trash bin. It brings even greater sorrow to see Our Blessed Mother mocked in this way. So by 8:15AM the women start arriving for the slaughter of their children. Once in a while God will offer us a taste of victory and His Grace by allowing us to witness a turnaround, but mostly it is the heartwrenching sight of seeing girls being forced into this by their mother or father or boyfriend; or those that are quite blatant in their mocking of human life. We get used to people driving by and telling us to "get a life" or "get a job", etc. What I cannot get used to is the broken young ex-mothers that stumble out later, unable to hardly walk, or pale and shakey and crying, knowing now what they have done. We try so hard to approach them with love. Sometimes the frustration at the casualness is too much and we do not show too much love and have to tell the awful truth of what they are doing in not so loving terms. And it goes on and on. An average morning will see at least 10-11 babies slaughtered before 10AM.
I have prayed, urged, talked until I am sick at heart to two of the deathscorts about what they are supporting. I still have hope for them, but sometimes I feel I am simply another voice crying in the wilderness. And then there is always the police, quick to come and chastise us for causing problems by our words or signs. So I pray and watch and pray and watch. You see, my role there is to pray and maintain order. Then we have the days with some especially agressive deathscorts that try to run into my car, or me or someone else. I just keep praying.
Then I start my long 30 mile trek home. I am hot and thirsty and hungry. But most of all, I realize that my heart has been bruised a bit more today and I shed some private tears for all that pain and death I see. I know Jesus is with me, but the pain of those mothers and children I feel in the depths of my very soul. I feel their abandonment and hurt and terror. Their fear and their anger. I feel the physical pain of that child as it is ripped from the womb, that place that is supposed to be so safe and secure. I weep.
I come home and try to live a normal life, but all these things echo in my head. So I weep in my soul so my husband and family doesn't see and demand that I no longer go there. I feel God's almighty judgement that is surely only being held back by all those that faithfully pray for the end to this abomintion, but I wonder for how long.
Then I will again try to appeal to our Churches here in the desert, surely the priests will at least ask people to pray! But no, I am met again with the same scorn and accused of being judgemental and there is only silence. Then I pray, Oh God, send down Your Mercy! Open the hearts of your people! But again there is silence. The only one I know is listening is God. And He will NOT be mocked forever, so there lies my hope.
So as the next morning comes again too soon and I drag myself from my bed again, the only thing I know for certain is that God knows and sees my effort, no matter how futile. And I live in the hope that one day, at my own judgement, there may be some of those little ones that will come before our Almighty Judge and say, Have Mercy, she stood there and prayed for me while I was led to the slaughter.
For the sake of His Sorrowful Passion, Have Mercy on us and on the whole world. AMEN
