It was a Saturday, so there weren't many people out and about on Bank Street like there normally is during the week.
It was quiet.
Uneventful.
I prayed the rosary, each decade focusing on a particular area to target in prayer: the doctors and nurses performing the abortions, the sidewalk counsellors, the women and their families who enter the building, the funding sources, the other viable alternatives….
I slowly paced the sidewalk in prayer, back and forth, back and forth, imagining I was inside the abortion clinic, walking all along its length, praying for angels of light and revelation and truth to come and supplant the nasty hordes that called this place their home.
Suddenly a flurry of frenzied chaos jolted me out of my prayerful reverie, my stomach jumped into my throat. Someone had just thrown a french fry a couple of feet in front of me, and an instantaneous chaotic, feathery mass engulfed the target.
They were just hungry, little birds acting on their natural instincts.... they flew away as I approached...
A little shaken, it occurred to me how important our presence is, here, and at every abortion site in the world... where the darkness, if it could, would swallow up everything and everyone in its path.
Our prayers, our presence, our witness - and God's grace - are the Light in the world.
--Kirsten
Our prayers, our presence, our witness - and God's grace - are the Light in the world.
--Kirsten
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