Many days on my drive in to work, I see an older gentleman standing solemnly planted on the sidewalk with his head bowed. He has both hands wrapped around a wooden walking stick and a strand of wooden beads dangling from them. His body is facing a large brick building.
That building is also one of our county’s abortion clinics.
I may be wrong, but I think that man is praying as he stands on that place on the sidewalk every day. Rain, snow, or shine. Week day or weekend. He’s there–praying.
As I zoom by to work, I imagine that he’s praying for the mothers who venture into that clinic to remove the life of an unborn and unwanted baby.
Perhaps this man prays that they’ll have a change of heart.
I also imagine that he prays for all of those babies whose lives ended so early.
Perhaps, he also prays for the doctors, nurses, and medical staff who work there–day in and day out. He prays for those who perform the medical procedures involved in the act of abortion.
Suddenly, my heart drops to my feet.
Then, I find myself joining his heart in prayer.
This man who prays . . . he’s there almost every day. But, even on the days when he’s not there as I drive by, with the reminder of his earnestness, I still pray for those mothers, babies, and medical personnel.
When I lived in Minnesota while interning and while I was in my 7th and 8th month of pregnancy, we became members of a church where one of my favorite contemporary authors and theologians was the senior pastor.