One day a war protester stopped by at Planned Parenthood and tried to start something.
I dug right in. I probably failed to communicate eloquently. She mentioned 8,000 people dying in Irag in the past year. I told her that 4,000 Americans died of abortion yesterday.
After that things just escalated into a yelling tyrade. I vaguely heard Glen tell me to be quiet, and I shamefully found my bulldog teeth sunk in too far to let go. She asked why we are here; why do we care about these unwanted babies; why don't we care about the innocent Iraqi civilians who are dying in an unjust war?
Too many words and too much volume.
What I would really love to do is to get really close to this woman, with forearms touching, look her in the eye and communicate the difference between that Iraqi civilian man, woman or child who is dying of the war, however unjust or unwarranted; and the 10 or 20 unborn children who were dying on College avenue that very day as we spoke, and those who will die tomorrow.
The difference is that the man could run or defend himself. The woman could plead for her life or hide. The child could scream or cry out for help. The baby in his mother's arms, or abandoned in the corner of an alley, could cry pitifully. Maybe none of these things would save their lives, for long; but maybe death would be delayed, or mercy realized.
The children dying on College Avenue in Bloomington Indiana can do none of those things.