Anyway, with the 40th anniversary of Roe v. Wade on the horizon, the uptick in coverage on the abortion debate is fast reaching a fever pitch. Maybe not in the main stream media - but on Catholic blogs and the usual places I go for information - it's a big topic and this is good and bad. It's good that abortion is being talked about. It's fantastic that even Time Magazine is claiming the tide is turning.
However, because I've recognized and have admitted that I'm not as strong as I think I am, I have to be careful of how much information I seek out. Since I'm 95% anonymous with my story, I have two Facebook identities, two twitter handles, two blogs and never the twain shall meet - at least not until I'm ready or someone finds me out. But, I can easily just not log on to my fervent, traditional leaning, Bible reading, wannabe Catechism scholar, uber-Catholic persona for a while and take a break from all the prolife stuff. Just the other evening as I was scrolling through my "other" Twitter feed, some of the biggest prolife voices out there cause me to shudder with their words. I want to call them up on the telephone (a novel idea) and ask them if they ever think of the postabortive women and men who may be reading their words? I know there is a time a place for graphic photographs and graphic language, but sometimes there is a place where it's not necessary. Those kind of words and pictures definitely had something to do with me suffering in silence for so very long. I just don't think you can preach the mercy of Jesus in one breath (or Tweet) and in the next talk about how women are murdering their children by the thousands at Planned Parenthood Killing Facilities. You just made your Tweet about our merciful Lord completely obsolete, I want to tell them. We don't need the "m" word always - we all know what it is. The postabortive people out here who, if felt moved to become, as JPII has said, the "most eloquent defenders of everyone's right to life," don't need the constant reminders of what happened to their baby. Trust me, I know what happened. There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about it.
I get the argument that people won't fight against abortion until they really know what abortion is - but really - in this day and age do people really not know what abortion is? And, the extreme left prochoice, proabortion at all costs person up to the 11th hour (or 9th month), is, I'm afraid, never going to care no matter what you show them. I think the drastic approach is hurting too many postabortive women and men than it is converting prochoice people. But, I could be wrong. Who am I to know for sure?
Just for some kicks I posted my blog on a prochoice Facebook page about a week ago. Let's call it a lesson in self punishment and a test of my Catholic apologetics skills. Epic fail. I have zero skills. Those people are cra-zy. I'm not kidding. I'm not sure there is anything that would change some of their minds. The venom they spewed at me was just plain evil - evil enough that it was starting to make me doubt myself - so I had to give up on my experiment to live to fight another day. Who did I think I was even trying? Sometimes I don't know who I am at all. Sometimes I spend so much time flipping back and forth between me-then and me-now that I'm completely lost altogether.
Then, as things usually do, or as He usually does, things begin to happen right under my nose to remind me just who I am, who I really am. Who I really want to be. That real person is somewhere in between my two personas on Facebook and Twitter. That person is the woman who knows she is loved by God, and when she needs a reminder of that love she goes and gets one STAT. That person speaks out about her beliefs and tells the story to back them up with unabashed courage. That person cries at the first couple notes of a choir singing, or upon entering her beloved Church where He dwells. That person lives in her present, blessed life, but still remembers and sometimes grieves for the one who is not here. That person sees the scars from her 2 C-sections and is grateful for being able to carry two children to term at all. That person is able to give, and more importantly, is learning to receive the love that has been heaped upon her in spite of herself. That person looks upon her ridiculously handsome, caring, loving husband, and is able to forget those who came before who left pain and heartache and damage. That person goes to the abortion clinic and stands with tears behind her sunglasses and prays for those inside.
Wait...I guess I kind of, am, already that person? Sort of? I'm getting there. I just wish I could be all of those things 100%, but instead I feel stuck being what I am presently, torn. When I'm really second guessing all that is, was, should have been, and could be, I'll feel Him speaking to me through something I read, a reading at Mass, sometimes in a song. And then, I remember I am..
... the one who He shines His light on
... the one who He recognizes by name
....the one who He would love so gently
... the one He speaks to so softly
I'm whatever He wills for me to be right now, at this moment, and nothing more.