Truth Against the World
The weekly day of protesting has officially switched to Fridays.
This makes things more interesting, because a couple of other ladies are also out there every Friday morning (except when it's raining), so we join them instead of going solo. In greater numbers the most effective way to march against abortion isn't to march at all; it's to form a line along the sidewalk at the front of the hospital and face the traffic with our signs.
The first time I ever went out to help protest in Windsor, one of the ladies told me to look people in the eye when they drive past. I took her advice, and continue to do so... to use my eyes as well as my sign, to be a silent voice that says "Don't just drive by here and ignore me... don't just ignore what I'm saying." And people respond. Some slow down and read the signs as they go past. Some honk, wave, nod, or shout encouragement. Some swear or flip us off. Many avoid looking at us--yesterday a young couple changed lanes just to be six feet farther away from us. One good man took a head count, drove to Tim Horton's, and returned with coffee.
Last week I stood at the front of the line: facing into the flow of traffic, with nobody between me and the city. Normally when I go out I'm shy and retiring. I avoid talking to people I don't know. I don't like to meet their eyes; I don't like to cause trouble. But every Friday morning I step away from my usual wall of protection and stand as Truth Against the World. Standing against the tide, looking into so many eyes in so many faces. Sometimes the faces break my heart.
I've never realized before how many hard faces there are in this city. How many people wear their walls on their faces, daring life to hurt them again. I've never realized how many young people drive through the streets with a mingled haughtiness and fear in their expression; the trepidation of trying to become someone in a world that's continually trying to cage them. I've never realized how many elderly people look lost. I've never realized before how many people here are different than me: how many are black, how many are Muslim, how many are recently come from Asia. They remind me of others I have known. They remind me to pray.
I pray a lot when I'm out there. I pray for the people driving past. I pray for the city, this entity made up of all these faces and the souls behind them. I pray that Jesus Christ will come and make Himself known here. That He will find the lost; humble the haughty; comfort the wounded; break the hardness and bring joy, holiness, righteousness, peace.
It makes me consider myself a little, too. I realize how little I am. What a small piece of this place, of this world at large, I represent. Yet, at the same time, I represent something far greater. I represent Truth Against the World: Jesus, the Son of God, and every counter-cultural word He ever spoke. I represent His life. My heart is an outpost of His kingdom.
May His kingdom come in glory... may the knowledge of God cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.
posted by Rachel Starr Thomson at 11:58 p.m.
3 Comments:
"Sometimes the faces break my heart."
I know exactly what you mean.
"How many people wear their walls on their faces, daring life to hurt them again."
I used to be one of them.
"I've never realized before how many people here are different than me: how many are black, how many are Muslim, how many are recently come from Asia. They remind me of others I have known. They remind me to pray."
I actually never realized how many were the same despite their outward appearance--the eyes cannot hide fear, pain, loneliness, despair or unfortunately hate.
"I pray a lot when I'm out there. I pray for the people driving past. I pray for the city, this entity made up of all these faces and the souls behind them. I pray that Jesus Christ will come and make Himself known here. That He will find the lost; humble the haughty; comfort the wounded; break the hardness and bring joy, holiness, righteousness, peace."
While out there... I began my first foray into intercessory prayer. A biggie for me, because I consider my prayer skills lacking... but as people approached my table or passed by and our eyes connected, the Lord let me know how and what to pray. (Kinda like your book, Lord Teach Us to Pray... If y'all haven't read it... get it now!)
"It makes me consider myself a little, too. I realize how little I am. What a small piece of this place, of this world at large, I represent."
I had that feeling as well... but as I started to feel overwhelmed, I remembered that I wasn't the only soldier on duty. As my intercessory prayer met with those of others, it would unite as raindrops to water the earth and replenish the parched, dried out desert that this earth has become.
Great post, my sister from another mother!
Your article on protesting abortion shows a needed spiritual undertaking.It requires a lot of zeal to fight for the unborn, but we need with equal zeal to fight the culture that feeds the sin, and look at the plight of the children who are already here hungry homeless, without hope. Ezek 16:44-49 tells us to to strengthen the hand of the poor and the needy.
Awesome! I am encouraged to read this. Sometimes it feels like there just isn't anyone our age out there concerned for the poor babies being killed. Thank you for taking your time and energy to protest this horrible sin. Thank you for putting aside your fear and putting your reputation on the line for this God honoring endeavor. I know how hard it is to do this and am so encouraged by your blogs. Keep up the good work and I will put it on my calendar to pray for you on Fridays. God bless you! Can't wait to see you in June.
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