why we march

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love." Mother Teresa  

This Thursday is the March for Life here in Washington, D.C. 

I've had trouble writing this post, because I knew that I wouldn't be able to do it quickly while entertaining Mollie and maybe cooking dinner with my free hand (which is how a lot of my posts get written...which should come as no surprise). Instead, I'd need to sit down when the house was quiet. I'd need to gather my thoughts. And most of all, I'd need to let myself be sad.

I don't like letting myself be sad.

I'm no robot, but it's so much easier to try to stay unemotional. I used to cry at the drop of a hat (or a commercial), but as things have happened over the years that have truly demanded tears - wrung every last one out of me and then asked for more the next day - it's made me want to protect myself from it whenever I can. But that hardening (while hopefully understandable) isn't laudable. That's not what we're meant to do as humans. For the sadness is so often tied to love, and we should never harden ourselves against that.

But when I look at the abortion crisis in our country, that's exactly what I see. I see a culture that has hardened itself against not only pain and sadness, but also love. The language used for the pro-choice argument is scientific and unemotional. Planned Parenthood is a business, and business-like in carrying out its work. There's no reason for a mother to feel guilt, nor affection towards her unborn baby. No reason to feel anything.

When I think of this, I can't help but remember my own experience with our first baby. When I went into labor with Joseph at only 17 weeks, we were desperate to try to continue the pregnancy somehow. The doctors exerted all of their skill to that end, and spoke lovingly about the baby they were trying to save. When it became clear that we would lose him, everyone mourned. The man who rode in the back of the ambulance with me prayed with tears in his eyes. The nurse who held me while I got the epidural cried with me. The doctor who delivered Joseph gently told us, "He's perfect," and made sure that we had time to hold him. Our boy was so loved, even by strangers, and even in sadness.

It's so hard to type this, but at 17 weeks, our darling son was within the legal limits for abortion. The only difference in his situation was that he was wanted. Countless babies exactly his age have died without being loved or mourned. Their mothers and fathers have been told that they shouldn't grieve, that the anniversary of their child's death shouldn't mean anything to them year after year, that the sight of a newborn shouldn't stop them in their tracks with physical pain.

This desensitization isn't natural - and it surely isn't a "natural right." Parents' natural love for their children should be encouraged, supported, and celebrated. If they need help caring for their children, it should be our honor and privilege to aid in any way possible. And we should be devastated by the death of so many defenseless millions. We should lean in to the sadness, and let it spur us to action: to march; to help; to protect; to love.

St. Joseph comforting baby Jesus