American Holocaust

What feelings does today’s anniversary stir up in you?  Sadness?  Anger?  Satisfaction?  Boredom?

To be honest, for half my life it bored me.  Mostly because, as a single man, it wasn’t exactly on my radar.  And also because our culture has a “pro-choice” tilt to it, when it even bothers to shine a light at the abortion dilemma.  Just check to see if your nightly news station of choice has more than a perfunctory mention of the large-scale marches in Washington today.  Pope John Paul II did not call ours a “culture of death” for no reason.

In my mid-twenties I had a strong conversion – really, a re-version – back to my Catholic faith.  It followed directly on the heels of cleaning up my act hedonism-wise and reading through the Bible, cover-to-cover, February to April of 1992.  Afterwards, the abortion problem in this country began to disturb me.  Still, though, aside from changing my voting to Republican (I know, I know …), I did nothing about it because it did not really affect me.

This sharply changed sometime in the spring of 2004.

I saw, on a sonogram printout, the spine of my walnut-sized daughter, growing in my wife’s womb.

Then it hit me like it never had before.  This is a life.  A human life.  And abortion is not only wrong, it is an evil, repugnant crime. 

Since then, whenever we’ve had a few spare coins, we’ve donated to pro-life causes.  A microscopic drop in a vast sea, but every little bit helps.  The wife and I make sure our children are raised pro-life, and each January 22 I look forward to the day, a few years in the future, I can take my oldest (and soon after, our youngest), and attend the March for Life down in DC in person.

May God bring an end to this shameful blot on this country.