As Linda picked up the phone, she heard: “This is Betti. I just thought that you should Know Mitzy is aborting her baby.” Betti was matter-of-fact. No hysterics. Life had dealt her so much that she was one of those NBD people. (No big Deal). Standing at the parsonage kitchen, Linda began to think about how Betti had left her husband fifteen years ago after she and her daughters had escaped sexualy and physical abuse. Betti had walked with God just about fifteen (15) years now. Though she worked with children in children’s church, had a great, loving, easy going husband, and a strong faith, she continued to deal with past issues. Her oldest daughter had four children by the time she was seventeen. Linda remembered going to court with Betti and her daughters where the judge returned Mitzy and her older sister to their father in their pre-teen years. Though the court had evidence in black and white they gave Mitzy’s father another chance to abuse her. Though earnest prayer had gone up on Mitzy’s behalf, the court did not make the right and Godly decision. “What hospital is she at?” Linda heard herself saying. As she grabbed her coat and hurriedly flew to the hospital she was hoping that she could convince Mitzy that there are adoption agencies, other options. Linda arrived at Mitzy’s room. The sun was shining through the hospital window. Reaching the threshold, the nurse was leaving with a needle in her hand. As she passed through the doorway, she looked at Linda with a look of disgust. Linda felt defensive; “The nurse is the one who so coldly administered the shot in a society that condones murder of the innocents.” Linda felt anger. What kind of father would set his daughter up for this? What kind of man so selfishly used Mitzy? Linda’s own feelings of personal inadequacy surfaced, followed only by compassion for Mitzy. Just as Jesus had compassion on a prostitute, Linda stepped inside the room, crossing the threshold of convenient Chrsitianity. Standing there at that moment, a decision was made. No, what would God have her to DO? Mitzy’s back was turned toward Linda, her face to the afternoon sun. No one would know that she had been there—been a part of this—this murder. The abortion is in process, what could anyone do now any way? Linda thought—and prayed. No longer standing in the threshold, fighting with her own conscience, Linda silently prayed, “Oh God.” “OHHHHHHHHHHHHH” my god” Mitzy cried out in pain. This was Linda’s invitation. Mitzy needed mercy. Linda walked over to her bedside. The sunshine was still slimmering through the windows from over Lake Michigan-it seemed surreal Linda held the wordly-wise, tough girls’s hand. “It hurts a lot” Mitzy spoke. Linda spoke tenderly, “I will pray for mercy.” Linda wasn’t referring only to the pain, but to her soul. It was not a time to preach. Mitzy had been in church enough to know about God’s love, but she hadn’t experienced it yet, someone had to be Jesus for her at that moment. Linda continued to pray silently: “Never in all my dreams would I have guessed that I would hold the hand of a murderer. But, God, in spite of my preconceived churchianity, today, help me to administer your love right now so that there is something to build the post-abortion counseling on later. I know you don’t intervene in live uninvited, LORD but if you could stop the effects of that shot, it would be great.” Linda left the hospital that day, frustrated that the resources were not readily available for this young woman. She had needed counseling, job training, someone to mentor her in parenting, a clean apartment and enough income to move forward. A couple of years later, Linda was having a garage sale in preparation for a move to a new church (parsonage). It was a warm but pleasant northern Michigan day. Mitzy walked in, with two little ones hanging onto her legs. It looked like she had one on the way. Mitzy purchased some baby clothers. She said good-bye with tears in her eyes. “Thanks for being there for me.” She said. “The kids and I aren’t going to Sunday School yet, but we will.” As Linda watched Mitzy pull out of the driveway, she prayed for her, for the little ones. “God Bless those little ones, give them husbands that are Christians some day. Give them a Daddy to love them. Don’t let one more generation pass before they have a stable Christian family. Bless Betti’s descendants to a thousand generations. God I want to see more miracles. I want to see the church move forward in VICTORY. Forgive our sin and heal our land. Heal our homes. Heal broken people, men and women. Open the eyes of Christian businessmen, bankers, and churches to see things as you seen them.”

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