March for Life Charlotte 2014

It was about two years ago that John finally asked what abortion was and why we "pray to save babies . . . save them from what?" That was a conversation so painful and his questions so specific and intense that I don't think I wrote about it on this blog. I'd forgotten that the next child coming up in age would soon have questions, so I was caught off guard earlier this week when Mary (newly 5) read our calendar and asked, "What is the March for Life?"

I answered without thinking, "You know, when we go march and pray to save babies."

Well, the series of questions began, so with a lump in my throat, I began answering her as she deserved. She asked indignantly, "Well, why don't the mommies and daddies stop those people from killing their babies?!"

That is one of those moments when a parent has to decide whether to answer truthfully (not that I think there is ever occasion to lie) and, if truthfully, to what degree. Silence hung in the air until I answered her that it is the mommies and daddies, and then I explained about feeling absolutely desperate, not knowing what else to do, and how we have to do everything we can to help. I have learned over the years that the work in the pro-life movement must be done with love--true love in my heart--for all the players, with condemnation being reserved for sinful actions, not people.

The Friday of our local March for Life arrived and I'd taken the day off school for us to attend . . . or, as my husband would put it, this is school and the most important thing we'll do in school for a long time.

The temperatures had warmed up from the cold snap of a few days ago, but it was still pouring rain with a high of only 43. I am a 'glass half empty' kind of person and there was no human part of me that wanted to go march around in the wet and cold with little kids, but the spiritual part of me wanted to do it.

Margaret's cold made her just wretchedly unhappy, so Chris and I decided one parent should keep her at home to nap. So often, because of tiny babies or pregnancy, Chris is the one to represent our family at events, so I really wanted to be the one to go on this march on a year when I actually could. I'm sure my husband didn't relish the idea of sending off his wife in inclement weather to manage children by herself. But I wanted as many children with me as possible because God made us souls and gave us bodies: bodies count, being physically present matters.

I packed up the minivan like we were heading on an excursion: double stroller, blanket, jackets, hats, gloves, ugly, water-resistant hiking boots, ponchos, Ergo, food, and water.

On the way, I gave a pep talk to the children. I told them that we should think of ourselves as soldiers for Christ--not battling against people, but against principalities (Ephesians 6:12)--and that soldiers don't get to pick their battle conditions. Just like two armies coming together, the enemy doesn't call off the battle because the weather is bad. These were the conditions we were facing, so we'd have to be very brave. (Not that there is no limit because, of course, there is: I remember well my tears at realizing I had to be a mother first, protesting citizen second, when we left the 2012 March in Washington D.C. due to weather too cold and too wet for children.)

In the queue before the march began

When we unloaded from the van, it was outright pouring rain, and it would continue to alternate among pouring rain, trickling, and misting for the duration. I bundled Mary and Joseph into the stroller, under blankets and ponchos, and John, clad in poncho, walked alongside me. I brought a huge umbrella, and spent most of the march pushing the 80-pound stroller load with one hand and holding the umbrella with the other.

We passed the Catholic diocesan offices which had many white crosses on the lawn. In response to John inquiring, I explained that each cross symbolized a certain number of the babies killed by abortion daily. He asked if the babies were buried there in the lawn, and I answered that they were not, the crosses were just symbolic, to make us think. Then, the terrible question: "Mama, where are all the babies buried?"

Again, how does one make the truth sound better than it is? Does one proffer the euphemistic term 'medical waste'? I explained that the babies are not buried, they are thrown away like trash. There was silence. Then John told me that was "sad and evil."

Yes.

Listening to speakers at Independence Square, downtown Charlotte

At one point, John inquired about the policemen all along our route. I explained that in our country, we have a constitutional right to gather together and express our opinion, even if it is against the government's opinion. We contact the city, say we want to gather, and they tell us we may, and even provide policemen to make sure the sidewalks stay clear. I said that the policemen will be polite, whether or not they agree with our opinion. Then I got the wonderful opportunity to explain how blessed we are in this country to have these rights, that some other countries do not afford their citizens this right. "In some countries, if people try to gather and march like this, they will be arrested by the government, or even worse."

Two little friends hunkering under our big umbrella

Praying the rosary and the chaplet of divine mercy in front of the courthouse

Our children are not little angels or created robots: they're normal kids. Therefore, my heart was singing that much more that they did not complain one single time during this whole very cold and very wet event. All I had done was give them a pep talk about how important was this event. I felt so many graces from God today. (Here is the coverage by our local Catholic paper.)

Warming up with cocoa and doughnuts at home

We picked up doughnuts and hot cocoa on the drive home to warm up our bones. It was a wonderful end to a successful and peaceful expression of our beliefs in the public square.

Joseph's first bits o' doughnut