Being the child of a pro-love activist, part of a family on a mission to pray together for an abortion doctor by name, Isaac had long been brainstorming possible solutions to abortion in his own heart and mind. He really wanted to find a way to convince the Doctor to stop choosing abortion.
At the end of those rusty rectangles, the old blue tile shone white. It was the one place on the floor that the color was entirely gone. I caught my breathe as I considered the one man who had literally worn off the floor by standing there so many times, terminating tiny hearts. I thought of the violence inflicted on thousands of wombs, pried opened there. These were the marks left by the same doctor whose name was written on my bookmark, the one I prayed for by name! His entire career and most of his life had already been spent, dedicated to this work.
We were all once small as a spark, weak and brand new. Through no choice of our own we came into existence in a womb. We were all carried by our mothers. At that time, I wondered many things about my baby. Was this the brother Isaac had prayed for? Or another daughter? And if this were a son, could he possibly be that young man I saw in an unforgettable dream?