Last week I had to miss out on my trip to the abortion mill. My husband needed me home that day as he prepared for his trip to Guatemala. I was crushed that I couldn’t be there. And even more so when the updates started coming in…

“41 cars and at least 41 babies here to be murdered today!”

“There are 44 babies at least here today to be killed. There are so many hear that the waiting room cannot hold all the support people and they have overflowed onto the porch. This is an incredibly busy day. “

“very, very busy today and the spiritual warfare was extreme. The final count was 45 cars carrying 45 women.”

All I could think about was how there will be two full sized kindergarten classes in Charlotte that will never meet earth-side.

A fellow counselor then posted a video she took of a mom dancing in the parking lot of the abortion mill with her very young daughter. Dancing to, wait for it, satantic music. Oh the enemy attacked again. Not only was I not there but another family was all plagued with headaches that day. So the number of counselors was low and the number of those dancing and laughing over death was high. Sweet babies who were resting safely within their mothers wombs were severed limb by limb. At least one of them being 18 weeks along. The abortionists pockets were lined thicker. And the counselors hearts have been almost too heavy to bear this week.

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I stepped way out of my comfort zone. Far out. Fear was overpowering me. But why? Why was I so afraid to minister/pray for these mama’s? I’m not bothered if someone hates me or if I get cursed at. I count it joy. I would rather stick up for these little lives and fight for them. Was it that I didn’t want to say the wrong words? That was part of it. Thinking that saying the wrong thing could cause a woman to go ahead with her abortion, that’s a lot of guilt to carry. Or was it the aftermath? Knowing that the enemy was going to attack. That happens every time I’ve stood up for my faith. I get majorly attacked. Life changing attacked.

My day started with nerves. Or rather, it started with borderline nightmares. Nightmares of my children seeing images of aborted babies and being scared and running into my embrace. But I was the one afraid to see those images. When I awoke I saw a book on my nightstand, One Million Arrows by Julie Ferwerda. I hadn’t seen it in quite a while. Someone must have put it there. I picked it up and began reading it. Perfect. Such encouragement on such an emotional day. This section was talking about the 9/11 heroes.

The firefighters of 9/11 are heroes because they have saved the lives of hundreds of people, while they knew the building could collapse. While you go up a burning, 110-story building you would be very scared, because you’ll think of your own life. When you are a firefighter you mustn’t think too much about your own life or you may not be able to save lives. Being a hero means saving lives. That’s the difference between being a celebrity and being a hero. Why would a celebrity be important to you? It is just someone with a well-paying job. You’ll be someone’s hero if you help him with his or her life.

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