the street

This past Saturday, I returned to clinic escorting. I’m not going to lie, it was hard. Even before I put on my vest, I had to figure out if I was ready to go back and possibly risk catching Covid because half of the protestors do not wear masks, believe in masks, or believe in 6 feet social distancing. Also, was I ready to go back with a smaller team but with a larger more emboldened group of protestors?

Obviously, all the answers to my questions were yes because this tiny strip of sidewalk is a battleground. And anyone who walks down it deserves the ability to do so safely. If I can help them feel protected, I will do it any day.

This past Saturday started relatively normally. I woke up, rolled out of bed, got my coffee and bagel and waited on the steps of our new meeting location. But that’s where normal pretty much ended.

What had started out as a team of 3 ended up being a team of 2. Luckily, my street partner is a seasoned veteran whom I can trust to keep his cool. We put on our K-n95 masks, our plastic face shields, our bright pink vests and went off into the growing swarm.

Immediately, they started spewing their hate and nonsense. It still shocks me how hateful they are in the name of Jesus. I know. I shouldn’t be shocked anymore but I think the 4 month hiatus I took made me forget how nasty they are.

“God hates you. Repent now.”

“You are a murderer.”

“You are doing the work of the devil.”

Imagine hearing this screamed at you over and over as you try to walk past them.

Maybe you’re trying to get into your OB appointment, maybe you’re trying to confirm a pregnancy, maybe you’re trying to see if your pregnancy is viable, maybe you are trying receive treatment for something, or maybe you are going in for an abortion. It doesn’t matter why you are coming to our clinic, no one deserves to have people getting in your private business.

Imagine that you are vulnerable, trying to keep it together, and a group of “men and women of God” start screaming at you that you are going to hell and there’s nothing that can be done for you if you go inside.

Imagine coming out after your appointment and hearing the same thing. But now, they call you a murderer, no better than Hitler.

If I was not already firm in my faith, if I did not firmly believe in the healing redemptive love of Christ, I wouldn’t want to be part of this group of “Christians”. If this group was the only or the loudest voices I heard screaming about Christ, I would walk away.

I believe that faith is personal. I believe that no one can tell you what your relationship with your (G)od(s) should be.

If I had any interest in engaging the protestors, I would ask them why they believe our God is so vengeful. I would ask them to explain to me why they don’t believe in forgiveness and healing.

I would ask them them why they don’t believe that our God would be holding these patients as they go through this season of their lives. I would want to know why their God is so quick to condemn people to am eternity in Hell.

After our miscarriages, I took time off from escorting. I couldn’t trust myself to not want to fight the protestors. But during one of my first Saturdays back, I heard someone say this for the first time:

“Miscarriages are punishment from God for the wicked hearts of the mother. And if you pray and repent, the miscarriage will stop.”

I couldn’t believe it. First, science. Second, I couldn’t believe that this group of Christians, standing in front of a women’s ob/gyn office, was asserting that God uses miscarriages as punishment for wicked women.

The world blames so many things on the way women act and behave and to hear someone say that our God was doing the same, left me stunned. Luckily, because I’m a professional, I cursed her out in my mind but kept my poker face.

The God I love is better than the world, better than societies expectations of us.

If He isn’t, what’s the point?

I don’t have all the answers. I didn’t go to seminary, I can’t recite the Bible from memory. But the one thing I am 100% certain about is that my God loves me and when we were going through our hardest seasons, He was there with me and not turning His back on me.

”I've heard a thousand stories of what they think you're like
But I've heard the tender whispers of love in the dead of night
And you tell me that you're pleased
And that I'm never alone

You're a good good father
It's who you are
it's who you are
it's who you are
And I'm loved by you
It's who I am
it's who I am
it's who I am”
(Good Good Father, Christ Tomlin)