A few weeks ago, the state of New York passed a law that declared abortion to be a “woman’s legal right.” A human right. It also allowed medical professionals other than doctors to perform abortions (physician assistants are now able to perform surgical abortions, and midwives and nurses are able to perform non-surgical procedures), which increases the ease and accessibility of getting an abortion. Additionally, it also made it legal to have an abortion up until birth, if the mother’s health was at all endangered. Previous laws in New York required that the mother’s life had to be endangered, in order to have a third trimester abortion.

When I heard about the new law, I immediately began researching it. I looked into the text of the actual law itself. Because I was tired of reactionary, outrage-driven Facebook posts. And I wanted to make sure I had my facts straight before reacting one way or the other.

But the more I read, the more it broke my heart.

And eventually, I just started to weep. And weep. And weep.

Because it’s been a long time since I allowed abortion to break my heart.

Ever since I learned about abortion, years and years ago, it’s been an issue that has broken my heart. I remember hours and entire nights spent crying out on behalf of the unborn, praying for abortion to come to an end, sharing statistics to educate people on the beauty of fetal development. Heck, I even designed shirts to educate people about it, in my first attempt at graphic design.

Back in high school and college, I participated in days of silence, where we would go the entire day in silence, marked by our red LIFE tape, uniting with the silent unborn, who are unable to defend themselves.

On those days of silence, we had a paper full of facts about abortion, and why we were passionate about the issue of life, which we showed to people who asked questions about what we were doing and why we were doing it; it was titled, “Why I Am Silent.”

I’m still silent, but now I’m silent for a very different reason.

I’m silent because I’m afraid.

Because I know that some people might read this post and judge me for it, before they even finish reading the entire thing.

Because if you’re pro-life, you’re accused of being many other things as well:
anti-woman, a one-issue voter, hateful, the kind of person who yells at women walking into abortion clinics, ignorant & uneducated, someone who supports people when they’re inside the womb… but ceases to care about them the moment they’re born.

Hopefully, if you know me at all, you know that none of those things are true about me.

But as our political system and culture continue to polarize, each side continues to cling to the idea that their beliefs are TRUTH, and anyone who disagrees with them is morally wrong. And as the shouting matches on either side become louder and louder, it becomes more and more difficult for the people who don’t fit into either side.

And so, little by little, we become silent.

My voice is a casualty in this culture war. A casualty of the loss of civil public discourse.

So, as I sat there, weeping, I asked God, “God, what I do with this? What do I do with this pain? What do I do with the fact that my heart breaks over abortion?”

And He simply replied, “You have a voice.”

And when I responded, “God, I’m so scared,”
He simply replied, “I know. But who made man’s mouth?”

I’ve had enough of silence.
I don’t know why, but God has given me a voice that has power. And that means I have a responsibility to use that gift.

Here’s the thing:
The caravans full of asylum seekers at the US/Mexico border are human beings, made in the image of God. So are refugees. So are men and women of every race and ethnicity. So are the men, women, and children stuck in forced labor and/or human trafficking situations. So are children in the foster care system. So are people with physical and/or mental disabilities. So is every single human being on the planet.

So are pregnant women, regardless of whether they’ve had an abortion, have considered one, have given their babies up for adoption, or have chosen to keep them.

But so are the children inside of them.

They too are human beings, intricately made in the image of God.

And as I sat there and wept, I wept over this question:
How can I so loudly declare my love and support for all of the other people groups I just listed, but be completely silent over the plight of the most vulnerable human beings on the planet?

Why?

Because, in my generation, it’s socially acceptable to be vocal about the people groups I listed above. It’s not as socially acceptable to be vocal against abortion.

I can’t be so vocal about all of these other things, and yet be so silent about the most vulnerable lives being lost today: children who aren’t even able to speak up for themselves.

I know that it’s a complex issue. I know that the solution involves an increase in fostering and adoption. It involves supporting single and teen moms. It involves elevating the value of all human beings. It involves education about fetal development and postpartum care: teaching the value of life to people throughout the world, and teaching women to love their bodies & the way that God created them. It involves seeking solutions to the socioeconomic conditions that lead many women to abort. It involves improving the education of women and girls all around the world, and valuing women: speaking dignity and worth into them, especially in cultures where they are treated as second class citizens. It involves fighting against the violence, rape, and abuse that so many women have endured. It involves loving and walking beside women who are post-abortive.

I know incredible, God-fearing women and men who are passionately doing every single one of those things, because they are passionately pro-life.

But even as I support ministries that cover all of these different, important areas of ministry…
I’m still going to weep over abortion.

Because I think that God’s heart weeps over it.

I believe that the same God who heard the blood of Abel crying out to Him from the ground, who heard the cries of enslaved Hebrews in Egypt, who hears the cries of the oppressed, abused, and downtrodden all over the world, hears the cry of every baby ripped from the womb.

I believe that He weeps over babies being torn from life, before they even have a chance to take their first breath.

I believe He weeps over the way we parade around and celebrate a woman’s rights over her own body, while dismissing the rights of the child inside of her.

I believe He weeps over the difficult choice that many women and men have to make, and the pain and heartache that often comes after an abortion.

I believe He weeps, because He knows every single child intimately. Because He weaves every single person together, inside the womb. Tenderly. With love.

And so… I will continue to weep over it.

But I will no longer be silent about it.