Some years ago, I was in a fight for my life. There were people who wanted to kill me. Not because I had done them any wrong. Not even because of my race, color, gender, or religion. But they wanted to kill me just the same.
At the time, I was completely defenseless. I had no voice. I was unable to fight to defend myself or even to cry for help or plead my innocence. I was completely at the mercy of others.
There was an army of people who fought for me. There were the preacher and his wife who pleaded for my life and found a home for me. There was a couple, several states away, who prepared to take me in. There was my birth mother, who chose to suffer the inconvenience, pain, and humiliation of a full-term pregnancy and child-birth rather than to give in to the doctors and those in her circle who encouraged her to get rid of me.
Unbeknownst to me at that tender age, there were prayer warriors and lawyers working around the country to protect children like me.
My life was saved. I was born on January 3, 1973, in a state where abortion was legal. Less than 3 weeks later, on January 22, 1973, abortion was made legal across the country.
Others have not been so fortunate. The lives of hundreds of living, breathing babies are taken every day.
And so, 46 years later, we continue to pray, and to march, and to fight. There is a war going on, and the victims are defenseless.
Be a voice for a child like me.
Some years ago, I was in a fight for my life. There were people who wanted to kill me. Not because I had done them any wrong. Not even because of my race, color, gender, or religion. But they wanted to kill me just the same.
