For as long as I can remember Christmas was always a magical time of year in the Ryan household. It was the highlight of my childhood in fact. But that’s not why I celebrate Christmas.

Lot’s of warm “fuzzies” and peaceful feelings. Truly wonderful things. But that’s not why I celebrate it.

Our generally stark childhood home was transformed into an indoor wonderland. It was beautiful: complete with “stockings hung from the chimney with care”, But that’s not why.

The excitement of a winters night with my dad picking out the tree. And then firmly planting it right in the middle of our living room(!). It still warms my heart to think about it. Fond memories (I can smell the evergreen in the air), but that’s not why I celebrate Christmas.

Cookies, cookies and more cookies! Anyone who knows me knows I love sweets.  But not that much.

My somewhat(?) stoic father was transformed into a little kid right before our eyes. Worth the price of admission but that’s not it either.

The musicals that I loved to watch on TV busted out right on our own front lawn! It was the one time I was the center of attention for the right reason (the carolers somehow always knew we were celebrating MY birthday too). But that’s not why I celebrate.

The eight of us seemed to get along better than the other eleven months of the year. Close, very close… but that’s not why I celebrate Christmas.

In fact, even I was well behaved that time of year. It may have been the reason my parents celebrated Christmas, but not me.

Then there was Christmas morning! Wow! Gifts as far as you could see. It was breathtaking. I can still make out the glow from the Christmas tree as I snuck down the stairs to peek around the corner to make sure it was “safe” (that was my job). One year I jumped the gun so much that I saw Santa’s shadow, raced back to my room and dove under the covers, convinced that I had blown Christmas for everyone. Cherished memories to be sure, but not that either.

And people in general seemed a bit more tolerant and appreciative of one another. Complete strangers wishing one another a Merry Christmas! A truly wonderful thing but still not the reason.

Peace on earth and good will to all! How can that not be the reason? But even as awesome as that is, and it truly is, it’s not why I celebrate.

I celebrate Christmas because God so loved the world that He came among us first as an unborn child. He chose the humblest of beginnings. Born in the backwoods town of Bethlehem. The King of Kings born, not in a palace but in a stable.  That we might have everlasting life.

I celebrate Christmas not because of MY childhood but because of HIS.

Merry Christmas.

Christmas in Washington.

In 7 1/2 hours, less than 4 days before we celebrate the birth of the unborn Jesus, I will be on the sidewalks of Planned Barrenhood pleading with mothers, fathers and grandparents for the lives of their unborn progeny. Pinch me. This can’t really be happening. Can it?

To top it off, replaying on TV before me is “Christmas in Washington” with the most pro-abortion President in history front and center.

Somehow managing to celebrate abortion and Christmas.

At the same time!

Though at the 11 minute mark there has yet to be even a mention of the Christ Child.

What goes on in such a mind? And make no mistake about it, President Obama and Michelle have lots of company. In our own families and churches in fact.

But keep in mind, in the midst of the unprecedented (at that time) Holocaust in WWII: Germany celebrated Christmas.

I kid you not.

Churches were full.

Somehow they managed to celebrate that Holocaust and Christmas at the same time .

In some areas the boxcars came so close to the churches that the “believers” (in what I’m not sure) had to sing louder, lest they be distracted. And that’s exactly what they did: “there’s none so blind that will not….(hear)”?

BTW we’re at the 33 minute mark of the show and still NO mention of the Christ Child. None, Notta. Zilch. Not even in song.

Maybe they figured out that they can’t sing loud enough to drown out the vacuum suction machines of Washington.

Exactly Who/what was Christ before He was born?

Was he only Jesus the moment He crowned?

Took His first breath?

Were the Angel Gabriel, Mary, Elizabeth, Joseph, and John the Baptist all wrong?

Ah, there it is, at the 40 minute mark, singing “Christ the Savior is born”. Smiles all around. No hint whatsoever of any impropriety.

And tomorrow morning, if the past is any predictor, the abortionists will have their own “Christmas” party. Complete with gifts.

Breaking bread in one room while on the other side of the wall children, made in the image and likeness of the still unborn Christ Child are being dismembered, beheaded and otherwise killed.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Celebrating Christmas and abortion at the same time.

In the same place.

Like our President.

And many in our families and Churches.

At Christmas Mass no less.

Hard to believe we could celebrate the birth of the unborn Jesus and not mention His unborn brothers threatened by abortionists. But few (no?) preacher will dare make mention. Perhaps on Saturday when we remember Herod’s Slaughter of the Innocents? Don’t hold your breath.

It’s the 56 minute mark and the President speaks- invoking the Christ Child no less.

Celebrating Christmas and abortion in the same breath with a rousing rendition of “Hark the Herald Angels Sing”.

More smiles.

No goose bumps.But sure will raise the hair on the back of your head.

It’s a week since Theresa was turned away from aborting her child as a result of the combined effort of the Body of Christ who were PRESENT for her that day.

Today an SUV pulled to the entrance with a family inside. As the previous week, Mary was able to briefly speak to a couple as they stopped and rolled down their windows.

And once again the Thrive Mobil medical center was parked across the street. Others stood on the sidewalk praying.

The family parked at the fence just in front of the back alley of the mill.

Out stepped a young teenage couple- a very tall male and a very short female who covered her head with a jacket. The driver appeared older and Hispanic as did what appeared to be her husband alongside. We surmised they were the teen’s parents (Missouri has a parental consent law). The parents lagged far behind the youths who seemed in a hurry to get inside. Sensing that Spanish would better impact these grandparents, but not knowing any, I reverted to the next best thing: “Our Lady of Guadalupe has not given up on you. She will intercede with her Son for you!”

Prior to this statement there was no indication that anyone in the family was listening to my entreaties, but as soon as I mentioned Our Lady, the grandmother of the unborn child stopped, looked over at me and then put her head down and slowly continued inside.

I wondered aloud if there was anyone in our informal group who spoke Spanish. Then it dawned on me, Lisa was on the corner praying the Rosary with a group. Two years before, on Mothers Day weekend, Lisa used her language skills to reach a Hispanic family that came 210 miles from Springfield MO for an abortion. Her Spanish helped us save that child that day. Perhaps today as well? I explained the situation to Lisa and agreed I would flag her down if/when they came back out.

The family remained inside when it was time for Lisa to go. So she agreed to write a note for the family, conveying in Spanish our offer of help.

Perhaps an hour later the family came back out. It had not been long enough for the baby to have been killed. I slipped down the back alley to the point at the fence just opposite the SUV. I extended my hand through the fence offering the Thrive literature.

The young man turned to me saying “You don’t have to worry she decided not to have the abortion. You don’t need to do your routine.” But he took the literature (minus the note in Spanish which was for grandma).

“Wonderful, are you the father?” I asked. He looked and sounded disappointed and overwhelmed. I looked him in the eye and told him we would help with whatever they needed assuring him they were not alone. I said ” I know you’re overwhelmed right now, but you will never regret letting your baby live.”

The mother of the child still had her head covered with her jacket so I spoke with her mother instead.

“You’re the grandmother then?” and she nodded.

“Congratulations grandma!”

I extended to her the note and she read it intensely. She seemed to tear up as she read. She turned around to her husband and spoke to him in Spanish, as if to convey what was in the note. She told me of her relief at her daughter’s decision but remained concerned. I promised we would pray for her and her family.

We spoke grandparent to grandparent for a few minutes. I reminded her of all the help that was available across the street in the Thrive van. I also reminded her that part of our job as parents is to step in and provide some stability for our children in such situations. Some balance and wisdom. She nodded when I pointed out that to teenagers this seems like the end of THEIR life. She agreed when I said “But we know better. Your grandchild just needs another 6 or 7 months of their life.”

As we talked grandma turned from time to time to speak in Spanish to her husband. “Grandpa?” I asked and she nodded yes. I smiled at him. He remained at a distance but still seemed to focus on our interaction. No one in our little group, including me, seemed comfortable at that terrible place. And with every word, ever inflection a young life hung in the balance.

As she seemed ready to leave I asked for her daughter’s first name so we could pray for her by name. But her daughter declined.

“How about your name (grandma), and we’ll pray for your daughter and grandchild through you.”

“Imelda” she said immediately.

“That was my aunt’s name” I explained, suddenly flooded with emotions from our exchange mixed with a lifetime of memories of my aunt. “So you’re named after St Imelda?!”

She was unsure there was such a saint. But I knew, for my Aunt Imelda gave me a statue of her patron saint for my Confirmation almost 50 years prior. So I assured her there was such a saint. And that we would all be praying for her, her daughter, her grandchild, the father of the baby and the rest of the family. She thanked me and got back into the SUV and drove off.

Truly amazing.

Another child literally minutes from death spared through a team effort. Often we have no idea that we’ve made a difference. But we persist with the understanding that we are called to be faithful. Like the widow and the unjust judge. But it’s sure nice when we get such confirmation!

I was to learn later from Lisa (who wrote the note in Spanish) that she was only there this day because she missed her regular Saturday at the mill and decided to come today instead. That’s what divine providence looks like!

But we must keep Imelda and her family in our prayers. And spread the word far and wide. This couple will undoubtedly incur many difficulties and temptations in the weeks and months to come (as will Theresa whose baby was saved through last weeks intervention).

So as I drove off for the day my thoughts turned to my Aunt Imelda. I was her favorite don’t you know. Or that’s the way she made me feel. I prayed for the repose of her soul. And thanked her once again for being present to me thoughout my life, and right to this very day.

God is good.

At the abortion mill we offer moms and dads (and grandparents for that matter) information on help that’s available as well as facts on abortion.

The “Deathscorts” routinely take that literature away from the parents who accept it from us. All this  while wearing bibs that celebrates “choice”.

Really?

Now how can a mom truly make an informed choice if she doesn’t have all the information?

In fact if the “pro-choice” advocates really support “choice” shouldn’t they be the ones handing out information on all the resources available to moms?

For that matter if they really wanted to make sure moms are able to make an “informed choice” why aren’t they the ones showing the graphic pictures of what an abortionist does to an unborn child?

After all that’s the “choice” called abortion. It’s done to the child.

It is the child the abortionist dismembers, poisons and/or otherwise kills.

The abortionist doesn’t do an ultrasound of the mom to figure out how old she is before deciding how to proceed.

It’s not (usually) the mom whose heart is stilled by the abortionist.

Or whose body has to be reassembled by the nurse.

And besides,pro-lifers are sickened and profoundly offended by what an abortionist does to an unborn child. Why is it left to us to show the horrible reality of abortion?

It would seem to make more sense for those who embrace that “choice” to be holding the graphic signs showing what an abortionist does to a human being. My guess is there would be far fewer “pro-choice” people if they had to actually see what that “choice” actually looks like. Away from the safety (for them) of their respective ivory towers and/or rationalizations.

In the end it shows the utmost disrespect and distrust of women to censor the information available to them. To not trust moms with all the information, so they can make the informed “choice” Deathscorts would claim they support.

Deathscorts, wearing a baby’s bib emblazoned with the lie “pro-choice” while doing everything they can to prevent moms, dads and grandparents from being fully informed, so babies die.

It’s beyond the pale.

We have to end this madness.

Enough!

You hear and see some brutal things on the front lines of the abortion holocaust. If you’ve been there you know what I mean. It can be chilling. Case in point from yesterday.

“So where’s your God now?” yelled out a not-so-proud papa on his way out of the mill today.

Only minutes before his child had been dismembered, decapitated, and otherwise brutalized by an abortionist.

He seemed to have no idea what a fool he was.

His comment brought to mind a talk I attended by Scott Hahn several years ago. Scott told the parable of a man who decided he was going to break the law of gravity.

He did so by climbing to the top of a tall building and jumping off.

Of course he didn’t break the law of gravity.

But the law of gravity sure broke him!

This foolhardy father thought he had defeated God today.

His comment brought to mind some commentators on Massachusetts homosexual “marriage” law who observed shortly after it took effect that even God had no problem with it since no one was “struck by lightning.”

Please pray for this father as well as the mother of his now deceased child, that he seeks God’s forgiveness for subjecting his own flesh and blood to the violence of an abortionist. And that he will do so before his murderous actions break him….Eternally!

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2013

It’s the Saturday before Thanksgiving at the only free standing abortion mill in Missouri. There’s that word again…mill. I wonder out loud why, if what an abortionist does to an unborn child is such a good thing- and so many parents have lost their children to abortionists in this country- is it likely that when we all gather at table on Thursday, no one will pray a prayer of thanksgiving for the abortion committed against their child?

For that matter why don’t we have “Happy Abortion Day” parties? Why do we discriminate against this “choice”? A “choice” so “sacred” that a majority of Albuquerque’s voters just went to the polls to ensure they remain the late term abortion capitol of the world. And yet even in Albuquerque it’s a sure bet that no one will give thanks (save the abortionists and Presidential Medal of Freedom (for some) recipient Gloria Steinem) for this “choice” on Thanksgiving.

We would be hard pressed, even as we enter a FIFTH decade of Roe and Doe, to find such celebrations. Not even in NY where over half of unborn human beings are victimized by this “choice.”?

If abortion is simply one of two “legitimate choices” why do we EXPECT to see ultrasound pictures of one “choice” on Facebook but would immediately defriend anyone who would post images of the other “choice” on social media? Which brings to mind one of the true ironies when it comes to parents at abortion mills: baby’s first (and last) picture is an ultrasound taken by their child’s assassin to better target his victim. Most choose not to view the picture, much less display it on the mantle.

So why no social norms for celebrating this “fundamental human right?” After all there are plenty of possibilities.

In fact we could use the same song we’ve been singing for birthdays for generations. Most fitting since the events being commemorated are simply opposite sides of the same coin. Just insert “abortion-choice” for “birth-day” and you’ve got it. Imagine a room full of adults and children (the survivors that is) singing that tune we’ve all known since ……birth(?).

Likewise fitting would be the lighting of a candle each year on the anniversary of that “choice”. Although in this case forever it would be just one ONE candle. And when it comes to blowing out that candle it would be the parents doing the honors on behalf of their child, perhaps with the help of those who aided and abetted or even coerced them into the act being celebrated. An act recognizing the life which was extinguished.

And why not dads proudly giving out cigars while beaming and bragging about their aborted boy, wondering aloud if he was the “spittin’ image of the old man?”

How is it that as a society we celebrate such “choice” but at the same time seem to instinctively know that we are not to celebrate THE “choice?” Where are the sociologists when we need them?

I’ve yet to get a good explanation for this at the mill from parents, Deathscorts, nor even the occasional drive by abortion promoter. Not one.

So today began with all these thoughts racing thru my head as I sought inspiration for the words of counsel to offer parents at the mill. Some lied, like the father who indicated abortion was not his purpose there. They were just there to “see someone”. Others were belligerent. But most were about tuning out the words of help. Rushing head long into death and despair.

Make no mistake about it, the poor are not clamoring for abortion. Anyone who has done sidewalk counseling at an abortion mill will tell you we stand a far greater chance of getting thru to an obviously poor person (often arriving via city bus) than the parents who arrive in the BMW’s, SUVs, Cadillacs, etc. In fact there’s almost an inverse relationship between parent’s receptivity to our offers and their apparent socioeconomic status.

Today was to be no different. The Beamer’s rushed in, showed little sign of receptivity to our message of hope only to be seen a couple of hours later shuffling back out in obvious discomfort with a violated and now barren womb. It was to be a poor mother with her young teen daughter (arriving by bus) who were to accept our message of hope this bitterly cold day.

As usual it was a team effort. Led by the Holy Spirit. Mary Maschmeimer met the young mother who arrived with her own mother (Missouri has a parental consent law) at the gates of Hell where Mary had but a few moments to connect with them.

It’s only a month before Christmas but this mom, the age of Mary when the Angel Gabriel brought news of the unborn Christ, confirmed she was here to abort her child. Only minutes from the scheduled execution they went inside.

Later I spotted the mother and daughter exiting the mill. They slipped thru the gathering of activists at the gate almost unnoticed. I walked alongside as they approached the nearby corner. I offered them help. The mother looked to be perhaps 15. I pointed to the Thrive Mobile Medical Center across the street as a refuge. While they did not respond, they did cross the street and turn towards the Thrive van. I held my breath silently praying and urging them on as the ever faithful group of 20 somethings stood before me keeping their weekly Rosary vigil.

Instead of entering the van, they stopped at the nearby bus shelter. Time was short. I ran across the street to reach them one last time before the bus arrived. I pleaded with them to go in the van and get out of the cold, assuring them I would give them a ride home. They declined my offer, but what came next was a wonderful affirmation of the often frustrating work we do. “She came for an abortion today but changed her mind.” Praise God. “Then you’re the baby’s grandmother?!” “Yes.” She smiled. “Congratulations grandma!” I again offered help. Grandma took the Thrive card for contact. “There’s our bus.” As they turned I asked “Did we make a difference today?” Without hesitation she turned to me “Oh yes you did!” And one last request, May I know your daughter’s first name so we can pray for her? “Theresa”. “The Little Flower” I exclaimed as they turned for the bus.

I crossed back to the mill to continue my efforts I made it a point to let the others know of the life they had helped save and to ask their prayers for Theresa, her child and family.

So there you have it. Theresa’s child saved thru the combined efforts of the Body Of Christ PRESENT in our brokenness to be God’s instruments: Mary’s first contact; the Rosary brigade; sidewalk picketers; Evangelicals’ prayerful witness; others carrying signs; a couple who come regularly to silently pray; and of course the ever present Thrive oasis of Life. Together we had made a difference. And at least one more family will be celebrating birthdays the way they were meant to be celebrated- cumulatively. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Little Flower. Happy birthday to you.

Of course we learned how to celebrate Christmas from Scripture.

Heck John the Baptist was celebrating it when he and his Cousin were yet unborn.

We learned to sing carols from the choir of Angels who praised His Birthday in Heavenly song.

The shepherds taught us to not celebrate from afar, nor should we celebrate alone.

The Wise men started the tradition of traveling long distances to celebrate Christmas (and I might add the unique tradition, which did not catch on, of men asking for directions!).

The Wise Men also started the tradition of celebrating the Christ child’s birth by bringing presents.

AND THEY WERE PAGANS! Should Mary and Joseph have refused their gifts as unclean? Or ,unclean though they were, were they perhaps somehow sanctified by the presence of Our Lord? Made uncommon. Dare I say holy!

And if it’s good enough for Jesus, why isn’t it good enough for us?

Of course it is Christ who makes our celebration of His birth holy. That is why we are seeking to put Christ back into Christmas. Once again wrestle it back from the pagans as the early Church did.

It is Jesus who makes the profane holy!

As to my buddy Linus. When He answered Charlie Brown, Linus didn’t quote Ezechial. Instead he put Christ back into Christmas.

Where He belongs.

God bless.

This year, “Christian Unity Week” coincides with the commemoration of the 41st anniversary of the carnage unleashed by Roe and Doe. It brought to mind an exchange with Chet Gallager, a brother Christian who is on the front lines of the abortion holocaust. Chet is also a hero of mine for reasons that follow.

Our Facebook exchange about “Christmas” brought to my mind some thoughts about Christian Unity aka, ecumenism,  and how it has impacted the effort to end the injustice of what abortionists do to children.

Chet stimulated an exchange by asking:

“WHAT DOES THIS SCRIPTURE MEAN AND…IS IT “FOR TODAY”?
Eze 22:26 “Her priests have done violence to my law and have profaned my holy things. They have made no distinction between the holy and the common, neither have they taught the difference between the unclean and the clean, and they have disregarded my Sabbaths, so that I am profaned among them.”

What ensued was a lively exchange among pro-life activists that included arguments that celebrating Christmas was not scriptural.

I weighed in with the following observations.

Chet, re your original question. Sounds to me like SOME priests went off the deep end. We still have that problem today. Priests and ministers are human.

They sin.

Heck, last time I checked, the sidewalk at abortion mills aren’t exactly overflowing with priests and ministers.

But it would be silly to suggest that somehow says anything about ALL priests and ministers. Or that those of us who choose to celebrate the birth of Christ are somehow doing something God hates.

As to sola scriptural. There would be no scripture to be sola to, had not the Catholic Church finally sat down and decided what writings were truly inspired by God to constitute Scripture (that was way back in the fourth century).

And besides, on whose authority does one decide the meaning of Scripture?

I expect Christ knew what He was doing when He gave that authority (the Keys and power to loose and bind) to Peter and thru him to the Apostles.

And if anyone doubts Jesus’ wisdom in this regard, just take a look at the 35,000 (and growing) different Christian denominations. Every one of them reading the same (or self-modified) Scriptures, and often coming up with different interpretations to the point that some actually use Scriptures to justify the child sacrifice we call abortion!

And make no mistake about it, that division is a scandal!

The abortionists used it as a wedge to hold Protestants at bay, while they set about spreading the bloodbath of abortion like the great flood.

All they had to say, and they said it at every opportunity, was that abortion was a “Catholic” issue. And their ploy was reinforced by the general failure of Protestants to join the fight. It was heartbreaking for us to see our brothers in Christ shun our efforts.

But what were Catholics to do? We knew abortion was a basic human rights battle, an affront to our Creator. So we couldn’t walk away just to make it LOOK like it wasn’t a Catholic issue. And besides we couldn’t abandon the children in danger of abortion on any given day. So we continued to “rescue those being dragged to the slaughter.” And remained hopeful that the rest of the church would soon join us.

Chet it was decades before our non-Catholic brothers and sisters in Christ started to show up in any kind of numbers. And what a welcome relief it was when they did! And everyone was the better for it.

It was and is the best of the Ecumenical movement. Not some kind of artificial kumbia milk toast moment. But Christians on the front lines, shoulder to shoulder, rolling up our sleeves and standing in the breach. We did not ask one another to water down our respective faiths to create some kind of common ground. We came together in obedience to our Creator and ended up on the common ground of the front lines of the abortion holocaust. And I truly believe we are the better for it. As is the church.

That’s not to say that doesn’t create some awkward(?) moments, such as this exchange about Christmas and priests and the like. After all we are still a divided church. But we are also a powerful force, inspired and guided by a Holy Spirit Who persists in guiding even a divided church so even in our brokenness we can still do God’s work. What an awesome God we have.

When Chet arrived to the movement it was literally like the Calvary had arrived. He acted in the greatest tradition of his profession. Arriving at that abortion mill in full police uniform, parking your police motorcycle, walking past your brother officers right up to the rescuers, not to arrest them BUT TO JOIN THEM! He spoke of his responsibility as a PEACE officer to  rescue those in danger. I still get goose bumps when I think of that moment. And most importantly he knew Who to obey when God’s law and man’s law came in conflict with one another.

Looking for Christian unity? Come to the front lines of the battle to end abortion one child at a time, and you’ll see Christians united in their efforts to “rescue those being dragged to the slaughter.”

I did a little research on the origin of the national holiday we call Thanksgiving. Of course we’re all familiar with the story of the first Thanksgiving with the Pilgrims and the Indians. Shame on me but I long ago forgot that this celebration only became a national holiday when Abraham Lincoln proclaimed it as such during the Civil War.

Interestingly enough, he took time out from preparing the Gettysburg Address to issue that Proclamation.

The country was awash in the blood of countless Americans from that terrible conflict. My own Missouri was said to be a “neutral” state then. Odd to think one could be “neutral” about such a clear-cut issue as the horror of slavery. And yet we were. I guess you could say we “were personally opposed, but….”

At first blush it may seem trivial to compare our bloodiest conflict (over 600,000 Americans were killed) to our world today, but I think not.

My extended family, after sending some pretty nasty messages during the run up to the last election, just sent out the requisite Thanksgiving e-mail (who’s bringing what dish). This year it included the recommendation that we check religion and politics at the door. I kindly replied that asking me to leave “religion” at the door was like asking be to leave my soul at the door- no can do. My faith is a part of everything I do. At least it’s supposed to be. I do not check it at the doorway of the Church (as the President’s HHS Mandate calls me to do) as it is through that portal that I am to “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”.

At any rate this will be an interesting Thanksgiving/Christmas for the Ryan’s (and I suspect plenty of other Catholics). We will split our time between our union family whose “non-negotiable” is the IBEW/Democrat Party and my “social justice” family who conveniently do not include the plight of unborn children as a “social justice” concern and whose self-proclaimed and re-elected spokesperson is Joe Biden. I love them all. They are my family. But I have to wonder how that first national holiday went for our fellow Missourians. Did they have such an agreement? We know from history that even as they broke bread, some of their family members were fighting for the Union while others were giving their lives for the Confederacy. Imagine the tension in that household!

There are plenty of parallels between the Civil War and our own war on the unborn, though in sheer scope even the Civil War pales in comparison to the carnage abortionists have unleashed on this nation.

Abortionists have taken the lives of almost a HUNDRED times the number of Americans who succumbed in the Civil War.

And this bloodbath is continuing.

I often remind my PSR class that many of their peers are missing, as at least 20 percent did not survive the abortion holocaust. I wonder how many of my family (our family) members will be missing from the Thanksgiving table having succumbed to the abortionists curette? God rest their souls.

Slavery divided this nation in a way that only abortion has since. Those who would claim to be neutral betray the victims of these injustices and indeed betray our country. For we cannot be a truly free nation while we are waging a war on the most innocent of Americans, any more than we could be a free nation on the backs of slaves. Lincoln knew that. And he knew that it is a false “peace” that suggests we just agree to disagree for the sake of harmony, while such a war is being waged.

It is a faux “neutrality” that claims the non-existent middle ground, as if we can sit on the hillside with our parasols as did citizens at the battle of Bull Run, relegating ourselves to mere spectators of this most violent conflict.

Some have said, considering the scope and divisiveness of abortion, that they hope that it does not also require a civil war to resolve. But it already is a civil war, with well over 57 million killed. And there have been countless tens of millions of other casualties, including: mothers and fathers who had their children killed; parents who brought their daughters to have their own grandchildren killed; “friends” who agreed to be the “designated driver”; and even the abortionists’ staff who ushered the mothers in before they could change their minds.

Dare I add family harmony as a further casualty, as we break bread with our loved ones, many of whom just re-elected the most pro-abortion President in history?

In the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln asked whether a “nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal….can long endure.” That question hangs in the balance today as never before in the history of our country. Whether it endures will be determined by what we who would claim to support such Liberty are willing to DO to maintain it. Do we choose harmony, comfort, and our own personal “nonnegotiables” or do “we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom— and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

I have apologized more than once to my children for what a terrible job my generation (and I certainly include myself in that mix) did in addressing the social injustice of abortion. We knew better. But were not willing to pay the price. Now I am apologizing to my grandchildren for the same failure.

Clearly our country will only long endure if choose to live by the witness of St. Thomas Moore whose last recorded words at the executioners blade were: ”I am the King’s good servant – but God’s first.”

Whose servant will we be?