By the grace of God, whether I’m in DC for the March for Life or not, I march everyday.
From the moment I was subjected to a saline infusion abortion that was forced upon my birthmother and I was meant to be scalded to death in the womb, I marched.
During the five days in the womb that I was subjected to that toxic salt solution, I marched.
On the fifth day of the abortion procedure, when my birthmother’s premature labor with me was induced and I was delivered, meant to be a successful abortion, a deceased child, I marched.
When it was demanded that I be left at the hospital to die after it was realized the abortion had failed to end my life, I marched.
When the doctors believed that I would likely not live for very long because of the severity of health problems I was facing after I survived, I marched.
When the doctors gave the prognosis that if I did live, I would suffer from multiple disabilities, I marched.
You see, my very existence is a march. A March of life. A March for Life.
Each day that I am alive, I have the distinct opportunity to be an example of not just what a failed abortion looks like, not just what the consequences of abortion are, but I have the opportunity to lend my voice, my actions, my very life to demand that others be given this right.
I was not given the right to life. God willed my right to life when it was being taken by man and by the laws of Roe v. Wade and Doe v. Bolton.
And so, no matter what the date on the calendar is, I march.
As I lend my voice to Pregnancy Resource Centers to assist them in raising funds for their organizations and reaching out to people in need both facing unexpected pregnancies and those who have been impacted by abortion, I march.
As I testify before Congress or engage in political advocacy, I march.
As I work with abortion survivors around the world, connecting them with support and services, I march.
As I educate the public about the realities of failed abortion and abortion’s impact on not only women and children, but men, families, and communities, I march.
As I come into contact with men and women, those who are responsible for abortion decisions and discuss love, forgiveness, and healing, I march.
As I am blessed to have contact with my biological family and bring the truth about my survival into their lives, I march.
As I raise our daughters to know the truth about abortion and its’ impact on their lives, I march.
As I pray for lives to be saved from abortion, for lives to be transformed after abortion, and those within the abortion industry and politics to be converted, I march.
Yet I know that I have never marched alone.
God has led the March of my life. And along the way, so many have marched along:
The nurses who fought for me after I first survived.
The doctors and nurses who provided me great medical care and loved me.
My mom and dad (my adoptive parents) who loved me into life and my extended family who has lived and supported me throughout my life.
All those who prayed for a life to be spared from an abortion (many of whom I’ve been blessed to meet who prayed outside the very hospital where I survived during the very same period of time that I survived).
This winter storm may have prevented many from coming to DC this year for the March, (myself included–I will be heading straight to Austin, Texas for their March), but I want to remind you that the March for Life, while it is an important part of our pro-life movement, and an energizing part at that, it is simply a small part of our march.
Day in and day out, just as I have marched for life and others have joined me in this March, I know that you have been marching, too. And I encourage you to keep up that March. Whether you ever attend a March for Life in DC, it is each of our daily marches that I will believe will make the greatest impact on life.