Authors: Abby Johnson,Cindy Lambert
Tags: #Non-Fiction, #Inspirational, #Biography, #Religion
The story came out in a rush, a flood. I babbled on for a few minutes. Karen cried with me. Heather looked horrified and heartbroken. Bobby looked at me with a mystified expression, part empathy and compassion, part suspicion and distrust. They all three moved in closer, leaned toward me, and listened as I spewed out the bottled-up thoughts and feelings that had been simmering for years, mounting over the past months, and exploding over the past week.
“Shawn just pulled up,” Karen said after about five minutes.
A strange sense of relief surged through me. I even managed to laugh a little through my tears. “Well, maybe you’d better go brief him. If he sees me sitting here, he may have a heart attack.” All four of us laughed nervously.
“Do you want him to know you’re here? Do you want him to come in?” Karen asked, standing.
Did I? I realized that, yes, I wanted him to be a part of this. For eight years we’d been kind of like captains of opposing teams, both on this journey, facing off through the fence. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”
Shawn had gone straight to his office. Karen told me later that when she said, “Abby’s in here, Shawn—I think you need to come,” his jaw had clenched. Perhaps he expected to hear that a volunteer had done something stupid and that Abby was on the warpath.
“Why is she here?” he asked.
“She says she saw an ultrasound-guided abortion,” Karen explained. “She’s telling us she wants out of Planned Parenthood.”
“Abby? And she wants
me
in there? What do you think—will I help or hurt?” He was already following Karen out of his office, but clearly he was trying to process the absurdity of what he’d just heard. “Okay, yeah. I’ll talk to her.”
I heard him coming behind Karen.
I’ll never forget it. Shawn stepped into the doorway, looked at me, paused, then slowly leaned against the doorframe as if he were casual, relaxed. He smiled, tilted his head, just taking me in. Here I was on his turf, undone, my puffy face with smeared makeup, a pile of tissues on my lap, his team huddled around me. I could feel him sizing up the situation.
“Tough Monday?” he asked, grinning.
And just like that, the reassurance of his open, hopeful, grinning face made me relax. I laughed, even as fresh tears began pouring down my face.
“You could say that.” I grinned back at him, exhaling, laughing, crying. I looked around me at the three volunteers I’d been opposing through the fence all this time. And then back at Shawn, my counterpart across the fence.
I felt my tension melt.
“Yeah. You could say that.”
Chapter Fifteen
Open Arms
Shawn was grinning ear to ear. He stepped out of the room and came back with a chair, joining our circle. He looked around the room, and we all looked back. He could see that Karen had been crying, that Heather was overcome with emotion, and that Bobby was mystified, cautious, maybe suspicious, but hopeful, too—Bobby with his open face.
“So what’s going on, Abby?”
I was reassured by Shawn’s presence. These other three were so young, so new to the movement. Not that I was that much older—they were in their early twenties, and I was closing in on thirty. But Shawn was about my age, and I’d considered him my peer on the other side of the fence. I thought about the two of us starting as volunteers within a month of each other, and now we were both leaders in our movements. Neither of us would have dreamed of this scenario. The others had been caught up in my emotion that afternoon. But Shawn seemed calm, self-controlled. It was soothing to have his steady presence in the room.
He listened. I talked. And talked and talked and talked. I described the ultrasound-guided abortion, every detail, and he kept his steady eyes glued on mine. My guilt, my new understanding of Planned Parenthood’s real priorities, how I felt duped and used. The pressure I’d felt to increase revenue and abortion numbers. My tensions with Cheryl, my love for the work I’d been doing, my disgust over the huge Planned Parenthood center being built in Houston, which might eventually provide abortions all the way up to twenty-four weeks. My fears about losing my income, about my career and future. My attempts at job hunting. My concerns that I’d never be able to get another job in conservative, pro-life Texas with “abortionist” tattooed on my forehead.
“But I still believe in birth control,” I announced, as if someone had challenged me on it. They hadn’t, but for some reason it was important to me to say it. “We’ve got to help women avoid unwanted pregnancies. That’s critical to reducing the number of abortions!” I announced it like I was stumping for election.
“Hey, we’re not trying to convert you,” Bobby replied. I realized he wasn’t sure I was sincere. He looked guarded, like maybe I wasn’t for real. I couldn’t blame him. I thought of all the accusations and tensions we’d shared across the fence for so long. The media statements I’d issued accusing them of harassment, painting a picture of them victimizing my workers and clients. Why should he believe me? I wouldn’t if I were him!
Then I realized it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to believe me. None of this was about what they believed. I hadn’t come to convince them of anything. I’d come because I’d had to. Because I’d wanted out. Because I finally knew I was on the wrong side when it came to really helping women in crisis. Because God had called me to come. It was as simple, as unplanned, as spontaneous, and quite frankly, as crazy as that. I didn’t have the slightest idea what was to come next. I hadn’t decided I was now pro-life. I hadn’t come to join their movement. I only knew that I had to come here.
Someone asked what got me involved to begin with and I told them my story. It was cathartic. The more I talked, the better I felt, so I kept talking. I unloaded thoughts and feelings that stretched over my entire eight years at Planned Parenthood. I found myself spilling out thoughts and feelings I’d been afraid to admit even to myself or to Doug. Every now and then, Shawn or one of the others asked a question or slowed me down to try to make sense of my torrent of words, but for the most part, they just listened.
And then my cell phone beeped. Suddenly fear hit the room.
Shawn looked at his watch. “How long have you been here?” he said. “Do they know where you are? Were they expecting you someplace?” He looked alarmed, as did the others.
I pulled my phone out of my purse. It was Doug.
“Hey, Doug. You are never going to believe where I am.” I sounded happy! I could actually hear it in my own voice. It was the weirdest thing.
His answer blew me away. “At the Coalition,” he answered with barely a moment’s hesitation.
“What! How did you know? How could you possibly guess that?” I held the phone away from my face and just looked at it a moment in disbelief.
“I don’t know. It’s just that, with all the conversations we’ve had and all that’s been going on, I just thought that maybe one day you’d reach out to them.”
Doug, my naive (or so I’d thought) optimist. He’d known.
Heather asked, “What’d he say? How’d he know?”
“He says he just kinda figured that one day I’d reach out to y’all. How could he possibly know that?”
“I always knew I liked Doug,” Heather quipped. Knowing she’d never even met him, we all laughed. We laughed like old friends. It felt good.
“So what’s next?” Doug asked. I could hear his voice trying to break through our laughter.
“I . . . well . . . I don’t know yet,” I answered. And I didn’t.
“I left the office. I’m sure they just think I went out to lunch. Oh my gosh, lunch! I was supposed to have lunch with Megan. I’ll call you back.”
I had tons of text messages and began reading them. They were from Megan and a few other girls at the office.
“R U OK?”
“R U coming back?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What R U doing?”
“R we having lunch?”
They went on and on.
“They want to know where I am,” I said. “Am I still coming for lunch? Am I okay?”
“How long have you been gone?” Shawn asked again.
“Over an hour,” I replied. I couldn’t believe it had been that long.
“Won’t that make them suspicious? Abby, do you need protection? Do they know you came here?”
Karen looked anxiously toward the back door and windows. Bobby got up and looked out a window.
I could imagine what was going through their minds. Had someone seen me come? Had they called the police? The Coalition for Life was about two weeks into the 40 Days for Life campaign. Would my situation become a media circus? Was someone going to come bursting in, accusations flying?
Bobby looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get to the fence. I’ve got someone scheduled for sidewalk training. I’ll let y’all know if I see anything suspicious.” He got up, then said, “Abby, I don’t know if this is appropriate or not, but can I give you a hug?” I stood up, and he gave me a warm embrace, then left.
“No one knows I’m here,” I said to the others. “They’d never understand. I need to leave soon and have lunch with Megan.”
“Abby, we can help you find a job,” Shawn said. “We’ve always told you we were here to help. We’ll help you or anyone at the clinic who wants to leave. We’re going to help you get out. We mean that.”
“Are you serious?” I asked. “You’d really help me?”
“Right away. I’ll start making calls today.”
“Dr. Robinson,” Heather said.
“Right,” Shawn answered, “we’ve got someone you just have to meet. Dr. Haywood Robinson. Over at the Med. I know he’ll help. He’d love to. He’s been right where you are.”
I knew of Dr. Robinson. He and his wife had once been prominent abortionists. Then they’d had a dramatic conversion. They had left their abortion practice years before and had become outspoken pro-lifers. He was an influential man in the Texas pro-life movement and served as a physician at the local College Station medical center, known as the Med.
“Can I call him, Abby? Will you agree to meet with him tomorrow? I know he’ll make time for you. Can I call him today?” Shawn sounded like a kid begging for a trip to the candy store.
I was stunned at how quickly the tables were turning. I’d come here a blithering, emotional mess, literally running away from Planned Parenthood into the camp of “the enemy,” and now they were offering to begin a job hunt for me, today. They were embracing me as a friend. Offering to help. And, I realized, I truly
needed
their help. I’d crossed the border. There was no going back, except to extract myself. I had no idea what was next, but Shawn, who now seemed like my big brother, protector, and advocate, was already forging a new path for me.
“Yes. I’ll meet with him. And yes, I do need help finding a job. We depend on my income. I can’t stay at Planned Parenthood—I know that now. But I can’t leave, either, without a job. If you think you can help, I’m ready.”
Shawn surprised me with his next comment. “Abby, how about if we pray for you. Could we do that?” And before I knew it their heads were bowed and Shawn was pouring out his heart to God, thanking Him for the work He’d been doing in my heart, praying for me and Doug and Grace, asking God to give me wisdom and truth and insight.
I felt the presence of God—felt the connection I’d been longing for over the past few years. I knew I was in the presence of Almighty God, and once again the tears flowed—more deep, cleansing tears. But they were not tears of grief and remorse this time. They were tears of relief, of awe. They took turns praying for me. I’d never experienced such an outpouring of personal, dynamic prayer. By the time the prayer ended, I was sure I’d gone through nearly the entire box of tissues.
“Okay. You get back over there. Go to lunch. Lie low. I’ll call Haywood and make some other calls. Don’t worry, Abby. You’re not alone in this. We’re here for you.”
I believed them.
They really had been here for me all along, just like they’d been saying through the fence for eight years.
I quickly texted Megan, “I’m coming back. OK.” Then I went into their restroom to try to fix my face. I really was a mess. But I got myself together. They gave me a little tour of the house. The front room was very welcoming and homey. It had green walls and a dark wood floor, comfy chairs and off to the side an old but charming cherry desk, like a receptionist’s desk. Behind the desk was an entrance to a large conference room, which they ushered me into. There on the wall was a huge banner with a gigantic photo of a baby inside the womb, his eyes closed, his little hand near his mouth, and next to him in large letters “beingHuman.” I recognized it as the promotion poster for the
beingHUMAN
documentary Shawn had taped at my old church, and I remembered how he’d protected my identity from my pastor when he could have outed me.
Clearly this was the headquarters room, with a huge whiteboard covering an entire wall, filled with the schedule for all the volunteers walking the fence for the 40 Days for Life campaign. So many names. I was in the enemy camp for sure, and the photo of the baby resonated within my heart, reassuring me that this was, indeed, the right side of the war.
The small but comfy kitchen led to the small counseling room we’d been in, and a hallway led to what had been designed as two bedrooms, but were now two offices—one Shawn’s, the other a shared common office.
They all gathered around me in the hallway and hugged me. Karen wrote down her personal cell number and pressed it into my hand. “Call me if you need anything, anytime.” It was a huge step of personal trust, and I knew it. I caught Heather’s expression of surprise, followed by a huge affirming smile.
Then Shawn led me out the back door. It was almost comical—he was looking in all directions like a secret agent, peering around the corner of the house, making sure no one was watching for me to come out. It would have seemed silly, except that we both knew that our war came with death threats and extremists on both sides. We were aware that many people would feel suspicion and alarm if they spotted me leaving Coalition for Life’s headquarters. I climbed into my car. They were waving good-bye. I waved back and made a left, followed by three more lefts, and pulled back into the Planned Parenthood lot. All the way around a big block when only one hundred steps, if that many, would have taken me door-to-door.