Tip the Bucket

My youngest daughter has now reached double digits in age. But her coming was a surprise to us.

We already had four children, and they were finally all in grade school. When this new baby came, I would be almost 42. And my husband is 11 years older than I. We could so easily be grandparents in another scenario.

I shared the breaking news with Ross by printing Psalm 92 and coloring verse 14 with a big, bright highlighter:

“Even in old age they will still produce fruit…”

He got the point.

As we gradually adjusted to the idea, some, of course, made comments. One person remarked to my mother, “I’m so proud of Margaret for keeping that baby.”

Well, of course I was going to keep that baby. Abortion wasn’t an option. But I had to admit that from an outsider’s perspective, I could check some boxes under “crisis pregnancy” if I wanted to.

And maybe somehow in the spiritual realm, that added an extra sparkle to my drop in the bucket one day.

Le-Un came to Florida from China as an internet bride to a man attending our church. A rough and challenging scenario on so many levels. The short marriage was already on the rocks when she found out she was pregnant. She planned an abortion against the dad’s wishes.

A mutual friend phoned us one Saturday morning in concern. Le-Un had left for the abortion clinic. Would we be willing to meet his family outside the clinic to pray for her and this baby?

We joined several other church friends on the sidewalk of Ocala’s only abortion facility. Le-Un sat on the ground outside the front door, waiting for them to open. Oblivious to the busy traffic behind us, we stood beside a faithful contingent from the Catholic church who had stationed themselves on this sidewalk for years and years.

No one was there to shame Le-Un. Silent prayers ascended for her and a baby literally sitting on death’s doorstep.

I remembered hearing the words of Mother Teresa reported from a National Prayer Breakfast speech on what to do with the unwanted unborn: “Please don’t kill the child. I want the child. Please give me the child.”

And I knew what I needed to do.

Briefly I explained to my husband the action I felt so compelled to take. Good man that he is, he rolled with it.

I lifted my 15-month-old out of his arms and carried her on my hip to the front door, where I sat down on the ground next to Le-Un.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

She accepted my familiar face and presence and smiled at Bryn.

“Le-Un, there’s something I want to tell you. I will take your baby. Instead of aborting this child, you can give her to me. I will raise her in my family.”

A woman opened the door and spoke brusquely to me, “You’re not allowed to be here.”

Interesting. Until that point I hadn’t even considered myself there as a “protester.” I had genuinely come as a concerned friend.

“Oh, I’m Le-Un’s friend. I just wanted to talk to her.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re not allowed on this property, and if you don’t leave now I’ll call the police.”

I touched Le-Un’s arm and tenderly assured her one last time, “I really will.” Then I gathered up my daughter and walked across the parking lot, while Le-Un was escorted inside.

“Please, God, show Your power here. Do something significant.”

She didn’t have the abortion that day. But we heard that she went through with it later, as well as ending the marriage. I never saw either of them again. And my part was over.

That piece of land, however, had a happier ending.

Not too long after, Ocala’s only abortion center closed its doors permanently. I have no idea what happened. Within five years, a local ministry had purchased the property and opened a free clinic that is today providing medical, dental, and mental health care for homeless and low-income folks in our community.

How redemptive of our God! He doesn’t just take things out of negative numbers; He moves them into the positive. Land used as a place of death didn’t just become a carwash. It became a place giving life and help and hope to people in need.

My part was small. I am not trying to overstate my involvement in closing an abortion clinic. What a long-awaited answer to prayer they received who stood for two decades on the sidewalk. What hours have been faithfully invested by awesome crisis pregnancy counselors in this town. What life-long, loving commitment has been made by families who adopted children.

My part was one tiny drop in the bucket. An obedient, come-what-may, all-in drop. Small. All I had in the moment.

But we never know when our one drop is added to a bucket that has been filling for a long time. And just maybe we only need a few more drops to break through. One more prayer. One more step of obedience. One more movement of compassion, in whatever field you live, and “suddenly” victory comes. Add yourself to the overflow, wherever you are called to stand. Tip the bucket.