When My Son Crashed a Pro-Abortion Rally in Auburn

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My son recently visited Auburn, Alabama—a nearby college town—to stay with some friends. On a whim, they decided to swing by a pro-abortion rally. But before I tell you what happened, a little backstory is in order.

About a month prior, my son had visited these same friends when they first noticed the daily presence of pro-abortion ralliers in town, and decided to engage. My son’s friend—we’ll call him Dave—was the ringleader of sorts. He approached one of the ralliers, a man holding a sign, and politely asked a few questions.

Over the following weeks, Dave and his friends continued returning, not to provoke or protest, but to have calm, civil conversations. They were consistently respectful and courteous.

They were so courteous and polite, in fact, that the ralliers had no choice but to call the police. The police showed up, took in the situation, smiled, and told Dave and his friends they weren’t doing anything wrong.

This kind of gaslighting is familiar to many in the pro-life movement. Countless kind, pro-life activists are falsely labeled as threats. Peaceful protestors and even grandmothers have faced heavy fines, legal charges, and jail time.

On this more recent visit, my son Sam (we’ll call him Sam because that’s his name) returned with Dave to the rally. This time, they encountered a woman with bright pink hair holding a large LGBTQIA+ sign.

Once again, the boys were courteous. Dave even praised her for standing up for what she believes in. She responded by saying she believes everyone—gay, straight, trans, or otherwise—has worth and value.

Dave agreed. Then he gently took the conversation a step further: “Doesn’t the baby in the womb also have value?” he asked.

Her response was immediate. No. That argument has no merit whatsoever. They are completely different cases.

Then something extraordinary happened.

At one point, Dave mentioned the name of Jesus Christ. The woman’s reaction was immediate and visceral. As soon as he said the name Christ, she began vomiting—right there on the sidewalk. She couldn’t stop. She staggered toward the bushes, still vomiting, and all the while she was yelling, screaming, and cussing at the boys with wild intensity.

Love and tolerance personified.

I’m guessing it’s not exactly easy to yell and curse while actively throwing up, but she pulled it off.

Eventually, Sam and Dave were asked—more accurately, demanded—to leave. They were labeled the instigators. The troublemakers. The ones disturbing the peace of these innocent rally-goers.

But before leaving, the boys paused on the sidewalk and prayed for the pink-haired woman, for her heart, and for healing.

Stories like this aren’t uncommon. But let’s be clear: what’s happening here isn’t new. It’s ancient. It’s as old as the Garden itself.

When we rebel against God’s natural order—when we deny the sanctity of life and reject our Creator—we don’t just lose our way. We lose our humanity. Bit by bit, day by day, we become less human… and more like beasts.

The literary critic Northrop Frye once observed that the first thing God did after Adam and Eve fell was to clothe them in animal skins. This was for more than modesty. It creates a picture of what we become when we walk away from God—animals. ¹

Coming Up

On a personal note: you may have noticed I’ve missed a couple of posts recently. The truth is, I hit burnout. Ever since starting my graduate degree four years ago, and completing it, I have never really slowed down. I’ve been writing professionally, keeping this blog going, and recently, I finished three drafts of my novel in the past six months alone.

I love writing. Like, I really love writing. But I wish I had some of my husband‘s super chill Zen vibes. I tend to write like I have a gun pointed at my head. I reached a point recently where I literally couldn’t write anymore.

My body seemed to take note. It caught up to my exhaustion, and then I promptly got sick. Nothing serious, but enough to make me realize: it’s time for a pause.

So, I’ve decided to take a light sabbatical over the summer. I’ll still post occasionally, but not as often as usual. I need this time to rest, reflect, and refocus. I still haven’t completed my identity series, so I hope to circle back to that in the coming months.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for caring about stories and the role of the imagination in our Christian walk. And thank you for giving me the space to rest.

More to come—just not quite as quickly.

1. I don’t have the exact Frye quote, but Angelina Stanford referenced it in this class.