If you are on this site, you probably know my story. I participated in an ultrasound guided abortion, where I was holding the ultrasound probe. I watched a baby struggle for its life during the abortion. That’s why I do what I do now.
After the abortion was over, I stood there in shock…almost numb. Then I looked down at my hands. There they were. One on the probe…one resting on the woman’s belly…the place where life once was.
A startling reality hit me. My hands had helped to kill thousands of children. These nicely manicured hands were responsible for the loss of life. My hands suddenly seemed disgusting…like they needed to be separated from me. But they couldn’t be. This was me. I was this person. These hands that held my most precious possession in the world the minute after she was delivered from my womb had robbed that moment from countless other women. These were the same hands that held my baby close when she cried. The same hands that that held on to hers when she was learning to walk. Were these really the same hands holding on to this ultrasound probe? Yes, they were.
I always notice people’s hands. People will say, “I look at their eyes, or their smile.” But for me, I always notice someone’s hands. My mother plays the piano. She has beautiful hands…piano hands. I see pianos and I think about how much joy I receive everytime I hear her play…and I immediately remember her hands. My dad’s hands aren’t beautiful. I guess that’s the way it should be. He has the hands of devotion. He has scars on his hands from hard work…some he can recall, some he can not. He has a permanent indention on his ring finger from the thick, gold wedding band he exchanged with my mother 34 years ago. His hands are callused, and never moisturized, but practically turn into cotton balls when he holds my daughter. But my mom’s hands have not just just played the piano, and my dad’s hands are not always hard at work. Their hands have dried many of my tears, bandaged many of my cuts, scratched many of my itches, and held me tight when I needed love and encouragement. I think of their hands and I am reminded of the love I have been given over the years.
For thousands of women, my hands will bring back hurtful memories. My hands have done terrible things. But then I am reminded of something beautiful. We are told in Scripture that we are “the hands and feet of Christ.” No one has more beautiful hands than Christ. And His hands are now mine…if I accept His challenge. Christ didn’t give us His hands and feet so we could tuck them away. We are to show others how beautiful Christ is…and He is in us.
I choose to use my hands to work in the pro-life movement. I choose to stand up to Christ by standing up for the sanctity of human life. I try to do it everyday. I want to come home with my hands dirty from the work of the Lord.
I don’t know how you are using the hands God has given you. But, I believe there is no better place than the pro-life movement to use them. There are many good things to do with your hands, but most of them don’t save the lives of God’s children. I believe someone is waiting for each of us to extend our hand to them and share the message of life. Do that today. Get involved. Don’t wait. Don’t let the hands we have been given go to waste.
LifeNews.com Note: Abby Johnson worked at Planned Parenthood’s Bryan, Texas, clinic for eight years and was clinic director for more than two years. She is author of “Unplanned: The Dramatic True Story of a Former Planned Parenthood Leader’s Eye-Opening Journey Across the Life Line.” Abby now blogs at LifeNews.com as a contributing blogger.