Free Unplanned: The Dramatic True Story of a Former Planned Parenthood Leader's Eye-Opening Journey Across the Life Line by Abby Johnson, Cindy Lambert

going to every house in the neighborhood.”
    I later learned that the Coalition for Life canvassed 25,000 homes with that same simple request. I was impressed. In fact, as I went to bed that night, I felt a nudge to pray the same prayer myself. But I felt oddly conflicted. On the one hand, I should be happy to pray for an end to abortion. I wanted the number of abortions to decrease, right? But on the other, I didn’t want abortion to end because I wanted women who felt they needed them to continue to be able to get them.
    What would I have done and felt that night if I hadn’t had two abortions myself? I couldn’t imagine. For one thing, I’d have been the mother of two preschoolers, so I certainly wouldn’t have been able to finish school—not if I had to work to support them and pay for housing and day care. What kind of future would I have had? No. I needed those abortions, right? Abortion was a necessary option.
    A few days later, on September 1, the Coalition for Life launched the first-ever 40 Days for Life campaign. None of us—neither the clinic workers nor the pro-life volunteers—could have dreamed what God would set in motion through this campaign. Every hour, day and night, for forty days the Coalition posted volunteers at the fence. Inside the clinic, we peered out and discussed how well organized they were. Clearly this wasn’t the same mismatched group we’d been seeing on abortion days. It was abundantly clear that now they were cooperating with each other. Their numbers had increased too—by a lot! They were working in shifts, with new folks arriving to relieve others like clockwork.
    Many simply stood for their hour and prayed. Some approached the fence, but when they addressed patients, they spoke gently and offered literature or an invitation to come outside the fence to talk—no accusations, no nasty signs, simply a peaceful, prayerful force. And they consistently spoke words of welcome and kindness to us clinic workers. In fact, they were killing us with kindness.
    Camera crews from the media soon showed up. That concerned us greatly because the women who come to a Planned Parenthood clinic don’t want their pictures flashed on the nightly newscast. Even those who weren’t coming for abortions might be coming for gynecological visits, birth control, and annual exams—all very personal, private matters. No one coming to or going from such an appointment would want an audience.
    Some staff members at our clinic and at headquarters in Houston definitely seemed unhappy about the campaign. On the other hand, it presented Planned Parenthood with a fresh opportunity to publicly position itself. The usual Planned Parenthood talking points took on heightened language as if we were under siege, using phrases like “antiabortion protesters converging in demonstrations to harass our volunteers and clients.” The police were called to the clinic a few times, and I was told their presence was needed to “protect” the workers and staff.
    Once the early days of the 40 Days campaign were past and the TV camera crews gone, I was trying to figure out exactly why certain Planned Parenthood staffers felt so threatened by the campaign. I didn’t like the feeling that we were surrounded by a 24/7 campaign either, but after all, it’s not like they were firing guns or bombs at us—they were praying, for goodness’ sake. How could that hurt? But the tension inside the clinic mounted. I was still just a part-time volunteer, so I reasoned that maybe the campaign was stressing the full-time workers in a way I couldn’t quite grasp. After all, forty days and forty nights—those are biblical proportions! That’s a long time to be surrounded nonstop by a large group of people who disagree with you but are so persistently . . . well . . . nice about it. It created an atmosphere I couldn’t quite articulate.
    As the campaign wore on, I tried to understand my mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, as a