Happy Fourth of July.
There’s a great solemnity resting upon my heart as I consider this day. I have been amazed at the blessings coming from our judicial branch. I am overwhelmed by the Dobbs decision—it is much of what I’ve been praying for all my life—but I find I am not jubilant, not excited, not dancing in the streets.
It’s, in a sense, too much for me; it’s like waking from a nightmare. I want to pinch myself and make sure the terror is really over. And in another sense, it is not over, not yet. Abortion is still legal in my country, still legal where I live; the only real change is that it can now be made illegal, if we fight. We’ve been given the right to fight.
I live in a deep blue state, I’ve been given the means to fight, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t know the next step. Should I move somewhere red? Should I stay? Should I join a pro-life organization? I don’t know.
I suppose the Declaration was a little like that too; it was a chance, a change, a possibility for a better future, but not a certainty. It was something to fight for.
Tale Told 