On January 22, 1973, I was an affable agnostic, living in Louisville, Kentucky. The old river city, famous for horse racing and basketball, had a Southern Baptist church on almost every street corner. Yet, I was oblivious to the gospel.
And Roe versus Wade?
If I heard the names at all, I probably thought they were two middleweight boxers, appearing in a big match at the Louisville Gardens. I had no clue the names referred to a Supreme Court ruling.
I obviously knew what the term meant, but I would have never – out of a million guesses – believed that 55,881,922 babies would be aborted in the 40 years following Roe versus Wade.
From that particular January day to May 19, 1985, I viewed Roe versus Wade and abortion with detached apathy. Was I pro-choice or pro-life? My best answer would have been a quick shrug and a fast change of subjects.
But on May 20, 1985, just hours before I planned on committing suicide, I met Jesus on the bathroom floor. Just to think the Lord cared about a man who thought He was, at best, the equal of the Easter Bunny, still blows my mind today.
Because of my eternal about-face, I owe my allegiance to the Lamb.
Since that day on the bathroom floor, I have spent my whole life seeking to know and understand this man named Jesus. I still don’t have all of the answers, even after twenty-seven years, but I am sure of this much: Jesus hates murder.
And no matter how much we dress up Roe versus Wade and abortion by using guilt soothing terms like “pro-choice,” they still refer to one thing: murdering babies.
I am not confused about this. Are you?