You might like to get your speakers going and play this song while reading this post.
I am generally against taking every issue and making it about abortion.
But someone sent me this short piece about how a man’s life was changed by 9/11. And yes, his personal story has to do with abortion. The abortion he wanted. The abortion his girlfriend did not have.
The year prior to 9/11, when word was received of the pending birth of my first child, my reaction, much like the autumn breeze, was a bit chilly. I went so far as to heavily promote the idea of an abortion to my girlfriend. I had failed to recognize the value of life, and though my girlfriend fortunately had, she was unable to instill this in me.
9/11 caused him to reconsider.
On September 11th, I drove home from work, having been released early due to the attack and subsequent security concerns. While driving home on the highway, mind numb in trying to process the day’s events, I passed under a bridge. Looking up, there was a man who looked more than a bit ragged, as if he had just awakened to hear the news of the attacks, and walked out of his house. Wearing disheveled clothes and a weary face, he somehow found himself standing on this bridge, arms raised skyward, holding the American flag.
Nearly four hours later, needing to clear my head, I decided to get back in my car and take a drive. My route brought me to that same highway, with that same bridge. Four hours later, the same man was still standing there, holding the flag up as high as he possibly could.
He decided to meet his daughter:
Shortly afterward, I brought my daughter home for the first time. I sat alone with her in a recliner in my apartment, when she began to cry. Her father was truly petrified, as nothing was putting this baby at ease. Thinking back to the man on the bridge once more, I knew that I had to do something.
Just then, a frightened man with a wretched voice began to sing. The song was The Luckiest, by Ben Folds, and it meant the world to this little girl. If the song stopped for even an instant, she would begin to cry again. She needed me to sing that song for her in that moment. She needed me to embrace her, but nowhere near as much as her father needed the same. The ‘culture of life’ had found us both. And on that day, I had become – The Luckiest.
A nice reflection on how great things can arise from tragedy.by