Bound4Life

I spent the better part of my morning/early afternoon today with Sara and Bound4Life Chicago. I’ve known about Bound4Life for years, but this was my first siege ever. What an experience.

We were told to meet up with the team at The Prayer Furnace on Elston at 9 AM. At 8:55 there was no one there, but we discovered the parking lot behind the building. We moved the car and waited. For twelve minutes my flesh hoped no one would show so we could just go home, and my spirit bemoaned the idea. We came to stand, and I wanted to stand.

At 9:07 a van pulled in. We met a handful of people – including one young man who used to come to Switch before gas prices got too out of hand. Really nice people, and most of them were teenagers. We chatted about the cause, being in a band, and the Furnace. They’re really comfortable people; I felt completely at home.

Just before 10 we got in what I am affectionately referring to as the Life Mobile. That thing is sweet. Jon explained some of the logistics on the way. When we’re on “the line,” we stand. If you want to kneel or sit that’s fine, but back off the line to do it. If someone wants to talk, direct them to the spokesperson – identified by the bright orange vest. We’re not here to talk to people; we’re here to lay hold of heaven. Oh, and don’t touch the fence. As long as we don’t block the sidewalk and don’t touch the fence, we can’t be arrested.

A few minutes later, we pulled up outside a brown, brick building with a parking lot surrounded by an eight-foot, chain-link fence. The parking lot was half-full and license plates confessed that people had come from as far as Wisconsin and Ohio. Several young men waited or slept in and around cars.

On one side of the fenced parking lot stood almost a dozen senior citizens with rosary beads. They chanted in unison and despite the skeptic inside me, I knew that God saw their hearts. We smiled as we passed by to another side of the fence.

The orange vest had been previously covered in strips of red tape with “LIFE” written in bold, black letters. One by one, the first spokesperson for the morning put a piece on our backs, and handed us one for our mouths. Sara and I both having been served, we hesitated long enough to exchange glances. This is it. Here we go.

Tape clinging to my cheeks, I turned to face the fence. Ron was our first spokesperson for the day, and he walked down the line reading scripture and encouraging us that God hears and our prayers move heaven. He did this several times over the next three hours and I honestly don’t know if I could have persevered without it.

During the next three hours we were given direction for our prayers. We spent time praying silently, but in unison, for the finances of the institution to dry up, for the hearts of the fathers to be moved with compassion in defense of their children, for forgiveness to grace the hearts of everyone inside, for righteous Supreme Court Justices. We spent time asking God for His heart for the unborn, and every time the church bells across the street tolled the hour, we knew that somewhere in America, another 183 children had been denied the call that God had for their lives. We spent time asking God to move the hearts of His Church for the unborn, and to release a spirit of adoption in us.

During the next three hours, my mouth got really dry. The skin around my mouth started to itch. My feet started to hurt, and my legs got really restless. My back started to get sore and as the sun came out, it got really warm.

During the next three hours we got applause and thanks from passers-by. We also got heckled and sworn at. One father got out of his car right in front of where we were standing and shouted at us, “I don’t give a shit; she’s got cancer.” One man drove by and yelled, “Give it a rest! Don’t you have anything better to do?” We glanced at each other down the line: absolutely not.

About two and a half hours into it, we stopped to share communion. Jon talked briefly about what we had and had not witnessed. Statistically speaking, about 40 children will have died inside that very building in the time we stood there. We didn’t see any saved at the last minute this time, but “your stand here has been a memorial for those children who died, and heaven sees it.”

In three hours, again – statistically speaking – about 560 children in America will die in the womb. With our final 15 minutes, we accepted silence again and counted to 560 with a word for each child. Jon suggested it could be a name, or a one-word prayer, but to get an idea for how many 560 is. I stood, face to the fence, and prayed.

One. Mercy.
Two. Justice.
Three. Forgiveness.
Four. Hope.
Five. Mercy.
Six. Justice.
Seven. Mercy.
Eight. Justice.
Nine. Mercy.
Ten. Justice.

I got to 180 and couldn’t take it anymore, so I quit and finished out the hour in prayer.

It was a really intense day, and the three hours actually went by really quickly. I can’t wait to get out there again next month. You should come with us.