Pro-life activist Abby Johnson: A case of God calling the qualified

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Sedalia

Abby Johnson is involved in an online social network of pro-life women who keep in touch and encourage each other while blogging or chatting.

It was through the website not long ago that she became aware that a baby was going to be placed for adoption.

The first adoptive parents had reneged upon learning the results of a prenatal test, revealing that the child had a chance of being born deaf.

The second set of potential adoptive parents backed out when they learned the child was biracial, Mrs. Johnson told an audience of about 100 at a recent pro-life dinner in Sedalia.

The baby’s birthmother was feeling desperate as her due date approached and asked if any of the online women knew of anyone who would be willing to adopt her child.

Not quite knowing who was in control of her mouth, related Mrs. Johnson, she chirped up: “I will!”

The mom thusly reassured that her child would have a good home. Mrs. Johnson next had this thought: “Hmmm. Maybe I should tell my husband.”

That line drew chuckles from the audience, but it is precisely this shoot-first-ask-questions-later attitude that has been key to the success of her highly effective pro-life non-profit organization called “And Then There Were None.”

The ministry that began in 2012 has been directly responsible in helping 380 abortion clinic workers follow Mrs. Johnson out of daily participation in abortion and into the light of life.

A total of 36 clinics nationwide have been shut down in the process.

Mrs. Johnson, who has had two abortions herself, said it’s easy for many in the pro-life movement to dismiss clinic workers as inhuman and callous.

“I was not your friendly neighborhood abortion clinic director,” she acknowledged.

But deep down, God has imprinted all people with a conscience, and Mrs. Johnson believes there are many in the abortion field who would gladly do something else if they could find a path out.

Such was the case for her.

The 37-year-old mother of six (including her newly adopted son, Jude) said her organization provides a clear path out of the abortion industry — first by ministering to the workers to let them know the love of the Savior, Christ Jesus.

“Unless there is conversion, nothing changes. There has to be conversion,” said Mrs. Johnson, who became thoroughly pro-life and in 2011 became Catholic through the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults.

She said the next thing is to find another job that will replace the worker’s income from the abortion clinic.

The reality of the income dependency is not a small factor in why abortion clinic workers keep working. But with a new job and a new life in Christ, these people are well on their way to healing.

What’s more, they very often are vocal in sharing their story with others. The fact that they have worked in the environment of death makes them imminently qualified to speak to the pro-life issues with authority.

The clinic Mrs. Johnson left tried unsuccessfully to issue a gag order against her, “because I knew too much,” she said.

Perils and struggles — spiritual warfare — and all manner of challenges are hurled at those who leave. She said that three former clinic workers freed with the help of her ministry had their houses burn down.

Still, she said it is all worth it. So, each day, she steps out boldly, her face set like flint toward the future, and stays true to the Gospel passage from Luke 9:62.

Having set her hand to the plow, she hasn’t looked back.

Mr. Lowe, a member of St. John the Evangelist parish in Bahner, wrote this article for that parish’s Evangelizer newsletter.

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