The Numbers In My Head

numbersThis morning I sent birthday greetings to a school friend who turned sixty nine. I’ll be joining her in the last year of my sixties in November. The numbers that I carry in my head just don’t compute. My living aunts are now in their mid to late nineties. My children are well into their forties. I have grandchildren in college. Most of the time I feel much younger than I actually am, but then something happens that sobers me and sends me into a tizzy, like hearing that the son of one of my friends from childhood has died from a heart attack, or that a young woman that I once mentored at work is being treated for cancer.

I am at a somewhat lovely age in that I no longer have to report to work each day. I am free to travel or do whatever pleases me from hour to hour. I still possess almost boundless energy but when I exert myself too much my body reminds me that I am no longer a spring chicken. I’ve got arthritis in my knees and I administer a daily injection of an experimental drug in the hopes of producing stronger bones than the ones left in a lacy swiss cheese condition by my osteoporosis. I act as though I have all of the time in the world to fulfill the goals and dreams that I continue to create for myself, often forgetting that my time on this earth is becoming more and more limited. Those numbers in my head as well as the realities of our human existence talk to me in the dark of night and urge me to seize each day.

I have already lost so many friends with whom I spent my youth. In my mind’s eye I still see them as being vibrant and beautiful. They ran with me and laughed at the clock and thought little of illnesses or endings. It did not occur to me that they would be missing at the very time when we might have had the most fun together, when our labors were done and we were free to roam the earth in search of more adventures. Watching them leave has been difficult and has prompted me to think of my own mortality. Even worse have been the deaths of the children of my peers, the young adults whose passing seems so terribly out of sync with the way things should be. In a perfect world I have the ability to order from least to greatest. In truth occurrences are random in their probabilities.

Mostly I don’t dwell on such things, but there are moments when there is so much suffering around me that it is impossible not to face the facts of life. I realize that if I add multiples of ten to my age I become very old, very quickly. In my mind the nineteen nineties were only yesterday but they actually happened almost thirty years ago. Each day, week, month, year is flying by at warp speed taking me into a future that is more uncertain than any era in which I have so far lived. The dominoes of my life will begin to fall with greater and greater rapidity. I don’t want to think about those things until tomorrow, but they will surely come at a steady pace. The numbers in my head are truth tellers. The math leads to one and only one conclusion, and like J. Alfred Prufrock I rage against the dying of the light.

I want to be prepared for what lies ahead. I want to meet my fate with optimism and courage. I do my best to find happiness even in the darkest hours, but I now understand the fear and the anger that my best friend felt as she understood that her cancer was slowly stealing away her life. I am more open to being sympathetic to the relentless monotony of my aging aunts who are confined to wheelchairs and small rooms. I think of my mother measuring out her days as she grew ever more ill and weak, wanting desperately to leave me with her wisdom. I was confused when my hundred year old grandfather continually spoke of being tired and missing all of his friends and loved ones. I had little patience with the thought of surrendering to fate. I viewed myself as someone who might be dancing jigs right up until my very last breath. That was, of course, before I witnessed people my age being cut down by illnesses that changed them. They had once been warriors like me and it was incongruously difficult to imagine them bedridden and unable to take on the world by storm as they always had. The numbers caught up with them just as they will one day do with me and everyone else that I know, which means that I must begin to focus more and more on what is really important. I have to face the fact that I do not have forever.

People are always more important than things, but things steal our time and energy. When the clock is ticking we have to choose what to push aside. That visit that we speak of making needs to be put on our calendars today, ahead of the cleaning and the repairs of our stuff. Those thoughts that we have wanted to express must be recorded now, not after we take out the trash. The dishes will wait but the call to someone important may come too late if we hesitate. The numbers are there, telling each of us that there is a limit to the count of the days that we each have on this earth. We have to make the best of every single moment before we are no longer able.

I suspect that I may sound a bit morose today. I am thinking of the lost opportunities that I had to celebrate with those who are now gone forever, the moments when I was too preoccupied to really listen to what they had to say. I wrongly believed that there was plenty of time and that I had far more important tasks to perform than lingering just a bit longer with them. Now I see. Now I understand.

My life has been all about numbers. I am a mathematics teacher. I have told my students that the ciphers and algorithms never lie. They link us to both the past and the present. They explain the workings of our world. Now the numbers tell me to embrace the beauty of love and friendships every moment of every day. They remind me of the limits that I am approaching and of the need to prioritize my energies. The numbers will eventually terminate, just as they should. My faith tells me that I will one day find the infinite peace of everlasting life, but until then I must listen to the gentle whispers of the numbers chiding me to live with gusto and an open heart.

  

Remembering the Lessons

KnotTry to imagine this scenario. Groups of Americans from the United States begin to peacefully demonstrate against the president of our country in locales all across the country. The government sends in the military to quell the disturbances and in a show of force they gun down protesters. This angers even more people who join the rebellion which grows angry and violent. There are enraged armed mobs in your town fighting against the soldiers. You watch as the disturbances grow into all out civil war. The lines between enemies are blurry and take on a religious aspect as well as political. Splinter groups form, some of which are barbaric. You and your family members are caught in the crosshairs. Bombs from the government come into your neighborhood. Bullets from the rebels forces lodge in the walls of your home. Terrorists taking advantage of the unrest kill your friends and relatives in the most brutal manners. What was once a place of peace has become hell on earth. You do not want to leave your home but fear that if you do not, you and those that you love will surely die. A final blast of chemical weapons from the government forces convinces you that it is no longer safe to stay in the place that has always been your refuge. You watch children who live near you dying in the cruelest manner. You can’t take the horror any longer and so you decide to flee.

At first you make your way to Mexico or Canada. You are placed in a refugee camp with thousands of others. You are told that you may not stay indefinitely. There are too many of your kind seeking escape from the war. Your temporary residence is infested with crime and want. You live in a tent that is either too hot or too cold. Disease breeds freely in the unsanitary conditions. You feel only slightly better than you did in the place from which you have fled. You try to get to other places that might be more welcoming or more pleasant. The process is difficult and even if you are lucky enough to gain a passage to some nice town in Europe the residents of those places view you with suspicion and disdain. All you really want is to be able to sleep at night without fear. Your dream is to one day be able to return to your home and begin your life anew. Your whole world is upside down and none of it is of your own doing. It all feels so hopeless.

In the meantime, different nations are choosing sides in the battle that rages back in the United States. Not only are there disagreements to resolve between the government and the rebels but also different factions within factions as well as other countries. It is such a tangled mess that you despair that it will ever be possible to sort things out and find the peace that you so desire. You cry for your country and for yourself as years pass without resolution and the gordian knot of trouble only grows tighter.

Of course, these events are not unfolding in the United States but in Syria. Try as we may we will never know the heartache that has so defined the lives of the people of that country since 2011. Their nation sits on the Mediterranean Sea just across from Egypt bordering the countries of Turkey, Iraq, Lebanon and Jordan. The war has displaced more than two million people and stretched the resources of their neighbors and countless European nations. Diplomatic and military efforts have failed to broker any kind of resolution and all the while terrorist groups like ISIL have taken advantage of the situation to make their own claims on the land and its citizens. Shia Muslims have taken to fighting with Sunni Muslims. Russia, China, and Iran side with Syrian President Assad. The United States, Germany, Britain and France have attempted to aid the rebels. It is a standoff that threatens the Middle East, Europe and much of the rest of the world.

I cry for the people of Syria. I understand that the vast majority of them simply want to be left alone and allowed to return to their homes where they might live in peace. None of the rest of us want war either. Nobody seems to have any idea of what is the most effective solution to a daunting problem. Here in the United States we have learned that sending troops and treasure to fight battles can be a solution with no endgame. We have also seen that diplomacy does little. We are caught in a conundrum in which the choices are all unpleasant and the results are uncertain. Do we do nothing and let the people of Syria figure out the path to eventual peace or do we choose a side and commit to fighting for what we believe is right?

The answer to such a question is both confusing and frightening. If we stay out of the fray, things may only escalate and make the situation even more dangerous for all of the world. If we show force we may become involved in a fight from which we cannot extricate ourselves without great loss of life. It feels as though even the wisdom of Solomon might be wanting in knowing what to do.

Today is Good Friday, a day on which we remember the crucifixion and death of Jesus of Nazareth. Politics and religious debates were in full force in the time of Christ just as they are today. An innocent man was put to death for fear that his teachings might result in a rebellion that would topple the power structure. Two thousand years later mankind is still feuding over differences in beliefs but millions in all parts of the globe now follow the lessons of Jesus. His message was powerful and his disciples spread the good news of his word in spite of their own persecutions. It is rather amazing to realize that Jesus Christ is even more revered today than he was when he walked in the Middle East two thousand years ago.

This is a time of reflection and prayer in the world. Perhaps it should also be the moment when we join with people of all faiths in imploring the heavens to help us find a resolution to the unrest that so threatens all of us. We can be inspired by the life of Christ whose constant admonition and example was that we forgive and love. I wonder how we can possibly solve the problems of other nations when we continue to be so hateful with one another right here in the United States. It is truly time for us to set our personal differences aside one individual at a time. It is the moment for us to shed our pride, our hypocrisies and our obstinance. Those are the elements that lead to a Syrian-like war. First come the words and then come the weapons. We must do whatever we need to bind the wounds that have turned  brother against brother right here in our own nation. Perhaps once we have learned to be civil with one another again we will enjoy the combined wisdom of many points of view in finding solutions to the problems that plague our world. I truly fear our future if we fail to return to a state of understanding and humanity within our own ranks. It is only in valuing our collective differences that we will be able to exert the power needed to propel ourselves and the world in the direction of good. 

Fish Sticks

vp-sticks-beauty-shotI’ve seen a great deal of change during my life that I tend not to even think about most of the time. I am a Catholic and until I was a teenager there was an ironclad rule that none of us were to eat meat on Fridays. The idea behind that ruling was that Jesus died on that day of the week and in remembrance of his suffering we were to abstain from meat as a kind of penance and sacrifice. In 1966, the year that I graduated from high school, Vatican Council II amended that dictate to require only that Catholics avoid eating meat on Ash Wednesday, Good Friday and all Fridays during Lent. A council of bishops later clarified the church’s stance on the consumption of meat on Fridays by suggesting that all Catholics over the age of fourteen perform some type of penance on every Friday of the year with avoidance of meat being one of the suggested forms of meeting that goal. For all intents and purposes the vast majority of Catholics today are no longer concerned about whether or not to eat meat on Fridays. The times of worry about sinning by eating a hamburger are long gone for most who follow the Catholic faith.

I remember the old days when my mother did her best to create menus that did not contain any form of animal flesh. We’d often have tuna fish salad or pimento cheese sandwiches and sometimes she would prepare my favorite grilled cheese. Old standbys were tomato or cream of mushroom soup with slices of bread. We never had access to nice varieties of fish after my father died so the chief version of seafood that hit our family table was in the form of fish sticks, a staple that American Catholics kept afloat for years. Sometimes Mama would use butter rather than bacon to prepare scrambled eggs or she would boil the fruit from chickens and make egg salad. Shrimp was too rich for our budget and we rarely went out to eat but when we did it was usually to a cafeteria and on Fridays our entree was always fried fish.

Some of my aunts and mothers of my friends attempted to become a bit more creative by putting together tuna casseroles and topping cheese pizza with tuna as well. I tended to prefer my mom’s less ambitious Friday efforts that made no bones about eating simply at the end of the work week. Somehow she made those tuna sandwiches and stacks of pancakes seem more exotic and delicious than the pot roasts that she sometimes prepared on Sundays.

When meatless Fridays became a thing of the past for most of us we often joked about the people who had cheated by enjoying a thick steak when they were supposed to be dining on chicken from the sea, and wondered if they were going to stay in hell for their transgressions or if there had suddenly been a release of centuries of Friday meat eaters into heaven. We also watched our liturgies and ways of doing things change rather dramatically in one fell swoop as our mass was finally recited in English rather than Latin, and the priest faced us rather than showing us his back. It was all so democratic and inviting. Suddenly we began to imagine a Jesus who walked among people rather than elevating Himself as someone more special than the rest of mankind.

One of the traditions that had always irked me was that women were required to wear a head covering inside the church. For that reason our school uniforms included little brown beanies for use whenever we attended mass or other religious ceremonies. As we grew older we were allowed to exchange the ugly headgear for chapel veils that perched lightly on our bouffant hairdos without destroying the effect of the coiffures we had created. I vividly recall the silliness of women placing sheets of Kleenex on their heads whenever they arrived at church without the requisite hats or veils. It was commonplace to see the thin white paper hurriedly pinned tightly to strands of hair in an attempt to show respect for the occasion. I had to stifle my laughter at the ridiculousness of the whole idea. Somehow I didn’t think that God cared a wit whether or not a woman was showing her beautiful hair and eventually the church leaders agreed with me and dropped the archaic requirement.

Of course the changing of the rules was not always met with complete agreement. There were those who were horrified that the old traditions were going the way of the buggy whip. They bemoaned the use of English in the mass and declared it to be almost profane. They continued to wear their hats and kept up the practice of avoiding meat on Fridays. They could hardly bear to look at the face of the priest smiling down at them during the mass, preferring to view his backside instead. It took a bit of convincing to get the naysayers to calm down but at the same time there were also those like me who began to question more of the ideas that seemed to have little or nothing to do with the message of love that Jesus so eloquently preached. We insisted that our church become ever more inclusive and less rigid in its dictates. That lead to a great deal of rebellion particularly in the United States where even the most faithful Catholics now sometimes debate the need for many controversial practices.

Still there are those who tend to be nostalgic regarding the old ways. The conservative versus liberal dichotomy is alive and well in the religious world. I remember listening to a man of my age who regaled us with memories of how much he enjoyed the old fish stick days, and how he wished with all of his heart that they would return. He thought the women looked nice with their long sleeved dresses and pretty bonnets on their heads. He longed to return to a past that seems rather quaint and perhaps even a bit unfair today, but I can’t concur. I think of the fact that none of those old fangled rules were created by Jesus but by men who simply came up with ideas that over time that may have once made sense but not so much today.

Now we are allowed to go to church wearing slacks and some even go so far as to show up in shorts, which may be pushing the envelope a bit too far. Few women wear hats and luckily they no longer have to worry that some over zealous cleric will pass over them at communion for the sin of wearing a dress without sleeves. Eating a burger on Friday is no longer a condemnation to hell, if it ever actually was. The edicts concentrate more on ways of living than dress and what is consumed for dinner. Still there are many questions that for now remain unanswered for those of us who see remnants of laws that seem to be out of touch with the compassion that Jesus always demonstrated so freely. Perhaps the time will come when they too are deemed to be unfair and even unnecessary.

I am a woman of great faith but I have trouble with most organized religions that cite edicts that are manmade interpretations of the word of God. I believe that religion is at its best when it is kept as simple as possible. Over and over again Jesus defied many canons that he found to be without merit. He healed the sick on the Sabbath. He befriended individuals who were deemed to be undeserving outcasts. He walked among the lepers, the poor and the suffering. His message seems very clear to me and it is not one of exclusion of anyone. Instead it is one of unconditional love. I believe that as long as we follow His example as best we can, we are on the right track. Sometimes we sadly get so caught up in attempting to judge that we actually lose our way. Instead of worrying about how we look or what we eat we are on the right track when we welcome all.

Forgiveness

lent-easter-2780As a young Catholic girl I observed lent with earnestness but not much thought. I received ashes on the first Wednesday of the season, abstained from eating meat on Fridays and made the grand sacrifice of giving up sweets of all kinds. In reality it wasn’t that difficult to do because we never had sugary things around our house. Anything like a piece of chocolate or a bag of cookies was a rare treat. The truth was that I simply carried on as usual but gave myself a pat on the back for being good enough to totally insure that no sweets would pass through my lips during the forty days before Easter.

As I matured I learned that a far better exercise during the lenten season was to reflect on the way in which I was leading my life. After all, that is what Jesus did when He traveled into the wilderness. I realized that following His example was a much better way of honoring Him. I spent more time reading spiritual tracts and designing plans for becoming a better person. One of the things that I thought about a great deal is forgiveness. Jesus Himself made the ultimate sacrifice of His life to atone for our sins. Even as He hung on a cross He forgave those who executed Him along with one of the thieves who was crucified next to Him. It’s always been difficult for me to even remotely imagine the betrayal, abuse, brutality and pain that Jesus endured at the time of His death and yet His final act was one of compassion and absolution. In the death of His humanity He taught us how to be more Godlike.

It is so difficult to set aside our anger and hurt in a willingness to completely pardon someone for transgressions against us. We hang on tightly to our negative feelings, nursing them as though they somehow make us stronger. We are scornful of those who in their seeming weakness seek to bind old wounds and provide second chances. Ours is a world that seems to prefer unrelenting warriors over those who offer mercy. Peacemakers are not as much in vogue as crusaders. Diplomacy is trumped by force.

Our politicians only rarely dare to stand for what they personally believe to be right rather than adhering to a prescribed political platform. These days it is odd to see someone going against the groups to which they belong. We can’t seem to find enough understanding to realize that very little that happens in real life can be easily defined by hard and fast rules. We have all too often distorted the messages of the messiahs who created various religious sects. The idea of unconditional forgiveness is sometimes deemed to be hypocrisy, cowardice, a lack of real moral compass. Many among us have become judgmental people with unwaveringly self-righteous indignation. Thus is the root of so much trouble in the world today.

We insist that our republicans and democrats battle with one another rather than unite in common causes. Anyone who even suggests that they might find ways of compromising is cashiered out of the discussions. We prefer a stew of anger, distrust and sometimes outright hatred. We have religious groups who easily condemn and ostracize certain individuals and groups rather than attempting to demonstrate acceptance of differences. They preach a kind of ugliness that seems to counter good faith. Friends and family members turn their backs on one another, unwilling to forgive and forget slights and misunderstandings. They grow apart and turn unkindness into hatred.

All of the rancor and distrust is toxic and in its most extreme form leads to killing an innocent man on a cross for His thoughts or placing people in gas chambers for their religious beliefs. It leads to murder and war. It destroys relationships and rips families apart.

Perhaps the season of Lent was meant more than anything to be a time for forgiveness and mercy, a time when we work to repair rifts that have occurred in our lives. It is so easy to love and embrace those who think like us and agree with us. It is far more difficult to feel a sense of kinship with someone who has been cruel or in opposition and yet our challenge is to reach out to those very people.

Those of us who are Christians believe in our own redemptions, given as a gift to us from our Savior. Somehow we too often see ourselves as being exempt from a need to pardon our fellow men and women as well as ourselves from the imperfections that we all possess. One does not have be religious at all to understand the necessity of working together in the community of mankind. If we accept the complexities of living and admit that everyone makes mistakes we are more likely to demonstrate a willingness to embrace even those who have hurt us in the past.

We don’t have to be naive in attempting to reach out to our transgressors. There are certainly situations in which it is all too apparent that nothing that we do will overcome some evil other than imprisoning or extinguishing it. We had to defeat Adolf Hitler or he would have continued his murderous rage but there is little reason for us to push a former friend out of our lives simply because he or she has disagreed with our philosophies.

I have to admit to feeling unfiltered hate for George Wallace when I was young. He always seemed to be snarling and spewing the ugliest forms of racism. He was as despicable as anyone who ever governed others. I felt no sympathy for him when his wife died of cancer nor did I shed a single tear when he was gunned down in an assassination attempt that left him wheelchair bound for the rest of his days. Somehow I reveled in the karma that seemed to overtake his life with a vengeance. I hoped that he would rot away in pain and suffering but that is not how his story ended.

Wallace was unable to care for himself. That job was left to a black man of great faith and spiritual strength. He catered to the former governor’s every need and he also demonstrated a kindness of spirit that was unlike the ugliness of his boss. Day after day he treated Wallace with dignity and respect and in those interludes the two men began to talk and form an unlikely bond of friendship. Somehow the caretaker transformed the very soul of George Wallace until one day all of the former governor’s hate was stripped away by the love that had been accorded him. In a dramatic turn around Wallace asked his valet to take him to a church to speak with the very people whom he had once derided as being inferior and unworthy of even basic human rights. At that moment he wanted to apologize and so he ultimately did. It was unconditional love that brought about his stunning change of heart and it taught me that mercy often has the power of changing even the most hardened heart.

Goodness has always had more power than evil. In this season of lent rather than giving up something perhaps it is best that each of us make the biggest sacrifice of all, setting aside disagreements and forgiving someone who has heretofore been a source of anger and dislike. Think of how much change would occur in just forty days if every single one of us were to find enough compassion to mend even one relationship. Forgiveness is the sacrifice that we should all seek.

Searching for Love and Truth

normamccorvey6The world is filled with interesting stories, some more than others. So it is with Norma McCorvey, AKA Jane Roe. Norma grew up in the same era in which I lived. In fact she was very close in age to me. She was born in Louisiana to parents who seemed ill prepared to raise children. Her father was an abusive alcoholic and her parents’ union ended in divorce not long after Norma was born. Some women have a very unfortunate habit of falling in love with bad boys and so it was with Norma’s mom who forged a second relationship with a man who sexually abused Norma on a regular basis. By the time that Norma had reached her adolescence she was continually at odds with the law and ended up in juvenile detention centers and foster homes. Hers had been a confusing childhood without guidance, loving protection or opportunities. Little wonder that she was married and pregnant by the time that she was only sixteen.

Norma, like her mother before her, made many bad choices and was left by her husband to raise the child on her own. Realizing that she did not have any of the resources needed to care for herself much less a youngster, Norma gave the little girl to her mom. After that her life became a continuing series of unfortunate events. She became pregnant again and decided to give the little one up for adoption. She repeated her mom’s mistakes, seeming to be unlucky in love and life in general. When she became pregnant a third time she wanted to have an abortion but it was still illegal to do so in the state of Texas where she resided. A couple of lawyers who were looking for a test case to challenge the law took Norma under their wings and fought all the way to the Supreme Court for her rights and those of others to abort fetuses that were unwanted, claiming that particularly because Norma had been raped she should not have to have the baby.

The court case took well over three years to complete so Norma was forced to bear the little girl that she carried all the way to birth. She gave that child up for adoption just as she had with the earlier baby but ultimately won her case in the famous Roe vs. Wade decision that forever changed the way many women would view unwanted pregnancies. Norma never again became pregnant nor did she ever require or receive an abortion but she nonetheless became a celebrity in the pro choice ranks and even worked for many years in an abortion clinic. She seemed to find finally find her footing when she settled down with another woman in Dallas continuing to fight for women’s rights on a regular basis.

Along the way Norma met members of a Dallas pro-life group. They discussed with her their own beliefs that a fetus is a human being with its own rights as a person. Initially she scoffed at their arguments and in the feisty way that was her trademark made fun of their religious thinking. Somehow in an unlikely alliance they began to respect one another and Norma was taken by the way in which her opponents seemed to love her in spite of their differing opinions. Nobody had ever treated her with so much respect. She began to listen to what they had to say and to consider the possibility that perhaps their thoughts were valid.

She found herself feeling bothered by what she saw happening in the abortion clinic where she worked. Finally she renounced her pro choice position claiming that she had been used by the two lawyers who represented her in the landmark case. She even insisted that she had lied about being raped in order to make her situation appear to be more worthy of sympathy. She was baptized and in a stunning reversal became a spokesperson for the pro-life movement. Eventually she even left her long term partner and became a Catholic.

Norma was living in Katy, Texas not far from where I live when she died a couple of weeks ago. She never again saw the two children that she had given up for adoption but she is said to have thought about them often. The daughter that her mother had raised was by her side as she breathed her final breaths.

I was particularly taken by the sadness of Norma’s life. I encountered so many young girls like her when I was a teacher, sad souls who were forced into adult roles long before they were ready because their parents were unable or unwilling to care properly for them. I have taught twelve year olds who were raped by family members and became pregnant. They were angry, confused and fearful over what had happened to them. Their children became more like younger brothers or sisters than someone for whose life they were responsible. They were totally unprepared for the difficulties that lay ahead of them.

I have seen the loving results of children who have been saved from such situations through the process of adoption. When paired with genuinely caring adults they generally thrive and lead incredibly wonderful lives. There is something quite special about the realization that they have been chosen that helps them to grow to be strong and confident. I’d like to think that Norma’s adopted children found happy homes and that they were able to break the cycle of poverty and abuse that had been the definition of Norma’s lifestyle.

The question of abortion is a complex one that will not soon go away. There is much disagreement about when an unborn child becomes a person. We are inching further and further into the developmental cycle of the fetus in determining where the line is drawn in determining what state defines viability.  There are now places where abortion is permitted all the way up to twenty four weeks. Many consider it a form of birth control and each year millions of women end their pregnancies not because they have been raped or have health issues but because they do not want to have a child.

On the other side of the argument are those who believe that conception is the defining moment of personhood and that abortion is murder of a human being. They find the practice to be barbaric and morally wrong and fight continuously to outlaw the abortion once and for all. Many consider such individuals to be little more than religious zealots but they see themselves as soldiers in a battle against an evil that must be stopped.

Ironically Norma McCorvey was the face of both sides during her lifetime. She believed that she had seen the light in her later years when she became a pro-life advocate. She felt that she had been used and abused for most of her life and that it was within a community of faith-filled individuals that she finally found the love and respect for which she had been searching since she was a child. She died convinced that her part in Roe vs. Wade was flawed and terribly wrong.

It appears that Norma somehow found a modicum of peace and even built a loving relationship with the one daughter with whom she still had contact. She found friendships that she enjoyed and her life became bearable. I would like to think that she is now enjoying the peace that had been so elusive for her for so much of her existence. Hers was a search for love and truth that is now at an end. May she forever rest in peace and may those of us still here find the answers to the questions that she posed and the strength and wisdom to work for what is right just as Norma tried to do.