Marching With Urgency: A Morning in Washington, D.C.

“Please Drive Away”: A Mother’s Cry on the Sidewalk

Dear friends of Cincinnati Right to Life,

This morning in Washington, D.C., my heart felt the weight of why we do this work—and why we cannot grow weary. I had to send this email right away with my heart breaking as I now sit in a vital pro-life training. This story just happened, less than 2 hours ago.

For 18 of the past 19 years, I have traveled to our nation’s capital for the March for Life. In the beginning, I marched to stand against the atrocious law in our country that allows the slaughter of children in the womb. (Thanks mom and dad for raising me pro-life.) Later, I marched in defense of the mothers and babies I served inside a pregnancy center—faces and stories I will never forget.

And over the years, something else happened too: the March began to strengthen me.

There is something deeply edifying about being surrounded by hundreds of thousands of like-minded people—men and women who refuse to accept that abortion is “healthcare,” who believe that every human life is made in the image of God, and who are willing to stand publicly for what is right. In pro-life work, we can often feel alone. The March reminds us we are not. It renews our courage. It reminds us that conviction still lives—and that we are part of something bigger than ourselves.

But today, I march with a different kind of urgency. And that urgency became even more clear to me this morning.

Before the crowds gather tomorrow and before the speeches begin, before heading to important meetings and trainings today, I joined pro-life friends outside Planned Parenthood for a prayerful presence, a speaking rally, and most importantly—for sidewalk counseling. We stood outside that facility of death where mothers are rushed inside by deathscorts (I counted 17 going in when I was there), often overwhelmed, often pressured, often convinced there is no other way… in this facility babies are killed, even into the third trimester.

We prayed. We spoke truth. We offered hope. We pleaded for life.

And as I stood there watching mothers approach those doors, I was reminded again: the battle is not theoretical. This is not just politics. This is not just rhetoric. These are real mothers. Real babies. Real choices made under fear and confusion.  And the answer cannot be silence.

As I stood there in the calm before the storm (literally), a mother in a dark SUV slowly drove past Planned Parenthood, with her friend in the passenger seat. I approached the vehicle and was able to signal to get her to roll the window down. I smiled at both ladies and asked if they were there for an abortion appointment. The driver confirmed she was bringing her friend.

I then asked the expecting mother how she was feeling, acknowledging that this must be incredibly hard to be there. When I noticed a car seat in the second row, my heart sank. I began a conversation recognizing how painful and overwhelming their situation must be.

Amazingly, they did not speed off. Instead, they agreed to pull over around the corner so we could talk. I walked down the street and listened as these two beautiful women shared more of their story. They revealed they were both mothers—and the mom with the abortion appointment had just celebrated her youngest child’s first birthday.

With tenderness, I asked, “As a mother… why do you feel this baby cannot live, like all of your other children?”

The answers came quickly, and they were heartbreaking:

“Sometimes you just can’t have another baby.”

“I receive no help.”

“Times are hard. I barely make ends meet.”

As we talked, this dear mother poured her heart out about the crushing weight of caring for her children alone. The father had left—and he didn’t even show up or help with her baby’s recent first birthday.

Friends, this is the reality of abortion in America.

Women are not choosing abortion because they want a dead baby. They are choosing abortion because they feel trapped—financially, emotionally, relationally—like they have no support and no way forward. Women have been sold the lie that abortion is “healthcare” and that our tax dollars should fund this tragedy.

Planned Parenthood’s own research arm has acknowledged that the majority of women who seek abortion cite financial hardship as a driving factor. And standing there in the street this morning, I was looking directly into the face of that statistic. I wasn’t seeing a political talking point—I was seeing a mother in pain.

So, call me crazy, but I offered to help.

I offered to jump in the back seat and go straight to the store with them—to load up on everything her children needed. I offered to call her landlord and cover rent so she could breathe again. I offered to connect her immediately to the pregnancy center near her home—about 100 miles away—and promised that there are people ready to walk with her, mentor her, and support her.

They continued to talk. They continued to listen. And each time, the friend tried to justify the second-trimester abortion that was about to happen. The mother shared she had taken a pregnancy test before Thanksgiving. She hadn’t yet seen a doctor. She hadn’t had an ultrasound but knew she was past 15 weeks.

I begged her to let us help—to let her baby live. I kept smiling.

We prayed together. She watched the video on my phone  as I explained what happens in a second-trimester abortion. I told her the truth: that her baby is not removed gently, but violently—dismembered, discarded, treated as  medical waste.  I asked her how she would one day explain to her one-year-old that there had been another sibling… but they were gone.

I also told her what the abortion industry will never say out loud: women can be harmed, and women can die—especially in later abortions.

By the end of our conversation, this mother was in tears. She pleaded with her friend to drive away.

But I do not know what happened next.

They did not accept my help. And I watched them go, not knowing whether they drove away to safety—or turned back toward the doors of death. I did not see them come back in the next 45 minutes. I am carrying this moment with me right now as I sit in a pro-life training in Washington D.C. and I had to share as my heart is still breaking.

Because this is why we must fight. This is why we must speak. This is why we must give. This is why we must build a true safety net around mothers—so they are not pushed toward abortion by fear, poverty, and isolation.

This is why we need to be on the sidewalk in front of abortion facilities. 

Please pray for that mother and her baby. Pray for her other children. Pray that she chose life. And pray that God would continue to send people—right on the sidewalk, at the exact moment of decision—who will step forward with truth and love.

And if you are looking for a tangible way to help save lives like this, I want to encourage you: support Cincinnati Right to Life. Support the efforts that make it possible for a mother to hear, for the first time, “You are not alone. We will help you.” Join our sidewalk training and get involved.

Because no mother should feel abortion is her only option. Not in Washington, D.C. Not in Cincinnati. Not anywhere.

In Christ,

Laura Strietmann, Executive Director, Cincinnati Right to Life

P.S. Cincinnati Right to Life is working every day to save lives and save souls—from the sidewalk, to  the Statehouse, to the  U.S. Senate. Thank you for standing with us and supporting us as we defend mothers, protect babies, and speak truth with courage wherever God places us.

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