Holding the Future in My Arms
Somewhere on the streets of Chicago, there walks a young woman in her late 20s. I’ll call her Mona. When she was only about a month old, I held her in my arms. But sadly, I haven’t seen her since.
Before she was born, on a cold winter day, I approached her mother—pregnant with her—outside of an abortion clinic in Chicago. I pleaded with her not to end her child’s life.
For years, I had volunteered as a sidewalk counselor—sometimes called a sidewalk advocate today. Sidewalk counseling is a quiet, often unseen form of pro-life work. We stand outside clinics, offering information, prayers, and resources for alternatives like crisis pregnancy centers or adoption. Most encounters are heartbreakingly brief: a woman hurries past, eyes down, unwilling or unable to hear us.
Gift of Gab
But that day was different. I wasn’t alone. I was joined by Elia, a friend whose gift of conversation was nothing short of remarkable. Though completely new to this work, she leaned into each passing encounter with energy and warmth. Her background as a travel guide and bilingual teacher had prepared her in ways I hadn’t expected, and she quickly proved herself a natural.
Then Mona’s mother arrived—30 years old, accompanied by her own mother. Elia took the lead, pouring herself into the conversation. I said my piece, but it was clear that Elia’s enthusiasm and persistence were breaking through in a way my years of experience never quite could. To our great relief, the two women turned away from the clinic that day. Before parting, we exchanged contact information. I never learned many details—what their situation was, or why they came. Perhaps all they needed was a word of encouragement, a reminder that choosing life was possible.
Another Beautiful Daughter
Months later, I received a phone call. The baby had been born—a girl, a little early, weighing just under five pounds. Labor was short, and the delivery went smoothly. Soon after came a card I will never forget:
“Hi Kevin, I really want to thank you for everything. Because of you, Elia, and the others, I now have another beautiful daughter. I am forever in your debt and would like to let you know that I deeply appreciate everything that you have done! Thank you. P.S. The outfits are beautiful.”
Reading that note, even now more than twenty years later, still moves me deeply.
I also visited the family not long after Mona’s birth. I traveled to the south side of Chicago—a place many outsiders fear, and few choose to visit—and stepped into their apartment. There, I met Mona’s mother and grandmother. Before long, I was cradling Mona herself in my arms. The rush of emotion in that moment is hard to describe—gratitude, awe, and a profound sense of the sacredness of life. Somewhere among my belongings, I still have a photograph of that day.
Quiet Work, Lasting Impact
This story doesn’t fit the popular image of pro-life activism—shouting matches, noisy crowds, and police presence. The reality is far quieter. More often than not, sidewalk counselors around the country simply stand in prayer, enduring freezing winters, scorching summers and long hours of waiting. And every so often, there comes a moment like this—when you glimpse the fruit of your prayers in the form of a life spared, a family touched, a future preserved.
Maybe someday I’ll meet Mona again—no longer the tiny newborn I once held, but a young woman living out the life her mother chose to give her.
The Thread of Generations
Stories like Mona’s remind me that life itself is a thread that runs through generations. Each of us is here because someone chose to nurture us, protect us, and help us grow. And as we age, that thread does not weaken—it becomes richer, stronger, and more valuable. Seniors, in particular, carry the living memory of family history, the resilience of past struggles, and the wisdom earned from choices made long ago.
When I think about Mona today, I can’t help but picture her alongside her mother and grandmother—the three generations present with us on that winter day. That image speaks to the heart of what so many families experience as they care for aging parents while raising children of their own. The circle of life is never neat, but it is profoundly connected.
For me, holding Mona as an infant was a glimpse of the future. For those who care for seniors, sitting beside a loved one in their later years is a glimpse of the past. Both moments call us to the same truth: every life, from its fragile beginning to its final years, is a gift. Our calling is to honor it, protect it, and treasure the people entrusted to us along the way.
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