As a prolifer in the United States, I was haunted for years by the staggering number of dead. The children who never see sunlight. The mothers who carry the ghosts of these murdered little ones in their wounded hearts. The toll of abortion, the stories of death and misery... Read More →

  One year, long ago, I received a birthday card from my parents, who sent greetings from “the people who made you possible.” They were sensible enough to know that rather than having created me, they had only enabled me—but “only” in a very weighty sense: I would not be... Read More →