Lauren and Mikaela--identical twins living on opposite coasts--blog about the story of life and their adventures in faith.

3.08.2011

Two Doors

A girl drives into the parking lot and pulls into the one available spot, inching forward slowly, and checking her sides while biting her lip in frustration. After backing out again she finally manages to pull in straight, and with a sigh she turns off the wipers, flips off the lights, and twists the key. She grabs her purse and her coat and steps outside, locking the door with the key still in her hand. It is raining. She tugs on her coat, and turns to look at the modest business complex in front of her. She takes a few steps, looking to the left and to the right. She stands there, squinting at the building. And then she jumps back as a car honks at her to get out of the way.

Stopping there, in the middle of an asphalt lake, with water streaming down her body, she contemplates. It’s hard for her to discern if the liquid flowing over her eyelashes and her nose and her mouth and her neck is merely precipitation or if it is also tears.

She has felt trapped these last weeks, like someone has locked her into a chest freezer, and she is alone in the darkness, with the cold turning her heart to ice, and the carbon dioxide air poisoning her to death. Now she could just end it. She could put an end to the pain, the suffering, the darkness, and the cold. Life seems like such a silly choice right now, when that life means being imprisoned in a freezer. Death seems like the logical—the only right thing to do. Spare everyone the embarassment, the anguish, the sacrifice. Just end it, and be done.

She shivers as moisture seeps through her green peacoat and collides with her skin. She brushes back her inky bangs and steps hesitantly forward again. Oh? Did she lock the car? She rushes back to check, grateful for any excuse to prolong the inevitable. But then, she has to stumble back into the middle of the parking lot. Before her are two offices—sharing a wall, even—and one offers her life, and one offers her death. Only she doesn’t look at it quite like that. One offers her responsibility, and one offers her freedom.

Freedom. Freedom from all this. She takes a step to the left.

Responsibility. Duties and jobs and liability. She takes another step to the left. Trust and love and maybe—someday—a chance to get out of this steel box. She wavers. She grabs her drenched hair and pulls it into a ponytail with her fingers and then lets go of the strands again. She takes a step to the right, thinking of the memories, the opportunities, and the love. The love.

She jumps in fright as the left door opens and another girl walks out. The young woman is alive—she is walking. But she doesn’t seem alive. There is nothing in the eyes. Like an incredible 3-D performance-capture creation on a life-size theater screen, she looks the part, but there is no twinkle, no personality, no love—no life.

And then the girl looks to the right again. Perhaps, just perhaps, she should try it. If life doesn’t work out, after all, she can always come back and try the left door. But if she tries the left door now, well, she’ll never know about the right door.

Shivering uncontrollably, as if she is about to have a seizure, she walks through the right door. It is warm and bright, and somewhere, soft music is playing. And a beautiful woman looks up at her from behind the desk—behind her eyes is life and light.

“Honey, can I help you?” the woman asks.

The girl rubs her stomach and looks down at her belly. Life. For the first time in her seventeen years, someone just cracked open the lid, and there is light, life, and love waiting for her outside.


This story is based on an actual crossroads that exists in my state: two offices, one of life, one of death. Two establishments, sharing a common wall: one a pregnancy resource center, the other a Planned Parenthood clinic. One trying to save the lives of babies, one offering the opportunity to kill babies. And last week, the bill which threatened to shut down the office of life through unreasonable and unconstitutional viewpoint discrimination made it to the House floor. Despite our best efforts (Lauren blogged about it here), it passed through the Health and Wellness Committee and the Rules Committee, and we had to realize that our best efforts would not keep the bill from passing in this, the least pro-life state in the nation. And yesterday, the bill was on the House floor, and Washington State could have gone either the way of life or the way of death. God worked yesterday in the House chamber: for the House ruled that HB1366 would go no further in the process. It is dead, praise the Lord! Thank you for your prayers.

Photo Credit: Leandroid

6 comments:

  1. What a powerful post! Thank you!

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  2. Hey girls!
    Do you remember me? I went to SF22 that August a long time ago... Everytime I hear "O the Deep Deep Love of Jesus" I remember "Once to Every Man and Nation" and think of you. :) I was just wondering how y'all were doing and then happened upon this blog! Such a gem. Count me as one of your regular readers!
    His,
    Lydia Johannah Holt
    Psalm 42:11
    ~

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  3. Lydia,
    Of course we remember you! I'm honored we succeeded in embedding that song in your mind--I still love it. Such great words!
    We started this blog after SF, but one year later, Lauren wrote a blog post of her memories from the class. ;-) You can read it here: http://onebrightcorner.blogspot.com/2009/09/one-year-ago.html
    Hope you are doing well! God bless you! (And thanks for commenting--that was a fun surprise.)

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  4. This was a great post, Mika! You did such a good job with the story...I found myself feeling helpless like the girl, even though I didn't yet know what was boxing her in. Of course, it made your final point so much more poignant...

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