No Judgment, Just Prayer

It was 4am when I drove up to the shelter to pick her up. Four in the morning, not unlike the countless numbers of times her husband would wake her in the night to abuse her and not unlike the last time when she awoke to the sound of the gun being cocked and felt the cold metal on her face. How she managed to talk him out of killing her that night, I can only guess because she never said, she just cried for the first week I saw her in the shelter.
She’d been there a month and sometimes she smiled now, especially with her two toddlers who also seemed to be feeling the cloud of abuse lifting, even in the close and crowded conditions of the battered women’s shelter. Then her demeanor seemed to change, she was so quiet all the time, my heart hurt for her through her shyness. Something was wrong and finally she told me, she was pregnant. The last year had been a blur of rape and abuse by her husband, who was stationed at the local military base. He had seen his father abuse his mother all his young life, culminating in his shooting her in front of him, his young son.
This morning we were heading to Wichita, a decision she agonized over for many days. She got in the car and we headed down the Kansas Turnpike. She sobbed quietly in the dark. In my early twenties, I could not comprehend all that she was going through. I could not even imagine the hell in which she had been living.
Dr. Tiller’s office was on Kellogg. We had to arrive early and the process would take most of the day. I knew this was a very, very sad day for her. I was only a witness to her pain, trying to keep her grounded in the world so that there might be a tomorrow for her and her young boys.
My religious upbringing included the idea that only God could judge us – no man could cast judgment on another (lest he be judged). At the kitchen table of my New York born and bred black Irish grandmother I learned a mixture of love, spirituality and common sense. She lit candles in church for the “poor souls in purgatory.” She loved the God she worshipped and I think believed that her praying for those who made mistakes was what we were meant to do. No judgment, just prayer.
Scott Roeder judged another and took his life. Now I struggle to not judge his actions as he had judged another. George Tiller was in church. His family, his God, his pastor, did not judge him.
At the end of a very long day we drove back to Manhattan while she sobbed sometime uncontrollably and I had to pull over and hold her, to the battered women’s shelter. When we got in the door she hugged her sons so tightly, their lives, just beginning again.