An unborn baby has just been aborted.

Who was he? Or she? Did anyone acknowledge their life? The father? The parents of the woman? Maybe a friend?

Was there a sidewalk counselor in front of the abortion facility? Did the woman see a prolife billboard, or a pregnancy center’s website?

These are important questions, but our country’s laws mean that ultimately the child’s life rested solely on the subjective feelings of the woman. The reality is the child became just another nameless, faceless statistic, one of 860,000 fellow unborn children who met their grisly end at abortion facilities, pulled apart by forceps or a vacuum pump. Or perhaps the end was in a toilet, in the woman’s home or office, due to the abortion pill.

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

As prolife people, we understand that life comes with challenges. We remark that it goes so fast, that we have so much to do in the hours that seemingly whiz by, excessively chronicled by sarcastic journalists on Twitter—and these days, frequently punctuated with a quip: “Well, that’s 2020 for you.”

If our lives seem all too short, imagine the life of an unborn child deemed “unwanted.” Their life on this Earth is even less than short. While a prolife effort might touch the woman who holds this life in her hands, the bottom line is the child is locked into a life and death struggle—a struggle they are unaware of, and can do almost nothing to affect. One minute, peace in the womb. The next…

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

We live in a country where abortion is totally legal—at any point in almost every jurisdiction. We live in a culture that doesn’t speak of abortion very often, usually in the context of a political argument or a judicial nomination. Perhaps you’ll hear a passing, generic reference on a Sunday, or a brief aside in a news story. Besides a few individual voices who may reach a woman in a crisis pregnancy, the full weight of our culture is against the life of the child.

Today, we are locked in a struggle. Unlike the unborn child, it is omnipresent, and we hold the result directly in our collective hands. If we are already sure of how we are going to vote on November 3, it’s tempting for us to tune out all the election ads and focus on the rest of our lives.

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

We live in a society obsessed with privilege, to the point of burning down buildings to highlight the topic. Yet, we all have an unbelievable privilege: we got to see the light of day. With a few notable exceptions of children surviving botched abortions, our mothers chose us. For those of us born after Roe v. Wade was proclaimed by seven judges in 1973, we were merely allowed to live.

Sometimes life doesn’t feel like a privilege, but more like a burden. Even for those of us who are well off, time, other people, and our responsibilities make constant demands on us. Many of us say, “I can’t put anything else on my plate.”

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

Life isn’t fair. It’s unfair how the media treats President Trump on a minute-by-minute basis. It’s unfair how our schools and popular culture play for team Planned Parenthood too often.

It’s unfair that so few of us prolife people are the ones doing so much life-saving work. But, life isn’t fair. Whether we are struggling to be the one prolife voice that reaches a woman before she enters the abortion facility, or the one prolife voice that speaks to a person before they enter the voting booth, it has fallen on us.

We were chosen, and they were not. We have life, and every day, more than 2,300 human beings experiencing a stage of life we all were allowed to advance through will not have life.

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

As prolife people, we’ve got plenty of challenges. President Trump is down in the polls—again. A vast array of media voices tell us prolifers up and down the ticket don’t have a chance—as they say every election season. Popular culture tells us abortion is controversial and we must ignore it—it’s not our place to question our “privilege.”

People are spreading around myths that it’s only Democrat presidents reduce abortions, and nothing you’ve done to stop tax-funded abortions, or pass parental consent laws, or reach women in crisis pregnancies matters. People are lecturing to church members that it’s a perfectly neighborly thing to vote for candidates who believe our unborn brothers and sisters can be ripped apart or flushed down a toilet. Why? Because a candidate’s vague promises about fixing healthcare will somehow restore the humanity of the unborn child—even though that has never happened anywhere else in the world.

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

It’s one thing to say I’ll never have an abortion. It’s another thing to say I’ll vote for prolife candidates or donate to a prolife organization. But we prolifers know it’s something else entirely to make the prolife movement a calling. Abortion happens behind closed doors. There is no audible beep to remind us every 36 seconds during our waking hours that we are living through a constant massacre.

How many people will do something about abortion today?

Unless your heart has been broken by abortion, you’re not going to make saving these children an urgent priority. If more than 860,000 children were abducted for sex trafficking every year, how long would it take until we move Heaven and Earth to put a stop to it? Would improving the economic situation be the only acceptable or sufficient response to stop it?

The lives tick away so fast they become merely background noise. One death is a tragedy; one million deaths is a statistic.

Another unborn baby has just been aborted.

If your heart hasn’t been broken by abortion yet, then you haven’t stopped to think about it very long. If you say “I’m prolife” but the eight children who died while you read this take a lower priority to your views about tax policy or the level of outrage from the anchors on the 6 o’clock news, then your heart hasn’t really been broken yet.

For those of us with broken hearts, it’s unfair this burden falls to just us, but we know we have no choice in the matter. How can we live our lives normally among so many that don’t get the same opportunity?

Who will speak for these children?

If you aren’t connected to your local Right to Life of Michigan affiliate and you feel the need to change our culture and laws to respect the lives of the unborn, get connected today.