“But what can I do now?” he asked. “It’s too late.”

I was conversing with a friend on the sidewalk that spring afternoon when, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a man near a pickup in the parking lot of the Moorhead abortion facility. “Just a sec,” I said, interrupting the discussion. 

Waving to him, I said, “Can we talk with you?” Slowly, the man approached us, and as we spoke, he said, half smiling, “I can only speak to you if you speak French.” 

Others might have given up then, but two of us pressed on, understanding deception can be part of the game. We learned he was originally from Kenya, and that despite French being his primary language, he could also speak, and understand, some English. 

He was a Christian, he said, which allowed us to ask more pointed questions. As we spoke of the hope we wished to bring him and his “friend” (perhaps a wife; he was wearing a wedding ring), we explained that he was being given an opportunity to be a hero, a defender of the child and the mother.  

He listened, drawing closer, seemingly scrutinizing the sincerity of our words. After a while, his facial expression changed, showing that not only was he taking our words into his head but also his heart. 

Despite the escorts, who listened nearby while resting on their shovels while awaiting an opportunity to coax him away from us, we continued trying to reach him, offering words that might compel him to rescue the child.  

At one point, he stepped back briefly, as if considering our words but needing space. A veteran escort approached him then, pulling out her phone. We were close enough to hear her warn him that I write about what happens here, as she showed him proof. It was a warning to him to avoid talking to us further.  

It didn’t work. Instead, it allowed me the chance to affirm that our primary intention was for him and the woman and child inside the facility. We’d come with concern and resources at the ready and could easily find 800 others to come alongside them in this difficult situation.  

Despite the pressure of the escorts, he came back closer to us, and for a moment, he and I locked eyes. At close range, I sensed an ache, a pleading almost, in his pained expression. But then, a downward glance. As his head rose again, he said, “But what do you want me to do? It’s too late. It’s already happened.” 

It’s too late. The victorious words of Old Scratch. It’s hopeless. You can never turn this around. You are doomed.

“It’s not too late if she’s had the pill,” we said, explaining the abortion-pill reversal procedure, and that our local pregnancy resource center could help guide them through it.  

At that point, another escort was roused and began yelling about the abortion-pill reversal being a lie, and how dare we perpetuate this mistruth. I responded that I knew of over a thousand children living today because of this antidote. He wanted proof, he said. I told him the proof was in the living children.  

I turned my attention back to the man, who’d only recently made an important connection. “You are not all the same?” he’d asked, suddenly realizing that we and the escorts were not on the same team. And I’d been direct about our differences. The time for mincing words was over. The man was seeking truth.  

Amid this very obvious spiritual battle, I told him he was standing in the middle of a warzone, reminding him that his actions could be heroic. He seemed conflicted, and was hesitant even to take the brochures I offered, but ultimately he did, including information on the effects of abortion on men, abortion-pill reversal help, the local Women’s Care Center, and post-abortion healing.  

We don’t know if the woman he’d brought had had the pill, which would allow the possibility of a reversal, but we do know that in between a parking lot and a sidewalk that day, a man had an awakening. What seemed “too late” was not at all. God was right there, reaching into his heart, offering his soul a second chance.  

God always awaits with eagerness our return to him and the chance to offer redemption—for this man, the woman, and all of us. We don’t know if we helped save a child that day, but we’re optimistic we may have helped save a soul.