Sometimes I entirely and totally fail to see the ways in which I am arrogant. Reading this post was a good opportunity to do an internal check.
About 30 seconds into freshman year, I found the college’s pro-life club and signed up. By my sophomore year, I was the president. I think that this is due more to accidents of circumstance than my administrative ability, but it was a position that I relished and a cause that I cared about deeply. My now-husband and I spent our free time together doing pro-life work, performing praise and worship music for college events, and playing intramural sports. I got good grades, I didn’t have a drink until I was 21, and I served as an officer of various honor societies, clubs and councils.
And then, I got pregnant.
I stared into my future with dread. I imagined myself looking forward to a life of shattered dreams. My wonderful life, my successes, and a promising future were seemingly ruined by one stupid decision. There was never, ever a possibility that we would abort. But the pain and fear of young lives crippled were very, very real. We were cornered, and I was doomed.
The first thing I realized as the fog lifted on those first few weeks was how arrogant I’d been. I had no idea what a cataclysmic event an unplanned pregnancy can be, even under relatively happy circumstances (e.g. a healthy, committed relationship, family support, a college education). I knew that it was often panic which drives mothers and fathers to the terrible “relief” of abortion, but experiencing an unplanned pregnancy showed me how much empathy I’d been lacking and how essential pro-mother programs (like the Pregnant on Campus Initiative) are.
Another thing I’m not terribly great at is simply asking questions. “Why do you believe that?” or “What led you to this position?” being two good ones. Generally, this is because I’m too busy explaining why and how my own views are so important.
The good news is that I have become less insufferable over time, I’m almost positive.by