From supporting the redefinition of marriage, to spearheading universal free birth control, to pushing “sexual rights” for 10-year-olds, Planned Parenthood’s position in the culture wars is pretty unambiguous: if it involves sex, it doesn’t matter how risky or immoral it is—gosh darn it, that’s your right. (And our money supply.)
So when I came out of the Ballston Common Mall in Arlington. Va. yesterday evening, toting a hot steamy plate of fresh Chick-Fil-A strips, I pitied the Planned Parenthood canvassers I found outside; likely, I thought, they had been drowning in an endless stream of conservatives all day, with nary a soul to sign up to support their fundraiser. What’s more, they couldn’t give in to the lure of golden, deep-fried poultry as it wafted continually by.
Although canvassers are not always true believers, being often in a temporary contract with Big Abortion, I usually stop to strike up a conversation anyway. The one I met was unusually assertive: she told me that she too was “pro-life,” but she was also a Christian and “pro-choice,” because “God gave me the gift of choice and ain’t nobody going to tell me what to do with it.” Well, I said, free choice is a wonderful thing - although I wasn’t convinced that meant choosing to murder babies is a good idea. But anyway.
Click “like” if you want to defend true marriage.
She, knowing the method of the day’s Chick-Fil-A madness, then commented about my purchase with a derogatory wave of her hand. (I, who almost never eat sugar, was at the time holding two obnoxiously sweet-looking milkshakes, peach and chocolate - whipped cream and cherry on top and all. If ever I was to temporarily destroy my health, I figured, I would do it for a good cause. No holds barred.)
“You’re right, it’s pretty unhealthy, isn’t it?” I said with a shrug. “Just taking one for the team I guess.” Then something strange happened. Without skipping a beat, not four seconds after deriding my sodium and sugar-laden treasure, she asked, “Can I have some?”
“Why, sure! Here, have some sauce, too.” I waved the other canvasser over to join in, and they both loaded up. Quite a few pieces too.
As they navigated their new chickeny bliss, I thought to myself: you take my chicken, you get to listen to me proselytize one more time. “Free choice is a beautiful gift,” I said as I walked away. “Just choose life. Don’t choose murder. Choose life.” I doubt they were paying attention. But who knows - perhaps the God of Chick-Fil-A accepts chicken strips as a sacramental form of prayer for these two women.