WHAT IF THEY WERE YOURS?

I was a lifeguard at the local country club during my senior year of high school. It was the one job I absolutely enjoyed and looked forward to every day. But the reason was a bit different than probably my friends.’ I would never have admitted it then, but I loved being the one on watch to protect people, especially the children.

In my entire lifeguard career, I only rescued one little girl—if you can even call it a “rescue.” It was the shallow end. Her mom was literally an arm's length away from her. But nonetheless, her mother was busy talking to her friend next to her as I saw red curls floating around this little face, quietly gurgling through the surface of the water. She was so gently drowning that my first thought was that she couldn’t be drowning—she was only playing at it. But I quickly got down from the stand to make sure. When I got to the edge, I saw she indeed was. I didn’t even blow my whistle as I did not want to embarrass her mother, who was right there. I instantaneously hopped into the water and pulled her little arms up around me. I felt her coughing for air against my shoulder as I pulled us back to the cement edge of the pool. Her mom was absolutely shocked to find that her daughter was drowning soundlessly beside her, and I felt so terrible for her. I had this thought, “What if the little girl was mine? What if I was that mother that didn’t know her child was drowning?” It could have happened to anyone. A few minutes of distraction and then your child is under the water.

That wasn’t the only time I had that thought that summer. There were five little boys who came every other weekend to the pool ranging in age from 7 to 11. This older lady would bring them, and I naturally assumed she was their grandmother. Boy, were they a handful! I can see them now running (against the rules), constantly yelling in excitement (also against the rules), and cannonballing into the deep end (yep, against the rules) while other divers were waiting their turn to jump in from the high dive.  As a lifeguard, I should have been annoyed by their disobedience but if I had to hide a smile once by their crazy behavior, then I had to hide my laughter a thousand times. They were my favorite!

And often, this thought would enter my mind: “What if they were your boys?” Well, if they were my boys, I would want to love them and find out why they were acting this way. So, if they were in “time out” (and often they were), I would sit with them on my breaks. I would talk to them about what they did and why they were doing it and help sort it out. But mostly, I just wanted to know them and enjoy their company. 

They came to love me, and whenever I was on watch, they never broke a single rule. They were perfect angels on my shift (of which gave great annoyance to the other lifeguards who were still traumatized during their watch). Those boys are the very reason I began telling my friends that I wanted five boys of my own one day when I was married. I never expected that they actually needed a mom of their own right then. 

I was in the cabana break area and heard one of the staff complaining that the five boys had arrived, and just as I began smiling and heading out to the pool to greet them, I heard her call them this distant word I hardly understood—“orphans.” I stopped walking. I turned around and asked her what she meant. “Oh, those boys live in the local boys’ home. That lady brings them here.” She wasn’t their grandmother. They don’t have a family. “What if they were your boys?” became a bit more real to me. It broke my heart, and I watched them running and screaming into the pool area from where I stood. No smile came, just this overwhelming feeling to love them even more, to teach them even more, and to be around them even more while I had the chance.

I never saw the boys again after that summer. I never saw the beautiful little red-haired girl again, either. I went to college in the fall and went on with my life.  But I never stopped thinking of them, and the heaven-sent thought that never left my mind after that special summer, “What if they were yours?”

This beautiful young African American girl walked into our crisis pregnancy center two weeks ago and told me that she had decided to have an abortion. She was so cut off from every word I spoke to her. She was kind but stern in her decision, refusing to entertain the thought of other options. So I sat there still and wondered what else I could do. That beautiful, perfect word from heaven immediately came to me, “What if she was your daughter?” 

If she were mine? If this full-grown, beautiful woman, whom I clearly know is intelligent, strong-willed, and unwavering (because she is mine, of course), were mine, then I would tell her the facts of what she has decided. So that is what I did. 

I said, “Ok. I understand you want an abortion. Can you tell me what you know about the procedure?” 

She knew nothing. So I sat there and methodically told her the different procedures, the reactions her body would have, and things to expect post-abortion. I told her about the two centers in Birmingham and their past history of probation, lawsuits, and the women sent to the emergency room in the last year. 

I warned her of the center that is practicing without a license and the center that is open that entertains local prostitution rings’ abortions and underage minors' abortions. Facts. I repeatedly told her that I was telling her what I would want to know for an informed decision and what I would want my own family to know. She sat there, eyes wide and quiet for the first time since our session. I asked her what she was thinking. 

She said, “I had no idea about all that. I wasn’t expecting you to tell me about abortion or any of those things.”

We talked more, and she was thankful to know the facts and felt indifferent about the casual decision she had made before. There she was, and in that moment, she was my daughter—strong-willed, stoic, and informed. For that little session, I got to love her, teach her, and just enjoy her company like that summer sitting with the five boys. I thought about her pregnant belly, too. Was this little unborn like the quietly drowning beauty with her mom right beside her? Not wanting to blow my whistle to shame or embarrass, I embraced this moment, and I prayed with her before she left. I thanked God for the life within her and prayed for strength and blessing over her during this decision—that she would feel the tangible peace of His Spirit telling her everything would be all right and that she could trust in Him. And when we had finished praying, I asked her, daringly, if she would like to make an appointment for a sonogram. My bold, strong-willed daughter looked me full in the face, not wanting to let go of the tear forming in her eyes, “Yeah. I do.

As his ambassadors, God the Father has given all of His searching children to us. He has called us to this glorious duty of searching them out, holding their hands as we teach them what we have been taught by Him, and above all else, loving them well. For love is what they remember. And maybe, just maybe, this will be the difference between Life or Death. 

There are millions of us out there watching and praying on the wall. But the opportunities are all around us to get off our stands for a while, go down to the water, or over to the ones in trouble. It will go from being another job to a holy moment when you begin living your life as though they were yours.

Natalie Brumfield is an adoptive mom, foster care advocate, and pro-life writer from Birmingham, Alabama. She leads Bound4LIFE Birmingham, a grassroots prayer movement focused on addressing abortion and adoption. Natalie also volunteers at a crisis pregnancy center, serves in her church’s foster care outreach, and is on the board of Life On Wheels Birmingham. She and her husband Matthew are passionate about raising the next generation of Christian leaders and fostering revival in homes. We are grateful for the dedication and heart Natalie brings to her work!