Maaike Rosendal

Embryo ashes

By Maaike Rosendal

One woman's abortion story: what I learned

By Maaike Rosendal

Truth, tears, and tyranny on campus

By Maaike Rosendal

Earlier this week pro-lifers in the Greater Toronto Area joined forces in order to show the truth about abortion near Ryerson University. Due to its downtown location we could exercise our Charter rights on public sidewalks while reaching hundreds of people. “This is the third time now,” lamented a pro-choice student. “Don’t they have better things to do?” 

The night my son asked me about abortion

By Maaike Rosendal

It has been a particularly warm day. The humid heat seemed to have seized my ability to stay on schedule so supper was late. After my children are finally tucked into bed, a mountain of dishes meets me in the kitchen. I resist the urge to turn off the lights and go to bed and instead turn on the tap. While suds form in the sink, I submerge the first pan into the water. 

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The Beauty of Community

By Maaike Rosendal

A debate at the doctor's office

By Maaike Rosendal
 
Recently my daughter Tisa and I went to the doctor for a checkup. While driving to our appointment, I told her what would happen. “She’ll look how big you are…” “Big!” exclaimed our 21-month old. “She might look into your ears,” I continued. “Eaws!” came the echo from the car seat. “Oh, we’re here already,” I said. “Out, out, out?” Tisa immediately asked—then, “Baby come too?” With utmost care, she carried her doll from our van to the front door of the doctor’s office. My heart felt full. 
 
Inside, after the necessary paperwork, a kind nurse showed Tisa a stethoscope and immediately made us feel comfortable. Since our family doctor was unavailable today, a nurse practitioner would see us. While waiting, a question on a bright pink poster caught my attention: Is the birth control pill right for me? “Good question,” I thought to myself.

It's Just That Simple: A New Year's Reflection

By Maaike Rosendal

“Are we there yet?” Impatiently our kids peer through the van windows. It's already getting dark, and strings of multi-colored lights try to cheer up the cold streets of downtown Hamilton. The two boys in the back, however, are looking for only one thing: Jackson Square. They recognize the name of the place where our team “talks to people,” where a baby was saved from abortion last year. But tonight, our family’s on a different mission.

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A couple of weeks ago the boys complained about being bored so we sat around the table to make a list of things to do during the Christmas break. Swimming! Bowling! Sledding! How about board games? “What if,” my husband Nick and I suggested, “we come up with one special thing for ourselves and one special thing for others?” Our sons agreed.

If abortion kills children, act like it.

By Maaike Rosendal

Last week, nine students and an instructor at a Community College in Oregon were brutally murdered and many others injured by a man who asked them to state their religion. Survivors have shared how those who said they were Christian were shot in the head--a disturbing fact many media outlets have failed to report--while others were shot in the legs.

With a heavy heart, I've tried to imagine their anguish but I can't. Because on the day that the door of a college classroom flew open to reveal a man wearing body armour and carrying multiple guns, my colleagues and I gathered for a pro-life presentation that took place undisturbed, followed by coffee and cookies, with a beautiful view of the lake.

Killing Isn't A Solution: A Response to Paola Dragnic

By Maaike Rosendal

What if someone tells you that abortion allowed her to be a mother? Since this seems counter-intuitive, you’d likely want to find out how this could be. My reaction was the same. Though any article on abortion piques my interest, I was particularly intrigued by Paola Dragnic’s recent piece on BuzzFeed, entitled “The Abortion That Let Me Be a Mother.” How is it possible, I wondered, that terminating a pregnancy results in maternity?

Enter one Chilean journalist’s harrowing tale.

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On the march, day by day

By Maaike Rosendal

I’ve just returned from a post-carding shift with our staff and interns in the Greater Toronto Area. My feet hurt and I consider myself blessed to work with a team that understands the urgency of the work we do. Rather than slowing down towards the end of a three-hour shift, people pick up the pace to make sure we finish the mapped out area for the day. “Every postcard is one closer to a million,” someone remarks. It reminds me of the words spoken by a clergy member during last week’s Rose dinner that followed the March for Life in Ottawa.

“Every day is a march for life.”

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