Two days after I won the Democratic nomination in my US Senate race, I received an email from a doctor at the University of Chicago Medical School.



"Congratulations on your overwhelming and inspiring primary win," the doctor wrote. "I was happy to vote for you, and I will tell you that I am seriously considering voting for you in the general election. I write to express my concerns that may, in the end, prevent me from supporting you." He described himself as a Christian, whose faith led him to strongly oppose abortion and gay marriage, but he said his faith also led him to question the idolatry of the free market and the quick resort to militarism that seemed to characterize much of President Bush's policy.



The reason the doctor was considering voting for my opponent was not my position on abortion as such. Rather, he had read an entry that my campaign had posted on my website, suggesting that I would fight "right-wing ideologues who want to take away a woman's right to choose." He went on to write:



"Whatever your convictions, if you truly believe that those who oppose abortion are all ideologues driven by perverse desires to inflict suffering on women, then you, in my judgment, are not fair-minded ... I do not ask at this point that you oppose abortion, only that you speak about this issue in fair-minded words."



I checked my website and found the offending words. They were not my own; my staff had posted them to summarize my pro-choice position during the Democratic primary, at a time when some of my opponents were questioning my commitment to this issue.



Rereading the doctor's letter, though, I felt a pang of shame. Yes, I thought, there were those in the antiabortion movement for whom I had no sympathy, those who jostled or blocked women who were entering clinics; those who bullied and intimidated and occasionally resorted to violence. But those antiabortion protesters weren't the ones who occasionally appeared at my campaign rallies. The ones I encountered usually showed up in the smaller communities that we visited, their expressions determined as they stood in silent vigil outside whatever building in which the rally was taking place. They didn't yell or try to disrupt our events, although they still made my staff jumpy. The first time a group of protesters showed up, my advance team called the car I was in and suggested that I slip in through the rear entrance to avoid a confrontation.



"I don't want to go through the back," I told the staffer driving me. "Tell them we are coming through the front."



We turned into the parking lot and saw 7 or 8 protesters gathered along a fence: several older women and what looked to be a family ? a man and woman with two young children. I walked up to them and introduced myself. The man shook my hand hesitantly and told me his name. He looked to be about my age, and his wife shook my hand as well. But the older women kept their distance. The children, maybe 9 or 10 years old, stared at me with undisguised curiosity.



The man handed me a pamphlet. "Mr. Obama, I want you to know that I agree with a lot of what you have to say."

"I appreciate that."

"And I know you are a Christian, with a family of your own."

"That's true."

"So how can you support murdering babies?"



I told him I understood his position but had to disagree with it. I explained my belief that few women made the decision to terminate a pregnancy casually; that any pregnant woman felt the full force of the morel issues involved and wrestled with her conscience when making that decision; that I feared a ban on abortion would force women to seek unsafe abortions, as they had once done in this country. I suggested that perhaps we could agree on ways to reduce the number of women who felt the need to have abortion in the first place.



The man listened politely and then pointed to statistics on the pamphlet listing the number of unborn children that, according to him, were sacrificed every year. After a few minutes, I said I had to go inside to meet my supporters and asked if the group wanted to come in. The man declined. As I turned to go, his wife called out to me.



"I will pray for you," she said. "I pray that you have a change of heart."



Neither my mind nor my heart changed that day, nor did they in the days to come. But I did have that family in mind as I wrote back to the doctor and thanked him for his email. The next day, I had the language on my website changed to state in clear but simple terms my pro-choice position. And that night, before I went to bed, I said a prayer of my own ? that I might extend the same presumption of good faith to others that the doctor had extended to me.
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