Her little face showed up on televisions all across central and lower Michigan. Alongside her happy toddler face was the mugshot of the man who snatched her from her mother after he’d brutalized the woman. For hours our newsroom watched and waited for news that the little girl, a 2-year-old, might be still alive. She wasn’t.

I was on the assignment desk at a local TV station. My job was to listen to the scanner traffic, watch social media, glean story ideas for my reporters and photographers and keep track of what seemed a never-ending list of homicide suspects. I had local and national news in front of me every hour I was at my desk, and the image of the little girl, who was found brutally murdered more than 100 miles from her home, is one I can’t unsee. 

Like many of the stories I covered in my decades-long career as a reporter, I have many images tucked away in my memory. A few still come back now and then to remind me of the human condition that we reporters get to view with a 10-foot lens. We tell other people’s stories from our perspective and separate ourselves behind the camera, a notebook, a microphone, or a laptop. If I don’t get close, I reasoned, their humanness can’t affect me. 

Sitting at the news desk, answering calls from viewers, listening to the scanner, and interacting with people is a different part of journalism. I was told that my job was the most important in the newsroom. I interacted with people on a different level than I did as a reporter. I couldn’t step away into that 10-foot view. Mine was often 2 feet or less. 

Although I didn’t cover their stories, I compiled a database of more than 50 first-degree homicide cases just from our local area. When I started building the record, I realized I was beginning a slow walk toward the door at the end of my career. The little girl’s death was the springboard, but that list was where I saw that God was calling me to something else — something greater. 

Over my career as a reporter, I’ve had the opportunity, like many journalists, to cover everything from serial killers, rapists, kids in trouble with the law, fatal crashes, house fires and other tragedies to the sublime and the “fluff.” I’ve spent more hours in local government and school board meetings than many elected officials. It was easy to stay detached. I had to. 

I learned from a couple of early experiences, including a serial killer whose sentencing I covered. I took home the look in his eyes, knowing I was seeing something purely evil; I’ve also been unable to forget the woman who bounced off the guardrail more than100 times before the first fatal crash I wrote about. 

Upon leaving print journalism, I landed in that TV newsroom after traveling through radio news. I thought it would be the place I’d finally be able to retire from — that is, until I started building that collection of murder cases. I’d add a brief description of what they’d done and sometimes who they were accused of killing. One by one, God tugged at me, telling me in his still, small voice: “This is enough.”

Some cases were just too hard to look at. Children were killing children and facing life in prison without the possibility of parole. What became a reality, though, was not the heinousness of what they did, but that they were human beings. They had stories and backstories, and the more I read, the harder it became to be objective. As a journalist, I stand on objectivity. 

I heard, again and again, God saying: “This is enough.” In prayer, I’d respond, “Okay, God, you know better than I do, but you need to show me where to go.” I wanted to be part of a solution, rather than continuing in what I saw as part of the greater problem: memorializing crime.

Then I received a newsletter from one of my local pregnancy centers. I was on the email list because years ago I was a volunteer there. I usually opened the email and read through the list of answered prayers, but didn’t often read further — but this time I did. There, I believe I saw God showing me where to go. The center needed a client services director, and I applied with much trepidation. After all, I am not a social worker or psychologist. That’s not what they were looking for anyway. 

The job description only required a heart for humanity, an ardent supporter of life, and my experiences as a parent. I never thought I was a good enough mom, but I am pro-life and had a heart for whatever God wanted for me. 

So I retired from the news business — except it never retires from me. Even on the last day in the newsroom I had second thoughts. It was all I knew. 

But, in this new job, I get to see things from a whole different perspective. 

Our clinic meets women where they are. We don’t judge, don’t force, and don’t chide women into making decisions, but our purpose is to love them into choosing life and parenting. At first, coming from my own history with parenting and children, I had expectations of a lot of these women, but I quickly found out that I could have none at all. 

Every one of the clients I see comes from a different background; many from the very situations I’d covered in the news. Now, though, I get to see them from a different perspective: as children of God and worthy of everything God has to offer. 

Instead of the victims of crime, abuse and trauma, I came to see them as parents in need of support and encouragement. They’ve come to trust me, as I come to trust myself in a very unfamiliar role: mentor. 

In the process of sharing my experience as a mother and grandmother, wife and daughter, I also get to watch these women grow and learn to thrive in those roles themselves. I get to help empower women to choose life and the men in their lives to support them in that decision. It’s a blessing to see the babies thrive and their parents grow at the same time. 

Our parenting program offers mothers ownership through participation that gets them diapers, wipes, baby clothes, and so much more to support them and their babies, which takes the financial burden out of their decision to choose life. Though I often wonder how much of an impact we’re making, I’ve learned that every mom we influence has a ripple effect.

Since I took this position, several of my clients have delivered their babies, and I get to share in their joy. One mom brought her baby to meet me when he was 4 days old. Other clients who have had their babies  bring them to their visits. One told me recently that her toddler loves me like another grandmother. 

All those connections I made as a reporter and editor still serve me well, too. I don’t only give moms material resources, but help them with connections in the community. Sometimes, knowing a few people or who to call is a benefit. While I don’t have all the answers, I know a few people who can help me find them.

Shortly after I started the new job, God showed me this was the right decision in a particularly poignant way. As my husband and I sat in a restaurant, enjoying dinner, the image of that little 2-year-old girl flashed on the TV screen behind us. Beside her, again, was the picture of the man accused of her murder. He pleaded guilty to causing her death and will likely spend the rest of his life in prison. The outcome gave the little girl’s family some closure, but what I took from it was a reflection of the dignity and preciousness of life. 

Not long ago, my spiritual director posed for me a question I can ask myself to discern whether what I was doing was God’s will or mine. She said I could always know by answering the question, “Is this life-giving, or does it destroy life?” When I look into the eyes of the moms and babies I work with and find the face of Jesus, I know the answer. 

Denyse Shannon is a freelance journalist and retired reporter, living in mid-Michigan.