Sanctity of Human Life
I’ve said it before: “The thing about abortion is that many, many women have them. Your closest friends. And they don’t tell you. We can carry grief like a tight lead jacket under our prettiest blouses and never say a thing” (TheRunamuck, Jan. 27, 2009.)
I’ve sat down to write this post at least five times, and it feels impossible.
It’s hard to turn around to the past and face chest-crushing reality. My firstborn grew inside me for twelve weeks, and then a guy I barely knew drove me to a far away clinic and paid $500 to remove what we made together, a tiny baby, with my eyes and skin, maybe a girl, an endless possibility.
Even at the time, I couldn’t justify it. I wailed in a quiet room with at least thirty other women in a first-come first-serve line that meandered from one room into another, where they gave a pill for relaxation. A nurse told me to stop crying, said it wasn’t that big of a deal, and I know she had to have believed that or was trying to convince herself, too.
The girl sitting next to me was having her third abortion. Despondent, she gave me her phone number, said I could call to talk. “It’s better than the other options,” she said, and I agreed. That’s why I was there.
I didn’t know I had any other options, drowning in the fear to disappoint.
And I still can’t imagine it, what it would have been like to have chosen the right way. I had moved out of state (to a Christian University) for the procedure. I moved there, and I shape-shifted, growing in the middle, then shrinking drastically, a spiral so unhealthy that my skin turned grey.
I don’t know what it would have looked like for me to make it with that baby, my life already walking the edge of hard addiction, my heart so far from God.
All I know is that I’m sobbing now, even after so much healing and being wrapped over and over in grace.
All I know is that I chose wrong, and I miss not having her as if I’ve looked deep into her eyes and loved her like a helpless child.
All I know is that, even in pain so intense as this, God sent her, and in all my trying to run from Him, He saved me, and He saved me by using her precious life.
Without that planted seed that multiplied and attached to me, a cord of life between us, and without my hopeless choice to cut that life from me, I wouldn’t know how desperately needy I was to be grafted into a lifeline, a bloodline so pure.
So when Jesus wooed me into Himself, and when I came with nothing to offer but bad decisions, He took it all. He took her. He took addiction. And in her place he gave me Redemption, this beautifully sober story to tell, because her life is as meaningful as the one I breathe in right now.
This post was originally written for A Life in Need of Change for Sanctity of Human Life week.
A note to those of you who are Pro-Choice: I understand it. I do. I understood so much that I did it, and I hadn’t been forced into my pregnancy, and my pregnancy was not life threatening to me. This is simply my story, and I’m honored that you would read it, and if you disagree with me, I certainly have no stones to throw. I do strongly believe that a baby is a baby, but I throw no stones.
I’m begging us all to pursue LIFE. So Pro-Lifers, I beg that of you, too.
We all like to think we know what we would do in a given situation. We like to think a lot of things about ourselves, but the truth is that we are weak. Truth is truth, but/and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Grace.