I had an abortion in 1978.  Now, more than 30 years later I am discovering what an impact it had on my life.  Back in 1978 it was just something I felt like I had to do for my parents, so they wouldn’t have to deal with an unmarried, pregnant daughter.  I had shamed them by choosing to be sexually active and allowing myself to get pregnant.  After causing them so much emotional pain I believed that I owed it to them to have the abortion they wanted me to have.  I wanted to restore peace to the family, and if the abortion was what it would take, then so be it.  I knew that my mother and father didn’t really care for the boyfriend I had at the time.  They loved me, of that I had no doubt, and I knew that they wanted what was best for me.  According to them, what was best was for me to get an abortion and afterwards to go on with my life as if nothing had happened.  I could have the “problem” removed from my body, and then remove myself from the relationship I had with a man that they didn’t think was good enough for their daughter.  After all, it was his fault I had gotten pregnant, wasn’t it?  He was already the father of a two year old son.  Shouldn’t he have been old enough and responsible enough to know the possible consequences of unprotected sex? 

Don’t get me wrong; my mother and father were wonderful parents.  They made huge sacrifices so that my brother and I could have some of the things they never had.  We always had a comfortable place to live, plenty of food to eat, the clothes we needed, and special things we wanted.  We took summer trips to Galveston, Texas, where we would spend a week walking and playing along the beach.  My mother made sure that we attended church every Sunday, and my dad went, too, until the day his mother, my grandmother, died suddenly.  When that happened he blamed God for taking her away from him, and it was a long time before he attended church again.  Anyway, my parents were not evil, selfish, uncaring people.  They were the best mother and father I could have ever asked for.  I never doubted their love for me, or the lengths they would go to in order for me to have a better life than they had when they were growing up.  Everything they ever did was for our benefit, or so they thought.  So, when they told me that the best thing for me would be to have an abortion I believed them.  I trusted them completely.  They had never done anything to cause me to doubt them, and I told myself that they knew better than I did what would benefit me the most.

As I look back now I wonder how I could have been so naïve to think that there would be no consequences to face after the abortion.  I also wonder how I could have so easily given in to their persuasion.  For as long as I could remember the dream I had for my life was to be a mother.  I didn’t think much about being married, but I knew that I wanted babies – and the more the better!  I received my first baby doll on my second birthday.  Her name was Thumbelina, or “Thumba” for short.  She was almost as big as I was and the only way I could carry her was to drag her behind me by the roots of her hair!  As I grew my passion for babies grew.  I received many dolls throughout the years, but Thumba was the one I chose to play with more often than not.  To me, Thumba was a real baby.  I bought her real baby clothes, blankets, bottles, and socks.  I even had a carrier that was made for real babies.  (Back in the sixties they were just called “infant seats.)  To the dismay of my family I took Thumba with me everywhere we went.  I took her to the grocery store and sat her up in the front of the grocery cart.  Every once in a while my mother could talk me into leaving her in the car for just a few minutes, but most of the time she was never out of my sight.  She was not a doll to me – she was my baby!  So, with all of this passion and love for babies, how in the world could I have allowed my parents to talk me into killing the baby that was living inside of me?  What happened to the little girl who yelled at anyone who treated Thumba like a doll instead of the baby she was to me?  The little girl who dreamed of having little babies that she could love with all her heart, and play with, and take care of?  I will probably spend the remainder of my life asking myself the same questions.  Why didn’t I stand up for my baby?  Why did I go along with my parents’ wishes so easily?  Why didn’t I ask God what He wanted me to do?  Why didn’t I try to find someone to talk to, or a place where I could go to learn what other options I might have?

I have no excuses.  I can barely remember the event, much less any of the details.  I do know that I didn’t want to cause more trouble by rejecting the “help” my parents were offering me.  I know that I wasn’t sure that I wanted the father of the baby to be a part of my life anymore, and having the baby would have made that impossible.  I also know that I wasn’t told anything about the characteristics of the baby I was carrying – like the fact that his little heart had started beating only four weeks after he was conceived, and that by the 12^th week of pregnancy most of his internal organs and tissues and physical features would be completely in place.  When I think about my pregnancy now I find myself becoming angry because I didn’t know anything!  Why wasn’t I given the opportunity to find out about the precious life that was growing under my heart?  Why didn’t anyone take the time to sit down and talk to me about what an abortion did to a tiny, defenseless baby?  I know that my father really thought that he was saving me from living a life of disgrace, and he wanted me to have opportunities that he never had; to go to college or get a good job that I enjoyed.  I believe that he had convinced himself that the abortion was the best solution at the time.  I also believe, however, that throughout the years he probably suffered as much emotionally, if not more so, than I have.  I believe that before he went to be with the Lord on April 6, 2000, a day didn’t go by that he didn’t regret “encouraging” me to get the abortion.  And I have no doubt that my dear mother was against the abortion and devastated by it.  Unfortunately, she died less than 21 months after my father.  We never talked about what happened that summer of 1978.  After the abortion it immediately became a “skeleton in the closet,” and the subject was never brought up again.  I never had the chance to sit down with my parents and discuss what had happened and why they had believed abortion was the best solution for my pregnancy.  I think that too many times we ignore or deny the things that bring us pain and pretend they never happened.  At least that is what my family did.  I have learned that this way of coping is the worst thing you can do.

I have learned a lot since the summer of 1978.  I have only recently begun to face the fact that I allowed my first baby to be murdered.  I know that it sounds harsh to call it murder, and others may disagree with me, but in God’s righteous eyes abortion is murder.  For the last 30 years I have tried to justify my abortion and blame it on my parents.  Through a post-abortion bible study and the Holy Spirit I have been able to admit that I was an accomplice in the death of my baby.  I have quite a bit of grieving and healing ahead of me for not protecting my baby.  But I thank God for His assurance that I have been forgiven for the evil act I committed.  The minute I confessed my sin to Him it was erased from His memory.  He no longer holds it against me.

The Lord is compassionate and merciful,
      slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.
  He will not constantly accuse us,
      nor remain angry forever.
  He does not punish us for all our sins;
      he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve.
  For his unfailing love toward those who fear him
      is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth.
  He has removed our sins as far from us
      as the east is from the west.

Psalm 103:9-12 NLT

Today I am committed to doing whatever I can to help women, both young and old alike, realize that abortion is not the answer to their unwanted pregnancies.  God has taken a devastating time in my life and turned it into a passion for counseling teen girls and women who are in crisis pregnancy situations.  It is also my desire to help women who have had one or more abortions begin the face the pain they have buried deep inside their souls, accept responsibility for their choices, confess it to a loving Father who does not hold our sin against us, and ultimately accept the freedom that comes with His forgiveness.

Then I acknowledged my sin to you
       and did not cover up my iniquity.
       I said, "I will confess
       my transgressions to the LORD "—
       and you forgave the guilt of my sin.

Psalm 32:5 NIV

I believe that part of the healing process includes giving the child that was aborted the dignity that he or she deserves by acknowledging its existence.  I didn’t want to think about the baby that I allowed to be put to death, my own baby.  Instead I just kept pushing what happened further and further into the hidden places of my mind.  But one day God showed me that it was time I stopped running from the truth and face it head on.  I realized that I would never be free until I acknowledged the baby God had given to me.  This was a child who was created by God, in His image, and who is worthy of respect, dignity, acceptance, and love.  So in November of 2008, I gave my baby a name.  I believe God revealed to me that the child He created in me, the child that I should have nurtured and loved and cared for as his mother, was a boy.  I chose to name him “Micah,” after one of God’s prophets in the Old Testament.  This precious little boy didn’t deserve to die.  He didn’t deserve to be killed in an act of convenience and selfishness.  But because of God’s promise to forgive our sins, no matter how horrific they may be, I know that I will join him one day in heaven.  The following text is from Micah 7:18-20:

Where is another God like you,
      who pardons the guilt of the remnant,
      overlooking the sins of his special people?
   You will not stay angry with your people forever,
      because you delight in showing unfailing love.
  Once again you will have compassion on us.
      You will trample our sins under your feet
      and throw them into the depths of the ocean!
 You will show us your faithfulness and unfailing love
      as you promised to our ancestors Abraham and Jacob long ago.

I know without a doubt that Micah lives eternally with Jesus and will live in my heart forever.  I eagerly look forward to the day that I enter the gates of heaven and my arms will have the opportunity to wrap themselves around the precious little boy that God gave to me.  Although Micah doesn’t live with me now, he continues to teach me so much about life, love, and responsibility.  His spirit is with me as I, in obedience to God, work to share the message that life is not a choice, but a gift that He entrusts to us to cherish. 

I miss you, Micah, and love you with all my heart.  I look forward to holding you in my arms one day soon.  Until that day, I will live every day of my life on earth proud to be your “mommy.”