I was 17 when it happened.
I had an abortion. I honestly had no idea what I was doing. Here I was pregnant and alone. I had no respect for life, and all I wanted was for the problem to go away. The very fact that I was carrying a baby inside me, really did not occur to me.
My family had not taught me how to value life. They valued my life, more than they valued the life inside me. Deep inside I knew this, because I, too, accepted this plan for my life. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew that I had to have some “future,” and it was attending college. It was expected of me. There was no room for a baby in that plan.
We were an educated and intelligent family. The rule was, you put education before family.
This was my rationale for allowing them to perform an abortion on me.
The waiting room was misleading. You know? It wasn’t clinical, but warm and friendly, as if you were just going to a regular doctor’s visit for a checkup. The staff and “nurses” were cordial and friendly. The sun shining in, the green plants, and the wood finish covered up the reality of what they wanted to do at this “clinic.” The niceness swallowed up the darkness of abortion.
When they completed my exam and confirmed my pregnancy, there was no equipment or sonogram machines. There was no mention of the fact that I was carrying a baby. There was only the clinical description of what they were going to do to remove my baby from my womb. The phrase “termination of pregnancy” was used. They did not even refer to him as tissue. Only the unspoken truth was unstated: you will have an abortion.
I missed the fact that they were removing an actual, living, breathing baby from my womb. I missed the fact that I was carrying a life, created by God the Father, the Creator, Author of the Universe. A life, which I really had no right to take. Honestly, I missed the fact that there was even a God at all.
I arrived on the day of the procedure.
I resolved that I had to do this. I had to get an abortion. The very real fact that I was about to embark on the physical consequences of loss of life in my womb was absent. On the surface, I was scared because I had never done something so disobedient towards my parents. I had crossed the line of being disobedient in morality, and I wasn’t even sure of how I ended up there.
So, on the day I arrived, they suctioned out my baby as if he was some sort of cancer to be removed, and I left feeling confused about what I had done. It took me two days before I broke down and told my mother, in a pool of emotions and raging hormones. Even then, I still did not understand that I had ended a life. I really was too young to understand this. God was not a word we used in our family.
His name was Jesse Ray.
And, he was my baby. It took me years to give my baby a name. Many years to realize that I even had a baby, and the release of truthful videos to understand how naive I was at the age of 17.
I. Had. No. Idea. What. I. Had. Done.
Jesse was the brother his sister and brothers never had.
He was the son I never gave birth to, and held.
His was the life I was never able to raise up on this earth.
But, I know that someday I will see him in Heaven.
I took 100% of the blame of this until the PP videos were released.
I didn’t excuse myself from getting an abortion, but I realized that the environment I was in, did not support Life. It did not support the Creator.
I was not raised a Christian. The few Christian friends I had, I shunned. My shame was deeply buried and God was too abstract for me. When I came to know Jesus and filled with the Holy Spirit, I realized abortion was wrong. It took the release of the truth for me to feel the sorrow that comes with abortion. For that, I am forever grateful.
So, while I stand in the ashes of imperfections in my life all around me, I discovered what I already knew: Grace. Grace is what carried me all these years. Grace is my middle name. Grace, because Jesus died on the cross for the likes of me, made me whole, and made me pure. Grace from giving a life that wasn’t mine to give.