Blankets, Layers and Ashes

In the midst of one of the most trialing seasons of my life, when it seems as though I cannot bear one more burden, this door opens. A door. A purple door. Trepidation sets in briefly, and just as suddenly I remember: fear is not of the LORD. (1 John 4:18)

I take a deep breath and pray. Lord, be my strength. Jesus, help me.

What waits on the other side of the purple door is a step towards the hope of healing. A miracle. In the name of Jesus.

Not too long ago, something bizarre happened which I'm hesitant to admit. I hesitate because I didn't (and maybe I still don't) understand why this happened. I was walking on the college campus where I was attending school last fall semester, when on a desolate, cement block bench a little pink blanket caught my eye. I was with my friend at the time, and I felt so inclined to go retrieve the abandoned little blanket that I actually did. I knew even from afar that it was a baby blanket. It seemed so out of place, all alone, draped on a bench in the middle of an empty campus. The blanket was plush on one side and smooth on the other with a theme of small zoo animals and polka dots in shades of pink and chocolate brown. Why did I feel this blanket somehow belonged to me? What inside me stirred to pick it up, fold it and walk away with it? I've kept it. It's mine. I don't have any children. I'm not even sure I want children.

Clearly to me, it meant something. It means something. I need to know.

The truth is...

I'm a woman shrouded in layers of pain. I'm about as solid as a crackled piece of glass. Imagine that. Somehow, I'm a resilient vessel yet fragile and extremely shattered. Who else but Jesus could shine so resplendently in a myriad of glorious prisms through such a fragmented life? God is so beautiful. I am damaged, at best.

So now is the time to embrace a season of bringing all those delicate issues caused by an abortion from nearly a decade ago into His holiness -- into the Light. Meditating on the character of the Messiah allows me to take that first step with anticipation that if I place my little mustard seed of faith at the foot of His cross, He will move this mountain of hurt and provide healing.

Isaiah 61:1-3 tells us this about the character of the Messiah: "The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me, because the LORD has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; to proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified."

I'm wounded. Deeply. The specific details aren't as important as the facts, but I'll graciously share both. I'm just like 1 out of every 4 women who have had an abortion. In my case, I was a young, married, ungodly, pro-choice woman with no qualms about surgically removing an unwanted pregnancy; anyway, that's what I've been telling myself. Had you asked me then, an abortion was preferrable to a root canal.

Speaking from the vulnerable angle of transparent truth, if I'd really believed what I claimed to believe I wouldn't have gone to not one, not two, but three different clinics in desperate search for the right consultation.

"You will be injected locally on the cervix, and then we promise you can barely hear the vacuum and you'll only feel slight poking and tugging. Afterwards, there'll be a little bit of cramping, like your period." Really, if I was so strong as a pro-choice woman and adamant that my life was worth more than the one inside me -- why did that repeated claim leave me feeling so unsettled? I was resentful that anyone would even suggest that I endure the anguish of such a procedure without full anesthesia and force me to live with the memory of having life literally sucked out of me. My firm stance on my right to make a choice was incredulous at best.

But I perservered and got what I wanted. What I thought I wanted. I finally found a clinic willing to sedate me completely, so I wouldn't have to remember.

The third clinic was the charm and I soon found myself in blue socks and a wrap-around gown sitting in a room full of other women whose eyes also fell to the ground. We were all silent. Some stifled sobs, others hugged their waists in what seemed like a good-bye embrace with grimaced faces and no one smiled. It was surreal and the atmosphere was like that of a slaughterhouse. One by one, we were escorted away. I myself recall very little except looking down at my feet as I shuffled into a room with bright lights. My eyes glanced briefly at the tool tray, and quickly I averted my eyes again. I had seen the spoon. (I knew that this would be scraping away any remnants of tissue from within my uterus during the procedure.) I cast the thought aside, as someone held my hand and I reclined. I felt a pinch atop my hand as the IV was put into place. 10...9...8...I gasped and cried. I felt tears flowing and fell into a deep sleep.

I'm actually quite nauseated recalling all of this. Unfortunately, full anesthesia only lasts while the abortion is being performed. I hadn't considered the consequences of having to live with that choice. I wasn't going to remain sedated the rest of my life. At some point, I woke up groggy and wounded with not only blood on the pad I was holding between my legs, but blood on my hands for murder.

I wish I could tell you that the relief I felt immediately after was worth it. I wish I could tell you that although the cramping was temporary, that the pain didn't get buried under layers of denial, anger, guilt, fear, shame, numbness, remorse, depression, fatigue, panic attacks, intimacy issues and even suicidal thoughts. I wish I could tell you that my marriage had survived. I wish I could tell you I don't sometimes cry at the thought of possibly never having children in the future, or worse being incapable of being a good mother.

I can't begin to tell you what damage has ensued after I counted backwards from ten on that table ten years ago. I can, however, tell you that once I stepped through the purple door this week I began a journey to discover hope in Christ. I'm decidely embarking on an 8 week bible study called Forgiven and Set Free.

I do have a choice. I choose to come to the Lord's table. I won't be sedated for this.

And all the way my Savior leads me...

• more than 70% of women who choose abortion classify themselves as Christian
• 43% identify as Protestant, 27% identify as Catholic of those who have had abortions
• over 1 million abortions are performed in the U.S. per year (more than 3,000 per day)
• women younger than 25 years old make up more than 50% of those having abortions
• 43% of the U.S. population of women is estimated to have at least one abortion before the age of 45
• 50% of unwanted pregnancies end in abortion; nearly 50% of pregnancies in the U.S. are unintended
• 54% of women with unwanted pregnancy used a contraceptive method during the month they became pregnant
• abortion affects both men and women