Monday, June 9, 2014

My Abortion Story

Frustration.

That is my initial feeling when I hear a discussion about abortion. Especially discussions among Christians. I feel desperate for them to understand. Desperate for them to feel compassion towards the women who have abortions. Desperate for them to love these women the way Jesus does. The way God does. Because these women are desperate to have that love...to see it in action....to feel it. How do I know? Because I am one of these women.

Sixteen years old. I was told that I was having an abortion. As we were pulling up to the clinic, my mom was having trouble turning in to the parking lot. There was a line of people along the sidewalk, holding signs and yelling things. I was scared and they seemed so angry. A man walked up to the car and wanted to give me a paper. I rolled down the window and took it. He told me to see what horrible thing I was about to do to a helpless child. He was so gruff and angry.

We pulled in to a parking space. I wouldn't get out. My mom was so angry. I didn't even look at the paper the man gave me. I already knew what I was doing and I didn't want to do it. I clutched the paper like a lifeline, hoping that maybe it would change my mom's mind. In the parking lot I sat. My stepfather showed up soon after trying to talk me into going in. The security guard even tried convincing me. I wouldn't budge. Finally, they had to leave. I exhaled at the reprieve.

It was a short reprieve. I was then subjected to a private talk with my mom and grandmother. This was my punishment for my sins. I had to commit murder. Too many people would be hurt by the ramifications of being pregnant at 16. My family would hate me. They wouldn't be able to look at me. It had to be covered up. I had to have an abortion.

Numb and resigned, I walked across a cold parking lot on December 9th, 1994. The shouts and curses coming from the sidewalk only added to my punishment.  As I walked in the building, the security guard said not to worry because the protesters would be long gone before I came out.

The counselor I saw inside also tried to relieve what she thought was my fear. She explained that the protesters didn't care about me at all, just their agenda. That was why they aren't outside when we come out. The counselor was right about the protesters. She was wrong about what I was feeling though. It wasn't fear, it was pure desolation. She only compounded my punishment by showing me how alone and unlovable I was in my sin.

I was awake for the abortion. It was part of my punishment. I felt every excruciating moment. I cried for my baby. I cried for me. My legs shook as a nurse helped me off of the table. There was blood everywhere. The nurse helped me dress. She took me to another room, sat me in a chair and gave me crackers and a soda.

When I left, the sidewalks were empty. The silence - more punishment. Where were the chanters from that morning who said that God forgives? They only meant that God would forgive me if I didn't kill my baby. And wouldn't they know best? They were Christians after all. Silence. There was no forgiveness for me.

I wanted to die. For weeks, I contemplated suicide. A few weeks later, on Christmas day, I left the house during the family festivities and walked to the nearby dam. I stood at the spillway and considered jumping over. Thankfully, I didn't go through with it.

I became a pro-choice advocate. It was a way to assuage my guilt. It made my pain and punishment easier to bear. And even though I was pro-choice, I was adamant that I would never have another abortion again.

And then I did.

January 20th, 2000. I am not going to go into the detailed circumstances of this pregnancy. I was in a bad situation and I also already had a little girl. And I felt as if I had no choice. This time as I was walking in, I tried to portray a hardness. I hated the protesters this time. I knew they wouldn't be there when I came out. I knew they didn't care about me. I wanted, I needed someone to care. And the workers in the clinic at least acted like they cared.

As I went through the process of checking in and the counseling and testing, fear set in for the first time. Fear of going through this alone again. Fear of what I was becoming. Fear of what would happen if I just ran out of there before I went through with the abortion. I looked at the other women in the waiting room. We would nod at each other. No one else could understand our pain or the weight of our punishment except each other. Yet, even together, we were still alone.

Once in the abortion room, I was being prepped by a very nice man who gave me hope when I didn't have any. I had paid the extra money to be put out during this abortion. I knew I would never make it through it awake like last time. This man, was putting my iv in. He stopped, patted my arm and said, "It will be alright, you are loved and you can be forgiven". Silent tears rolled down my cheeks and I prayed for the first time in years. I told God I didn't want to be alone and I couldn't get through this. And as I was going under, I felt a man wrap me in his arms and hold me. The entire time I was held by a man I couldn't see, but I knew it was Jesus. I had never felt so loved or comforted or forgiven.

I changed after that. I began searching to feel that again. My life before was no longer good enough. I had hope for the first time. Hope in being loved. Hope in being forgiven. And that hope began in an abortion clinic of all places and not from the people shouting on the sidewalk.

The women going to the abortion clinics know in their hearts what they are doing is murder. The law is written on our hearts. They may try to justify, excuse or even defend. It is their way of coping. These women need to know that God will still love them and that they can still be forgiven even if they go through with it. Of course, the ideal is to save the babies. We must remember, however, that God wants the women saved too. So, if you are going to stand out on the sidewalk of an abortion clinic, please, I implore you to be there when these women walk out of there. They need God's love, compassion and forgiveness more than ever then. And who better to show them that than the very hands and feet of Jesus.

This is why I now counsel women who have had abortions. Forgiveness, guilt, and grief over abortions are so hard to deal with. I know, I've been there.

Love and Blessings!
Bri

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