Tuesday, August 21, 2012

"It'll never happen to me...": A girl's pro-life convictions challenged


I have not written very often on the topic of abortion or rape; especially in this blog.  But this story came to me today as I was meditating on the worth of human life.  Perhaps God will use it to save someone.  For His glory!  Amen.


DISCLAIMER: This story is in no way meant to be based on actual people, places, or events. It is entirely a work of fiction, meant merely to provoke thought and stir emotions in the hope of awaking many to come to the defense of unborn children and the women who carry them.


I was in my twenty-second year. I was going to a good school and had a bright future ahead of me. I had no time for parties; if I spent a late night out anywhere it was usually in the library. I was a "good" girl. I never went anywhere I shouldn't; never did anything I shouldn't; didn't hang around folks who did. But that didn't save me in the end.

One night, walking back to my apartment alone, I was attacked. A man knocked me to the ground, raped me, and left me for dead. I was bleeding where I'd hit my head on the pavement, and I had a mild concussion, but I came to before anyone found me. I stumbled the rest of the way home and passed out on the living room floor. When I awoke the next day, I felt "better" so I dressed the cut on my forehead and went to class. I had an exam that morning. I don't remember how I did. I must not have done well, because I couldn't concentrate; I kept thinking about the attack. I kept wondering if I was... you know... pregnant... and if it turned out that I was, would it look... you know... like him... ?

Of course it's going to look like him, I thought, you've taken Biology.

Although I'd always believed firmly that conception was a gift from God, that life began in the womb, and that taking the life of an unborn child was murder, I found the rubber meeting the road. Now that I was being asked to live out this difficult "choice", I didn't know anymore whether I could go through with it. I couldn't help crying; saying things like It's not fair; why should I bear this burden? Doesn't my future matter? Don't I have a say? Do I have to carry this...this...? I didn't ask for it and I don't want it. I was going to get an education and be a responsible contributor to society.

I didn't even know if I was pregnant yet; still, these were the thoughts running through my mind, as I cried. It didn't take very long to confirm my fears, however. I was indeed pregnant...with my rapist's child. Now it fell on me and me alone as to what I would do about it.

Against my better judgement, I chose to abort. I couldn't go through with keeping this baby. I had to get rid of it. The trouble was that it took several months of tears and pain to convince me I couldn't keep it. And by that time, my good friend ___ knew about it; actually, she'd known about it since the day after when I came to class looking half-drunk. She knew something was up, but like any decent friend, she waited until study break to get me alone and pry the truth out of me.

She was dead against abortion. And I think she's the reason I was able to keep the child for so long. But one day, I broke down, and in a fit of sobs I ran to the nearest clinic, filled out the paperwork, paid the fee with my loan money, and laid down on the operating table, weeping the entire time, praying for God and the child to forgive me.

But the procedure didn't go as planned. I went into labor just before the doctor was going to start cutting, and I gave birth right there to a premature, yet healthy baby boy. A boy! If anything was ever going to remind me of the pain and humiliation that I'd endured, it would be a boy that looked just like his father!

I couldn't bear the cruel twist of fate.

"Oh why? Can't you take him away?"

"We can't, miss. That's against the law."

So they wrapped him up, put him in my arms, and pushed me out the door. The baby lived. He was my problem now.

I just held him in my arms, sobbing. I couldn't bare to look at him. I knew he'd look like him. I just wept all the way home.

My friend ___ found me. She'd obviously come from Theater; she carried a stage pistol in her hand.

"Is that your baby?" she asked.

"He's not my baby," I said.

She didn't correct me.  She just said, "You went to the clinic, didn't you?"

"How did you know?"

"It doesn't matter. May I see him?"

"Go ahead. Take him. I don't want him."

I pushed the little bundle into her arms and made as if to walk away. Then just when I'd turned my back on ___, I heard a shot.

"Noooo!" I screamed.

I turned around to see ___ holding my sweet little baby boy in her arms, the stage pistol smoking in her hand. My baby was crying. The noise had frightened him.

"Why would you do that?" I sobbed, tearing my child away from her.

"Why would you think it was ok to kill your baby?" she said.

My eyes filled with tears. "God forgive me, I was desperate. Not in my right mind."

My friend put her arm around me. "God forgives you, ___. And your son forgives you, too."

My son? I glanced down at the helpless little bundle, and for the first time, I looked at him. And as I stared into the face of my little boy, I saw something there I didn't expect to see--not just the face of my attacker--but another face, my face.

Then I realized: We're both victims. And this little life isn't to be hated because of my pain. It isn't his fault that he's the product of cruelty. I've been given this child to love, and as a comfort in my distress. I was a fool to think he was a punishment--a life sentence. He is a gift. I'm thankful to a wise friend for helping me see that; and thankful to You, God, for this, Your mercy.

Thank You, Father, for sending Jesus Christ, Your Son, that when I was helpless in my sins, He bore the penalty for me, so that I might go free.  Thank You for the mercy You have shown me--thank You for Your grace; Your love covers over a multitude of sins--may I be a conduit of that same mercy, grace, and love to others.

Amen.


DISCLAIMER: This story is in no way meant to be based on actual people, places, or events. It is entirely a work of fiction, meant merely to provoke thought and stir emotions in the hope of awaking many to come to the defense of unborn children and the women who carry them.

Sadie Daniels, 2012


If you are or know of any women who are pregnant and in need, please direct them here: http://www.optionline.org/

And regardless of how you might feel about abortion, please watch this video: http://180movie.com/
[DISCLAIMER: Disturbing Holocaust footage!]

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