“The Good, the Bad and the Ugly”
Part III: The Good
I feel I need to include a short prologue here: I’ve been putting off writing the conclusion to my story. You’d think this would be the best part; the most wonderful, joyous part for me to recount. And it is. It really is in the end. But to get there honestly, which was something I promised myself I would do when I started this, I need to address the last ugly turn my life took before things changed for me forever. My heart is beating out of my chest in anticipation of sharing this. I know it will probably change how some of my readers view me. I will be judged by many and probably condemned by a few. I’ve kept this horrible, dirty secret hidden for a decade for exactly those reasons. But now I feel it’s time to be truthful despite my fears. In order to see God’s glory at its greatest, as it’s been shown to me in my life, you need to see just how low I sank before the Lord rescued me. How unworthy I was of His love…
** *** **
So, I had made a real mess of my life- wasn’t that where we left off? Oh yes, in all my years of unwise decision making I had never fouled things up so badly. I had allowed myself to become pregnant by I man I barely knew while I was essentially homeless, with no way to support myself- let alone another innocent human being.
It didn’t take long for my parents to hear that I was pregnant. (News travels fast in a small town.) I’m sure you can imagine how they reacted. I received a single phone call from them informing me that I’d better “figure something out” because there was no way they were going to help me- emotionally or financially- raise this child. If I chose to keep the baby they would not accept it as their grandchild and I would not be welcome in their home ever again.
I discussed adoption with the baby’s father who adamantly refused and said he would never give up his rights. Not that he had a way to take care of a baby either, what with his alcoholism, his inability to hold down a job and the fact that he already had 3 other children with 3 separate women, none of whom he financially supported or had any involvement with. Things were looking more and more impossible by the minute. What was I going to do?
Weeks later, out of the clear blue, my Mother tracked me down and insisted I come eat dinner with her and my Father at home. I knew they were up to something- they had to be- but after weeks of living on ramen noodles and saltine crackers I was willing to go with her just to enjoy a square meal again. After dinner they announced to me that they had made an appointment for me for the next morning…With an abortion provider.
Now let me stop for a moment to say that even at this time in my life, as morally corrupt as I was, without being raised with any true leaning on this subject one way or the other, I had never been a pro-choice girl. Never. In fact I had harshly judged other girls who had chosen to terminate their pregnancies. I had even talked a close girlfriend out of having an abortion herself just a month or so before. When I found myself unexpectedly pregnant I knew that abortion was not an option for me. I never considered it for a second. When I told my parents as much they assured me all I had to do was talk to the doctor, see what he had to say and then make my mind up. Fine. Whatever. Agreeing to their request meant a clean bed to sleep in that night, a safe roof over my head and breakfast in the morning. So I went along fully intending to walk out of that appointment just as pregnant as I had walked in.
But it didn’t end up that way. Instead, I selfishly ended the life of my unborn child that day.
How many lame excuses can I give as to why I did it?
I could explain that I had started to bleed the night before, which continued into morning and the nurses at the clinic told me the pregnancy probably wasn’t viable anyway. (I know now how FLASE that is. Who am I kidding, I knew it then.)
I could share in detail the conversation in the car on the way to the hospital that morning where my Mother offered to set me up in my own apartment and help me go back to college if I’d only go through with the procedure.
I could recount how hysterical I was in the office, how I agonized over the decision, so much so that to finally get me to sign the consent form the doctor had to give me a dose of Valium to settle me down.
All of these things happened.
But if I want to be truly honest I have to admit as well that I was absolutely selfish to the core. I didn’t want to face the consequences of my actions. I didn’t want to be tied to the baby’s father for the rest of my life. I wanted that warm bed to sleep in at night and 3 square meals a day. I might as well have sold my soul to the devil. There’s no amount of rationalizing or justification that will ever excuse what I did. I was the one who made the choice in the end. I was ultimately responsible for the horrible thing that took place in that sterile procedure room. And it didn’t take me years to come to this realization. I knew it immediately. I knew it walking out of the clinic that very day…
My parents were true to their word. They found me a safe, clean apartment in town, set me up with everything I needed- furniture, clothing, money for groceries. They gave me a car. They helped me find a full time job. They promised me that if I stayed out of trouble for 6 months they’d pay for me to pick up classes again at my old college. Everything should have been wonderful. I had everything now that I had so longed for when I was drifting and homeless. I had my supposed second chance to turn my life around. I should have been happy right?
But I was miserable. More miserable than I had ever been in my life. I could not get past what I had done. I thought of it almost every moment of every day. I hated myself. I had dreams that I was still pregnant. I wondered if it had been a girl or a boy. I saw babies everywhere; at work, at the grocery store, pushed down the street in their strollers, and I would burst into tears. I had never experienced depression similar to what I was facing now. I simply wanted to die. I didn’t want to get better. I deserved to suffer. For years whatever circumstance I had found myself in I could play the role of the victim: it was my parents fault, I had a bad childhood, I had had difficult things happen to me that no teenager should have to face...In my mind nothing had ever been my fault- but this was different. This had been my fault entirely. It was my fault I had gotten pregnant in the first place and it was my weakness and fear that had led me to that abortion clinic. I seriously began to contemplate suicide for the first time- not as a cry for help, but because I couldn’t imagine living the rest of my life with the knowledge that I had murdered my baby. I couldn’t bare it.
There aren’t words enough to tell you how difficult it is for me to share this part of my life publicly. I am still deeply ashamed and it isn’t without tears that I describe it now. It would certainly have been easier for me to have kept this to myself entirely, or skipped over it in my testimony. I can’t help thinking though that perhaps there’s a chance, even a remote possibility, that there’s a girl out there experiencing something similar that just might stumble upon this blog someday. And to her I’d like to say don’t give up! As dire as things seemed for me, as low as I had sunk into sin and despair, there was still HOPE for me. God had not forsaken me. He is the ultimate authority on second chances. My life today proves that...This is how I was redeemed:
As I tried to “fix” my life, failing at every turn, I couldn’t help but look back to the people who had made the most lasting impact on my heart. The woman who had taken me in when I was 16- what was it about her life that had been so different? What was it that had motivated her to love a homeless girl and see her buried potential? I knew it had been her faith. She never preached to me, but had lived her life as a clear example that she followed Jesus and He was her anchor.
There was another woman who had caused me to pause and reflect. Coincidentally, it was the mother of my now ex-boyfriend- the baby’s father- who in our short acquaintance had accepted me without question and never judged me. She was a devout Christian and had taken me to church with her on several occasions in the brief time I had been a part of her son’s world. More than anything, I remembered that she had been happy, really and truly happy, despite not having a perfect life from the outside. She came from a rough background, not unlike my own, and struggled to make ends meet. But she had a joyful heart despite everything. That intrigued me.
The next series of events which took place I really can’t explain, except that divine intervention occurred.
As I mulled over these Christian women who had affected my life, wishing that I had what they had, I noticed a box of my old books that my Mother had dropped off. Tucked inside was a dusty bible. One of those youth study bibles that I had been given at church camp eons ago. I’m sure it hadn’t been opened in more than a decade. I had the most overwhelming feeling that I had to pick it up. It was as if something outside of myself was leading me to it after all my years of protest…It fell open to a pressed flower I had tucked inside during a long ago outdoor bible study.
The pages that held that flower for 10 years told the story of Paul form the book of Acts. Paul, who had started out murdering Christians for a living, yet was forgiven by Jesus himself to become one of the most loved and respected apostles in the early church. For many months I had told myself over and over that God could never forgive me for what I had done. Yet, here was this man straight out of scripture who was showing me otherwise…The same week my ex-boyfriend’s mother called and invited me to come to bible study with her. The lesson was on King David and Bathsheba- yet another story about a man who had committed horrible sins (adultery and murder) but had been forgiven by God entirely when he finally repented with a sincere heart. I sat silently taking it all in, mystified at this God who could still make use of people who were so damaged and lost. I could see fragments of my own life in these bible passages.
There’s no way this was all mere coincidence.
I began attending an evangelical church on Sunday’s on my own. Every week it seemed the sermon was written just for me. God was working on my heart, chipping away at the blackness that had descended there over the years. I began to take notes, memorizing these stories that gave me so much hope. But I was still hesitant to pray and accept Jesus for myself. For many years I had been of the belief that yes, maybe Jesus had existed, he was probably a pretty great guy, but he couldn’t possibly have been the son of God. That was just crazy…But the more I learned about His life, the more it seemed without question He was indeed who he said He was. And I was surrounded by people whose lives had been transformed by following Him.
Finally a day came where I just broke. I was tired of trying to fix things in my own strength. It wasn’t working. I was still depressed. I still couldn’t look towards any happy future for myself. I needed something more- I needed Jesus’ love and forgiveness in my life. I prayed a simple, stumbling prayer in the quiet of my bedroom admitting that I was a sinner, that I believed that Jesus was Lord, that I intended to submit to His plan for my life (whatever that might be) and I begged for His forgiveness for the wretched things that I had done.
Everything changed for me in that moment. I can’t fully describe it. It was as if a weight had been lifted from me. As if all the evil and anger and sadness were taken away in an instant. I didn’t feel depressed anymore, I felt hopeful. The next morning I woke up fully expecting to sink back into my old mental state. I almost felt foolish and questioned myself, afraid all that I had felt the night before was some kind of dream and now reality would set back in. But that never happened. I only felt better and better.
I continued going to church and began to see where I could be of service. For the first time I could see that God had blessed me with unique gifts. I could live my life with purpose knowing that He'd had a plan for me from the beginning. It was amazing to me to think that as worthless a human being as I had become, God still loved me and could still make something wonderful and useful out of my life.
I met my husband-to-be not long after. (God’s perfect timing!) He was a good Catholic boy from a good family who had never been in any trouble. He was warned by many to stay away from me. He certainly heard all the gossip about me that our small town had to offer. Despite it all, he got to know me and liked me for the person I was, not the person I had been years before. He was still a practicing Catholic and attended mass every week, but he saw how excited I was about what I was learning in my church and eventually he started coming with me. He was impressed with the solid bible teaching offered there and began to see his relationship with Christ in a new way. When a baptismal service was offered that summer he decided to be baptized as an adult. I’m quite sure I fell in love with him in that moment. His dedication to his faith was inspiring. God had truly brought this man into my life at just the right time. What a fantastic blessing!
My life had been absolutely transformed in every way- except for one lingering issue. I had to forgive my parents. I still blamed them for the things that had taken place in my childhood. I had to let this go. I had to give it all over to God. If I didn’t forgive them, when I had been forgiven completely for all the wrongs I had committed, I would be exactly the kind of hypocritical Christian I had so despised while I was growing up. I prayed for forgiveness to wash over me. But as time went on I could see that it wouldn't be that simple. God required more from me. I felt led to reach out to them.
We began to have dinner together once a week. I’d call my Mom just to see how she was. I hugged them goodbye when we parted. (Believe me, this was not easy. I had to pray every day for the strength to follow through. I wouldn’t have been able to do it on my own.) At first my parents probably thought I had some ulterior motive, but as weeks passed they could see that there had been a sincere change in me. They were curious as to what was different and I simply told them that I had begun attending church. Imagine my surprise when me Mother asked to come with me one morning! A few weeks later my Father came along too, all the while protesting that he just didn’t want to be left alone at home. But once again, the Lord’s timing was perfect. Within the year both of my parents had accepted Christ for themselves! Miracle of miracles! I could hardly believe it myself!
On a beautiful summer evening in August 2009 my parents and I were baptized together in a full immersion service. All 3 of us, side by side. Words cannot do justice to the overwhelming emotion I felt that night. As I sunk under that water I could literally feel the past slipping away from us. All the hurt was behind us now and our family was finally able to heal. Only the power and grace of God could have made a way for this to happen.
Now, almost 10 years later, my Mom is my very best friend in the entire world. We talk almost every single day. And it’s worth mentioning that she tells me she loves me at the end of every conversation.
My Dad and I also have a solid relationship. Whenever I’m in town we have lunch together and I honestly enjoy his company. We laugh a lot and have made many good memories to replace the bad ones that I foolishly held on to for so long.

My family together at our home church.
I enjoy a wonderfully blessed life now. My relationship with my parents has been restored. I have a husband who loves and supports me through thick and thin, 2 beautiful children and another on the way. I’m excited about what the future holds. Do I deserve any of that? No. I deserved punishment, suffering and death. My life was a washout. I was a lost cause. It was only the miracle of God’s salvation, His free gift to me that turned it all around. If it can happen for me, it can happen for anyone. God doesn’t care where we’ve been or what we’ve done- He loves us anyway. He’s only waiting for us to acknowledge that love and accept it.
I will be forever grateful for what the Lord has accomplished in my life. I stand in awe of it.
A pressed flower, a dog eared bible, His enduring love…and here I stand today.
Praise God!

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away, behold, all things have become new." (2 Corinthians 5:17)