"The Tears Come"

Each word sounds like a bomb blast to the girl and this fool seems oblivious to what fate he has just cheerily planted in the life of a girl not ready for mothering but ready for sex...or so she thought.

She leaves the office with her heart filled with fear, her countenance so low that if crawling had been an option, it would have been easier. What, she thinks, what am I going to tell my parents? my brother? my boyfriend? Her first call is to her boyfriend. Her words come hard, but she knows he's been on the verge of breaking up with her, and feels that he'll think she trapped him into this.

"Ronnie? Hi. How are you? Ummm....I really need to talk to you, can you pick me up? You can't? Well can we get together tomorrow? This is important. OK, then I'll see you tomorrow".

As she cries herself to sleep, avoiding her family, afraid they'll see her sin in her face, feigning illness, the cramps, her mind whirls with all that she is, has been, could've been, should've been.

She was born into a family that went to church every Sunday. Gave herself to Jesus as 12 and walked steadily with him for years. Then she just got tired, tired of being the "good one". She just wanted to have some fun. She never was much of a drinker, never liked drugs, but tied one on now and then. She played at the fringes. Then there was that night, the one she couldn't remember everything, except waking up in her boyfriends bed, completely naked and sore.

Now here she was, new life in her body, no one to talk to and no one to confide in except a boyfriend that probably wouldn't admit it was his to begin with. She couldn't tell her parents or her brother. So she told a friend. The friend, in her innocence didn't have a clue what kind of mess this really was.

The girl started talking almost immediately in terms of having the baby. Buoyed by her friend, she decided that maybe the boyfriend would do the right thing, that even if they didn't marry, she could pull this off somehow.

So she met with Ronnie the next evening. He was, to say the least, speechless. Not a good speechless, but a really, really bad speechless. The first words from his mouth were, "I'll pay for half the abortion". Now abortion hadn't truly even been part of the plan, much less a consideration, until it was mentioned by Ronnie.

Days dragged into weeks, weeks into months, and the decision had to be made. Have it or don't....hurry, think fast. Who'll stand with you??? Who'll help you??? Who'll be there for you??? How will you take care of a baby??? Where will you live??? How can you possible feed a child??? How can you emotionally care for a child???

With her fingers poised over the keypad of the phone, tears running down her face, she calls the clinic, confirming the day and the time. Oh how, how, how did I ever get here?

The next couple of days are a blur, each step pounded out as if walking to the chamber that held the final moment of her life. No one could console her, no thought seemed to have any joyful merit. The only one she even told was the friend, the one that would go with her.

And the day arrives....It's a cold blustery day. Full of shadows, the sun blocked from view. The dreary day matched the feeling down deep in her soul as she tried to cheerily say goodbye to her family to "visit" her friend.

They came to the clinic and walked in. She gave the lady at the counter her name and was led to a counselor.

"Do you feel you have any other choice"?

"No".

"Is the father here?"

"No."

"Are you with someone"?

"Yes, a friend".

"Why did you choose this avenue"?

"Didn't I already answer that"?

"OK, then you're ready. Please step in here, remove all your clothing and put this on. When you're done, wait here until we come for you".

Don't think, don't think, don't move, don't talk, just don't think...that's all that would run through her mind.

And they come for her. "Would you step this way please"?

The bed had stirrups and it was stark. Crisp, white and clean. The girl looks around the room and on the wall there hangs one single picture. It's a picture of a field, with beautiful wildflowers scattered across it in all different colors, and in the distance a house, rustic and safe.

As she lays down and is instructed in what she will feel and hear, tears begin again to trickle down her cheeks, wetting the plastic where her head lay. Her hair becomes wet as she cries, yet she makes no sound. A nurse holds one of her cold hands in her own warm one, telling her to get a focus point. A focus point? A FOCUS POINT??? This IS the focus point my friend, this place, this thing that I've come to do.

A sound comes from her feet that sounds like a vacuum. The doctor instructs her in what he is doing and to relax. The tears come. As she feels herself violated by something she can't see, she hears it, something can be heard being sucked out of her. The tears come. She can see the woman above her, the picture and thinks she's losing her mind. The tears come.

and then....it's over, well....kind of...

"Would you like some juice"?

"No, may I just leave"?

The kindly nurse in this hellish place smiles knowingly and offers her a cookie and some juice.

"If I drink this may I leave"?

"Yes", she says, "but you'll be weak".

and they leave...

A heaviness hit the girl like a brick. A heaviness of heart, mind, body and soul. The next 2 years...yes 2 years went by in slow mindless movements. Each step seemed heavier than the last. She had no will to go anywhere, do anything and keeping the charade up with her family was torturous. On the outside, unless she was willing to admit what had happened, she had to pretend to be the same old girl...mostly happy, even tempered, willing to help. But inside, where the pain grew, there was no joy, there was no "tempered" at all.

On the day, the anniversary date that she had walked into the clinic, each of those 2 years, the girl brought a small bouquet of flowers and set them on the steps of the clinic, a small shrine to a small child that would never know how much he or she was truly missed.

A close friend (but one that didn't know about the abortion) watched in sorrow as the girl went deeper and deeper into depression, fearing that the feigned day to day living would take her life. The friend watched as the girl lost weight, became as an old, old woman, her movements slow and unsteady and becoming almost totally quiet, introverted, so different that she had been before. She finally asked her to go to a Catholic retreat with her. As the girl confessed what was wrong, her friend finally said, "Yes, we'll go. But you must not tell anyone what you've done".

What a burden. The burden was enough, maybe they shouldn't go.

But they did...

On the second night, as everyone else went in to confess to the priest, this Southern Baptist gal walked in, sat down and spoke the truth.

She told him, "I'm not Catholic and I don't feel the need to confess to you, but I'm in a lot of pain, and I know I need help."

The priest, a young man, yet so full of knowledge quickly grasped the seriousness of this conversation. He smiled at her and asked her name. After some time she began to pour out what had happened and how it had happened. She spilled it all, top to bottom, front to back...and the priest took her hands in his own, tears running down his face in unison with hers. He explained something she had heard often, but never truly understood. He explained agape love. He explained grace. He explained the forgiveness of Jesus Christ, then he bowed his head and began to pray.

The prayer, short but heartfelt and completed within the Spirit of God went something like this....

Dear Lord

With tears still in her eyes, she walked slowly out of the room, thanking the kind priest that took the time for a hurting soul.

That night, her secret still intact, except for the priest and her friend...a group got together for a prayer vigil. They stood in a circle and held hands. This wasn't particularly new to her, but she felt electricity almost perceptibly in the air. As each person began to pray in a circle and it came to her, she couldn't even open her mouth. The most amazing thing happened. It was as if Jesus visibly appeared to her. Through her tears, pain, sin and shame, Jesus came to her during that prayer. He gently put his hand under her chin and lifted her head...and he said, "You are forgiven my child, now you must forgive yourself".

There was a warm completed sensation that began in her toes and ended somewhere above her head...and in the middle of the prayer, with everyone else oblivious to the depth of her emotion, she fell to her knees, her arms raised heavenward, crying out "Thank You Jesus, Oh Thank You".

So this was how it happened? No bells, whistles, celestial singing? No bright light centered in the core and miraculous appearing of Angels? This was what she had heard of all her life and never understood? She had finally truly met Jesus...face to face....grace to grace...full and complete.

And as she made her way to bed that night, for the first time in a very long time, she slept the sleep of innocence, restored by a loving heavenly Father.

The beginning........

* * * * * * *
Author's Postscript:

Dear Lord

For every woman that has ever made this decision and felt compelled to do so, with a real or imagined reason, I pray, Oh Lord Jesus, I pray Your spirit find them and help them. I pray that before the vacuum begins you stop the process. I pray Lord for these tiny little babies that never had a chance to see their moms or dads or uncles or aunts or grandparents, hold them tight Father and love them well.

Your forgiveness is without measure, when we understand the nature of our sin and give it fully to You, repenting, we are filled with your grace.

If this story, this memory blesses even one, Father, I thank You for that blessing. Let it touch hearts as you intended, I pray. And Jesus, take care of my baby until the time I meet him or her again in your kingdom.

In Jesus name I pray,

Amen