Each time you fill out your paper work, you sign your name ... and it's over, but it’s never really over. Because your days are filled with death, your mind is filled with memories. They come flooding in uninvited, unwanted, awake or asleep, you are their captive, yet you continue on.
I hope that the letter I wrote four years ago speaks to a truth you have kept silent deep within your heart. That you have seen the same tears of the women who choose abortion, even more than I, that you have cried your own tears and desire peace for your own heart even more that I can desire it for you ...
My body had become a trap to us both, his shoulder pressed tightly against my pubic bone. The doctor tugged on Noah as much as she could. Then my mother to realized that this was not normal. Everyone knows that you are not supposed to pull on a baby at that point. Except, this was an emergency.
We had been been swept up in an overwhelming love story. My baby and I had stood in a place to testify to that truth and it had washed over us. My heart longed to hold in my hands the hope I had held in my heart, to lay eyes on the gift the Lord had knit together in love for our family. Yet, I knew the most painfully beautiful challenge was ahead for us both. Giving birth for me. Being born for him.