Forgiveness on the Road to Destruction
When I was 17, I made a life-changing decision. I left my parents' lake property telling them I had to work, would spend the night at our house, and return to the lake the next day.
After work that day, instead of going home, I involved myself in something that forever changed my life. Even though I knew it was wrong, I spent that night at my boyfriend's house. I didn't think about the consequences of what I was doing. After all, we were "in love," and I wanted to marry him. Soon, we discovered that I was pregnant. Seventeen years old seemed way too young to be a mother. Fear as I had never known enveloped me. I didn't know where to turn.
Although had wonderful Christian parents and was in a great youth group, I didn't feel I could tell anyone about this. What would the people in my church think? How could I put my parents through this? I felt trapped and alone. In my mind, abortion seemed to be the only alternative.
Yes, I knew abortion was wrong, but I wouldn't let myself think about that or I couldn't have followed through with it. My feelings were stifled. Rather than thinking of this as a living, breathing child. I considered "it" a problem to be kept hidden. Walking into the clinic was like some generic task I had to do. No one there explained to me the pain, anguish, and consequences I might face later as a result of ending the life of my unborn child.
Two years later, my boyfriend and I married and soon I was pregnant. Our joy and excitement crashed when I miscarried the baby. I started thinking maybe this was my punishment for having an abortion.
My husband and I kept trying to have children, even enduring multiple surgical procedures. Nothing worked. The struggle of not being able to have children, hours of infertility tests, months of working with doctors, and the financial stress all wore on our marriage. We both handled our pain in different, destructive ways. By the time we'd been married four years, the guilt, shame, and pain of the abortion had jolted me deeply. I condemned myself so much more than any church or person could have done.
Because of the abortion, I felt I deserved whatever happened in my life. I started on a downward spiral of punishing myself, which included developing an eating disorder, anorexia. My sense was that I did not deserve to live. Eventually, the continued stress on my system caused by the anorexia led to my hospitalization. There, two things affected my life. First, I was sent to an anorexic support group. One of those girls weighed 68 pounds and was in horrible shape. That reality scared me.
The second eye-opener came when my doctor said, "If you don't get hold of this behavior, you could die." I realized he was right. When he left, I cried, "Lord, I don't want to die. I want to get well and make a difference in this world. Please forgive me for everything that I've done, including my abortion."
That night I rededicated my life to God. An unexplainable peace overflowed within me.
Somehow, I knew God had forgiven me and had an incredible life ahead for me. While the consequences of my sin remained, the joy of forgiveness filled my heart.
It took time to overcome my anorexic habits, but friends and family encouraged me in each step of the process. Forgiving myself for the abortion was also a matter of prayer and soul-searching, but God helped me, assuring me of His love and grace. He blessed my husband and me with a wonderful baby boy whom we adopted.
For the last 16 years, I have worked with the junior high and high school students at my church. At times, God has used lessons from my past to help me share about His grace to others who are going through pain and guilt.
God's Word says, "You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free" (John 8:32). The truth of His love, forgiveness, and grace has set me free from a lifetime of pain.
Holiness Today, March/April 2006
Please note: This article was originally published in 2006. All facts, figures, and titles were accurate to the best of our knowledge at that time but may have since changed.
