At the age of 17, my biggest fear came about in my life.  The very thing I feared most happened. I got pregnant.  A child was created in me.  As any 17-year-old would do, I turned to my friends, my teachers, my elders, the social welfare system, and, of course, I even found the courage to turn to my mother.   They were much more knowledgeable and wiser than me, I thought.

First, they shamed me. Then they advised me with confidence and authority that abortion was the best thing to do, for myself and for my child, and it was legal.  How would I know that I was choosing to be a slave to my culture of murder? 

On the day of the abortion, with my best friend by my side, justified by the advice of my elders, I gave in to their demands and to their great wisdom, and I forced myself to do something that, deep down inside, I knew was wrong. But it was ok, I thought, because those older and wiser said it was best. 

The doctor, the nurses, the counselors, my mother, my best friend, they all thought it was the best and the right thing to do.  But my gut feeling said “no.”  I chose not to listen to my unborn child crying out to me from my womb, begging me to please let her live.  I chose not to listen to the whispers of her Creator speaking softly in my ear, reminding me of the commandment I learned in early childhood, “Thou shalt not kill.”
I proceeded with the abortion at the encouragement and support of my elders and my friend.

After the abortion was over and the child in my womb was wiped out off the face of the Earth, put out of my life, and thrown away to her death, I suddenly realized what I had done!

My life was never the same since.  I lost faith in my ability to make my own decisions.  It was easier to let others make my decisions for me, and then I wouldn't have to take the blame.  So I lied to myself.  My elders made me do it.  I hated them, and I was full of anger. How could I have allowed myself to be so brainwashed and so convinced to think what they wanted me to do was a good thing!

After the abortion was over, my best friend and I went out to a local bar with the sole purpose of getting drunk, to try to escape what we had just done.  We got drunk together, together trying to erase the murder we just participated in. 

But no matter how drunk I got that night, and many nights afterwards, I could not erase what I had done!  That night, I ended up screaming and crying in the bar, falling down on top the bar counter, and then throwing my body down onto the floor, drowning in my voice and in my tears, shouting out to everyone there and letting the whole bar know, what a piece of trash I was, and that I had just killed my child, hours before.   I was consumed with grief and absorbed with guilt, and I could not hold it back.

My life was never the same since.  I experienced one of the worst moments of pain and suffering any decent 17-year-old woman could experience.  I participated in a murder of an innocent child, my very own child! 

I was the lowest of the lowest. I could never bring my child back.  The damage was done, and now, I too was damaged goods.  I wanted to die to be with my dead child.
I attempted suicide five times, and I was in and out of counseling.  For some heavenly reason, God saved me from ever being able to kill myself.

God must have known that taking another life was not the answer.  Instead, He taught me forgiveness and understanding of myself and others.  He also taught me how to make amends to Him and to my child, whose spirit is alive and well!

When I got pregnant again at the age of 22, I knew that I could not make that same mistake again, and against all odds of my ever being able to provide for my child, I chose to listen to his little voice wanting to be born, and to his Creator, and my Creator, and I chose to let him live.

Nine months later, my one and only son was born!  I ended up having a clinical death and leaving my body, after he was delivered.  It was then that I saw the Light of God, at the end of a tunnel I was travelling in, excitedly heading towards Him, and from the Light, I heard a loud voice cry out to me, "Go back, it's not your time".  Then, with a rushing wind, like a tornado, pushed me back into my body, and I woke up in intensive care unit alive, and shortly afterwards, holding my newborn child, who was then two weeks old, in my arms. He was the lucky one!  Unfortunately, his sister didn't make it.  It was hard for me to connect to the living one when the other one was dead.

Healing happened when I was able to forgive myself and others for the loss of my first born child, and to start to celebrate the birth of my only son! 

But my healing did not stop there, my healing continues as I spread the word to other scared and hurting young women who are contemplating the murder of their child.  If I can only take them by the hand and lead them away from the abortion clinics!  That would someday be my dream!   But, perhaps in the meantime, they can read this and, after reading it, they will decide to choose Life, no matter what others are saying!

Deborah