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In this issue...
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By Kyleen Stevenson-Braxton
You, who have shown me great and severe troubles, shall revive me again ... My lips greatly rejoice when I sing to you. (Psalm 71:20, 23)
I shifted uncomfortably as I waited for the doctor. The leather office chair was not designed for comfort. "Sit, but do not relax," it seemed to say. "Stay, but do not linger." Before me sat a broad cherry desk that dominated the room. Yet, it was the solitary manila file folder in the center that captivated my attention. It was my patient record. The massive desk seemed dwarfed by that thin file. I felt its incredible prominence. It was just one thin file, yet it held such essential information about my life.
My doctor entered the room, sat down, and opened the file. Lifting his eyes slowly to meet mine, he told me that he had been stunned by the results of my biopsy. In the next moments I learned that I had Stage IV cervical cancer. My life stopped. Because of the advanced stage of my cancer, the only treatment recommended to me was a hysterectomy. I was 28 years old, a newlywed, and facing barrenness.
As the weeks and months following my diagnosis and surgery passed, I struggled with fear, anger, and depression. I believed I was being punished for having had an abortion at 19. Back then, like so many others in my situation, I had seen abortion as a solution to a problem. That pregnancy would have prevented me from finishing college and sent me back home in shame after my freshman year. It was a scenario I just couldn't accept. Now, almost 10 years later, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was getting what I deserved. I had squandered the first life God had placed in my care, and now that I was ready to begin having a family, my hopes of getting pregnant were dashed. It seemed like justice.
All those years in between my abortion and my cancer diagnosis, I had lived in denial. I had told myself that it was just a blob of tissue and not a human being, that I had made the best decision for my future, and, most importantly, that God would forgive me. I kept my secret to myself and became incredibly driven to succeed in college. I think I needed to prove to myself that I had made the right decision. Completing my education became my rationalization and feminism my excuse. I bought the line that it was my body. But that day in my doctor's office, God began to chip away at my carefully rationalized excuses. Losing my ability to have children of my own caused me to confront my past. It brought me to my knees as everything I had chosen to believe about my choice came crashing down around me. As I faced the truth about abortion, that it takes a life, not a lump of cells, and as I beheld my sin through God's eyes, I was devastated. Yet, that moment was also the beginning of my healing journey.
LOSING MY ABILITY
TO HAVE CHILDREN
OF MY OWN
CAUSED ME TO
CONFRONT MY PAST.
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Over the next four years, God began to deal with my wounded heart by leading me to a crisis pregnancy center where I received post-abortion healing counseling through the help of Forgiven and Set Free, a Bible study written for post-abortive women. I was shocked to learn about post-abortion stress syndrome and the health risks of abortion, and I felt angry that I had not been given this information when I was making my choice.
As I recognized myself in the symptoms of post-abortion stress, I realized that while I had accepted God's forgiveness and forgiven myself, I had not yet begun to see my child as a real person, one who needed to be grieved. In essence, I had been stuck in the grieving process, unable to move beyond depression and detachment into acceptance.
At first it seemed impossible to grieve a child that was not tangible to me. I knew I needed to seek God for a name, so one day I sat down with pen and paper and prayed. Almost immediately the name Holly Maria came to my mind, and I began a letter to my child. "Dear Holly ..." I cried the whole time as I wrote to her about how sorry I was and about how deeply I missed her. I looked up the meaning of her names and learned that Holly means pure spirit and Maria means living fragrance. I discovered that her middle name comes from myrrh, one of the fragrances offered to Jesus by the wise men in worship. Even now, my eyes fill with tears as I recall that precious time and as I remember my sweet daughter.
It was God's plan to restore me, and in the process He gave me a passion for post-abortion ministry. I had not anticipated being diagnosed with cancer or being barren. Nor had I considered that someday my husband and I would be called to the healing ministry that is a crisis pregnancy center. But what I really had not foreseen was God's mercy and restoration joy. Our adopted baby daughter was born on October 12, 2004, and when we asked God for a name, He gave us Maria. In addition to living fragrance, the name also means bitter waters as mentioned in the story of the waters of Marah in the Old Testament. Just as God made the waters sweet so His people could drink, He has made my bitter waters sweet. When I held my little Maria in my arms and tears ran down my face, I sang praises to God in my heart—for His mercy, for His forgiveness, for His great kindness, and for unspeakable joy!
| Kyleen Stevenson-Braxton has volunteered at Care Net, A Pregnancy Resource Center in Casper, Wyoming, for three years and heads up the post-abortion healing ministry there that was instrumental in facilitating her own healing process. |
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