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In this issue...
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By Patti Pfeiffer
Why is the happiness so fleeting and the pain so lingering? Memories, please just go away. Haunt me no more. * If only I had known then what I know now. They never told me of the ensuing nightmares, year after year. They never warned me of the emotional war, fought inside the depths of my heart, mind, and soul which rages on long afterwards. I never knew years later I'd still be imagining the ten little toes and see myself playing gently with the fragile fingers. Nor did I imagine that I'd be counting the years and the number of candles that will never decorate the top of the birthday cakes created in only my mind.
Back then I knew only of the freedom of choice. However, I was never privy to the high price of the choice—the hidden costs that continue to mount long after the service is rendered, the damage is done, and the life is taken.
So many years—most of my life—I've buried the pain. With layer upon layers of reinforced numbness, I've lived a zombie existence, void of emotions, dodging the hurt and robbed of the joys.
The pit is deeper and darker this time. It's so unfamiliar, so unexpected. A familiar stranger is drawing me under, pulling me down, and wearing me out. It is consuming, encompassing, ever-present, and oh-so constricting—making me breathless. It's the weight that never lifts, the hollowness that never fills. The empty vault is strong—protective solid steel on the outside and lacking content on the inside. It's the heart wrapped with heavy-link chain buckled, bolted, locked, and encased. Nothing is far better than the pain. By my fingernails, I barely hang on the rim inside the pit. I'm clinging, holding on, fighting to get out, to get up, and struggling so hard not to fall into the depth of darkness.
Only You, my dear Lord, can pull me out and up. Only You can free me from this emotional dam. Only You, God, can get me on my feet and free me to feel the love, joy, and peace of knowing You and being Yours. In You, I am complete, whole, and holy. Rescue me, God, in Your righteousness. Through Your grace, release the dammed-up emotional rivers to flow out of my soul. Help me, Lord, to get deep within, to pull up and get out that which has encumbered, encased, weighed me down, and worn me out. Free me, oh God. Free me, I pray!
With that prayer, His answer came, and the beginning of my journey towards forgiveness and freedom began. Only days later, the notice arrived in the mail. For several years I'd been dodging the issue, making excuses to avoid the class. This time, however, it was God calling me to attend the post-abortion Bible study to heal from a past I couldn't escape—so long ago, and still so fresh.
Although plagued with lifelong severe gynecological problems, I was pregnant. Tears streamed nonstop for days as reality sunk in. How hopeless it seemed: the father in prison and the mother-to-be penniless, jobless, and, for the most part, homeless. I was convinced that I'd screwed up my entire life. I couldn't care for myself, let alone a child. I took what some might view as the easy way out, but for me having an abortion was nothing short of a life sentence. Although at the time, in my own selfish mind, the act was justified. I've never been spared the consequences—the regrets, the grief, and the haunting nightmares. The most recent is still fresh in my mind:
It was both a dream and a nightmare. My sleep was not interrupted during the worst of it, but at the best. I was pregnant. Feeling lost, alone, and confused, I considered my options. A visit to an abortion clinic was the deciding factor. There within the confines of my mind, the slumber-tour began. It was no ordinary office or medical facility. No, it was more like a factory with an assembly-line style of operations—women, prospective customers, riding down an escalator, signs stating the schedule of the procedures, divided and categorized according to the term of pregnancy.
I was in luck. So early in my pregnancy, they were very accommodating. Several time options were available from early morning to late evening. Those late-term clients—requiring more complicated procedures—were more limited. It was so organized, impersonal, and so methodical. The depth of the coldness penetrated my sleep. Down the escalator, pick a time, follow the signs to the appropriate area. Every woman was just a number, and every procedure was just a tally.
Yellow, yellow—everywhere was yellow. There were women wearing yellow hospital garments and gabbing, gossiping about every day life. Did they not realize where they were? What was done in this place? Did they not consider the other women, the ones without the yellow, sunshine-bright medical uniforms? Did they not consider their feelings? Could they not practice a little restraint, show a little respect? Or was this mill-type model not conducive to a respectful atmosphere? Maybe it had become all too common, all too routine to elicit any real emotion but indifference.
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I WAS NEVER PRIVY TO THE HIGH PRICE—
THE HIDDEN COSTS THAT CONTINUE TO
MOUNT LONG AFTER THE SERVICE IS
RENDERED, THE DAMAGE IS DONE, AND
THE LIFE IS TAKEN.
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Before the nurse could corral me into a cubicle, I broke her grip on my arm and ran frantically from the building. At home, with a racing heartbeat throbbing deep into my throat, I reviewed my options once again. Yes, I would do it! Despite my circumstances, regardless of the obstacles and hardships, I would have the baby. "But how?"echoed through my head. Maybe to others it was quite impractical, but my answer was a confident and faith-filled, "God will provide."
For the first time in my life, an overwhelming feeling of joy engulfed me. A unique, unfamiliar type of love swept over me—a warm, comforting type. Finally I knew what that empty hole in my soul was about. Just a few months away and I would be holding the only filler to my lifelong gap—a child. Not just any child, but a part of me. Brought forth from me to unconditionally love, hold, cuddle, raise, and to call my child—a child of my own.
Suddenly I awoke. My eyes opened, signaling it was only a dream. A tugging, emotional undercurrent pulled at me. The warmth and love of the dream were so real. The emotions could be felt filtering through my heart and prompting a smile on my sleepy face.
Then, the inevitable happened. I was thrust back in time to the ugliness of the past when my faith faltered, my trust failed. Reality came crashing in with waves of regret, overwhelming sadness, hopelessness, and emptiness. For God knew better than I that the thing I wanted the least was the exact thing I needed the most. You see, He knew that the eroding forces of loneliness had not carved a crater to remain empty, but created a cradle to fill.
The wound will never completely heal. The lifelong ache is the price I will forever pay. Yet finally I'm free and forgiven for I can testify that "This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief" (1 Timothy1:15).
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