On Sanctity of Human Life Sunday, I used to visit churches on behalf of our pregnancy resource center. But I changed my presentation after a woman shared her story with me.
The phone call woke me from my sleep and as I looked at the clock it took me a few minutes to separate my sleep-time thoughts from the reality of the ringing phone. The words were direct and implicit. Come. Now. Emergency Room.
Pulling back the curtain partitioning the small cubicles, I saw my little girl, now an older teen, on a gurney. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Her lips were blackened from the activated charcoal they’d given her to counteract the entire bottle of anti-depressants she’d taken. The doctor had told me before I’d gotten to see her that a mental evaluation would happen later, but she’d live. The doctor’s clipped tone told me he had more pressing emergencies to attend to than a suicidal teen.
I sat on a stool next to my daughter’s head and gently touched the wispy bangs of her hair. “Why?” I asked softly.
“I took a life so I wanted to take my own.” She looked away.
I knew what she was referring to. The abortion. Her life irrevocably changed afterwards. No woman is ever the same after an abortion. If they think they will have their life back unscathed, they fool themselves. This emergency room visit was just the beginning. Depression and a sense of shame would follow.
As countless churches across the nation celebrate Sanctity of Human Life Sunday, sitting in thousands of pews are real women who are still hurting from an abortion. And the pleas from the pulpit that include abortion statistics will stab them in the heart. These women need forgiveness and healing, but before they ask God, they seem to think they cannot ever forgive themselves. So pastors, take care of the women who are already wounded. We have over fifty-five million of them and some are in your church.