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I am always amazed as I ponder our Heavenly Father's grace and mercy, and how it is so evident in the new life He has given me. I am blessed with a beautiful family; a husband and four children, and in spite of all of the turmoil in the world around us, He gives us His joy and peace.

I wish I could tell you that it has always been this way, but it would not be the truth. You see, several years ago, before I had a relationship with the Lord, I was facing a very real battle that threatened to rob me of any hope in life, on earth or in heaven.

At the age of nineteen, I had an abortion, a decision I was later to regret. It was a desperate one, based on fear and misinformation. Like many young women, I had made some very bad choices that led to my crisis pregnancy and when I discovered that I was pregnant, I felt so afraid.

At the time, I was in the middle of a divorce, as were my parents. The father of the baby was not at all agreeable with the idea of becoming a father, and urged me to end the pregnancy, And since there were no voices telling me that it was in any way possible to have the baby without "ruining my life", I submitted to his wishes and made an appointment at the abortion "clinic".

When I walked into the "clinic" that Valentine's Day in 1978, 1 was terrified. I was almost 13 weeks pregnant by then. I was only 6 weeks or so when I had made my appointment, and was told that I needed to be at least 12 weeks, or the procedure would not be as "effective," I had been dreading this day for seven weeks, and though I had fantasized mothering this child, the cold reality that I had no support system was something I could not escape. The abortion providers sold me what I thought was a way out of my problems, but little did I know that they had only begun. By exercising my "freedom of choice", I lost control of everything that the abortion was meant to preserve.

The atmosphere at the "clinic" was something I will never forget. I wanted to leave as soon as I arrived, but I decided to be "brave, and just get it over with." The "procedure" was indescribably painful. The room was so cold, and the sound of the suction machine as it hungrily consumed the "products of conception" was so loud that was impossible to hear what the "nurse" and the "doctor" were laughing so hard about. After it was over, I felt as if I were dying from pain and grief, but the "nurse" stood there holding my hand and telling me that I had done "just wonderfully." That evening I cried as I told the baby's father, 'What if the baby felt pain during the abortion, and why do I feel so depressed?" He, a medical student, replied, "Don't worry, you've done the right thing. Your hormones will regulate in a few days. You'll be all right, just give yourself time."

The emotional and physical pain was so overwhelming that I was forced to make a decision in order to keep from loosing my sanity. I knew if I completely gave in to what I was feeling that I would cry for eternity, I decided that when I woke up the next morning, I would never speak of the baby or abortion again. I had to do this, I told myself, in order to survive.

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