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I am one of the millions of women who walked into the deceptive smokescreen of the "Reproductive Freedom" propaganda, and "chose" to abort my first child. Consequently I emerged on the other side with a damaged perception, unable to discern that I had thrown away something that could never be retrieved. In truth, someONE. Separate in his own rights, and yet so much a part of me that I would silently and tortuously grieve our amputation.

I didn't realize this until almost two years later. It was at this time that things seemed to be going well for me. I was now married to a wonderful man, and pregnant again with a "planned" child. I was very much looking forward to becoming a mother, but memories of my first pregnancy caught me off-guard every time someone commented on my obvious condition. "How exciting", they would say. "Is this your first baby?" "Yes it is," I would answer. But in my heart I knew it was a lie.

Unable to deal with those issues, I would push them down emotionally every time they attempted to rise, hoping I could drown them forever in the murky water of my soul. The denial continued until I was faced with a more obvious loss. Twenty-four weeks into my new pregnancy, I gave birth prematurely to a tiny son. His lungs were not mature and he did not survive. We named him Nathan Joel. As I lay devastated in my hospital room, I was brought a birth certificate, and told that I would need to plan a funeral for him. He was so tiny, barely two pounds, and lived for just a few minutes after he was born.

Then I remembered a friend of mine who at that very same hospital had aborted a baby at twenty-four weeks. His birth had been induced by a syringe filled with saline solution, that burned him to death and caused him to be aborted from his mothers body.

How ironic, I thought, This hospital tried to save my baby, but helped my friend end her baby's life. They give me a birth certificate, and tell me I need to call a funeral home, but her son was a non-person. Why did this hospital try so hard to save the lives of some premature babies, while others were removed like unwanted growths? The question that haunted me was, at what point does life really begin? At conception, at 13 weeks? At 24 weeks? At birth? According to that hospital it seemed that a baby's personhood depended on whether or not his parents wanted him.

As I researched this further, I discovered that a baby could be aborted right up to the moment that his mother gives birth. I was once again confronted with my greatest fear, I had indeed murdered my first child.

I did not know God at the time, and even though I believed that there was a God, I felt sure that He would not want anything to do with me. My religious orientation was New Age, and I believed in reincarnation and karma, and that the death of my second son was payback for the abortion. I believed that the only way that I could atone for what I had done was suicide. Satan wanted me to believe that if I ended my life that I would have a chance to mother my children in another life. But God had another plan!

My husband, a Jewish man, had recently heard the gospel and had accepted Jesus Christ as his Messiah, He was urging me to go to church with him, and in an attempt to leave him with a happy memory of me, I agreed. Going to a church service before I died seemed like a good thing to do, and die I did! But not the way I planned. At that church service, the old sinful me was crucified with Christ, and the new me was raised up in newness of life to the glory of God, my Father. I was instantly delivered from all of the guilt and torment, and was very sweetly given the freedom to properly grieve the deaths of my two babies. Only in that freedom could I be given the hope that my little ones were safely hidden in Christ until all things will be revealed. After what He had done for me on the cross, I knew I could trust Him completely.

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