When I was young my parents put a picture of Jesus in my bedroom. It wasn't anything fancy but I can still remember every detail of it. It had a brown faux-wood frame. Jesus was in the center, holding a sheep in one hand, his staff in the other. He had dark brown hair and beard, a blue robe and brown sandals. I didn't think much of it at the time but I wish I had it still. It is still the image that comes to mind first when I think of Jesus. I can still recall accepting Jesus into my heart when I was still small and the joy I felt getting baptized. I have heard that once you accept Jesus into your heart He never leaves. I believe that's true. No matter how far from church I strayed, no matter how much I wanted to be one of the bad kids, Jesus and His image never left me.
I found out I was pregnant during the spring of my senior year in high school. I was devastated. I was a straight A student. I was on my way to the Air Force Academy to do something amazing. I had hoped to be a fighter pilot. I had big plans and it didn't include sticking around in the small town I grew up in. I was a good kid, but I made a mistake. I was terrified of my parents and distraught at the fact that I would be known as the girl who was pregnant rather than the girl who left and now flies jets. I decided to have an abortion.
There was a friend who I shared study hall with. We would get a pass and sit in the hallways filled with windows to do school work in the sunshine that was cast onto the floors. Winter in Maine is cold and the sunshine through glass was so warm. I told her about the pregnancy and was surprised by her response. "Don't do it. It'll all work out". She then told me about a friend she knew who got pregnant at 16. They were now married, living in Pennsylvania and had bought a new minivan. She pointed out that at the time it seemed devastating but that they were doing well. I thought that story was well and good but didn't apply to me. I didn't want a minivan. I was off to do important things. We parted ways that morning knowing that my appointment was the next day.
The father and I arrived at the clinic the next day. He paid cash. They told me since I didn't have insurance I couldn't get pain relief. I didn't really understand but I didn't care. I went into the room and they inserted something into my cervix. It was supposed to dialate it, open up my womb so they could do whatever it was they do. I was told it would take an hour so I was sent back out to wait. While I waited I prayed. And cried. And shook. I thought about Jesus and the picture that hung in my room. And prayed some more. I was in a lot of pain, having never had a cervix dialate before. It seemed like it was too late to make a decision anyway so I didn't know why I was so upset. I think that's how a lot of us feel sometimes, like it's too late to change course. On the contrary- it's NEVER too late. Suddenly I knew. I just did. We went back up to the counter and I said I changed my mind. They told us we wouldn't get our money back. The father didn't care and neither did I. Inside the room again, they told me I would probably miscarry anyway since the cervix was open. I told them again that I didn't care. On our way out the receptionist handed us a $100 bill back and gave a small smirk. I think she might have been proud? Maybe she just felt bad? I'll never know. But I'll never forget the feeling of relief I had walking out. The inner turmoil had come from an internal battle; what I wanted versus what people expected. How I appeared to others versus doing what my soul knew was right. Good versus evil. Once I had commited, once I made the decision, it was easy. I had no idea what I was going to do or how I was going to face my parents. I just knew it paled in comparison to being in that room.
We went home. I didn't miscarry. I never even bled. I told my friend back at school and she was overjoyed. She had given me support. I knew there was at least one person who didn't think this was terrible, and that was enough. She was my angel. I told my parents. I survived. Nine months later in a warm tub of water with a loving midwife I had my son.
You, little buddy, almost weren't here. Almost...
At age three my son was diagnosed with Asperger's. Syndrome. I don't care. I wouldn't have it any other way. I cannot imagine a life without him. It certainly did changed my life drastically. I used to daydream of flying jets, traveling the world, and only owning enough possessions that would fit in a car. Heaven forbid I be stuck in one place too long. Now I've been forced to become patient, tender, and selfless. I've had to open my home to therapists that now feel like family. I've had to learn about a condition I didn't know existed and didn't care about. I've had to see things from someone else's perspective. I've had to accept. I've learned to rejoice in the small things.
Be that angel for someone. Let God use you. Say what's unpopular. If it's you that needs an angel right now, then let me be that for you. Talk to God. He loves you. Everything will be alright.
Today I am married to a wonderful man who loves airplanes, too. And yes, unfortunately, I have a new minivan:)
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