A Friend Loves at All Times

Curled up in my living room sipping coffee, I tell my friend Sharon how God gave me, a barren woman, a passionate love for women who have had abortions. My heart beats faster, my hands fly as I talk. My pro-life, pro-woman stand seems radical.

Yes, there are still moments when I am gripped with a staggering hurt when I realize the God of all creation allows women who will terminate a pregnancy to conceive. I don’t feel bitterness but a strong sense of unfairness and anger at the situation.

Will Sharon understand? I pause for a breath and a response.

"I had an abortion."

Her whispered words cut into my heart and silence my brave words.

When Sharon was 18 and a recently divorced mother of two, she found herself six months pregnant. Exposure to rubella complicated everything. Afraid for her baby, Sharon made an appointment with a doctor. He convinced her the baby suffered terrible deformities and insisted the only responsible choice was abortion. She didn’t agree but went along with his advice because of the hopelessness burrowing in her heart. She questioned her ability to care for her daughters and a baby who might need her full-time attention. Feeling trapped and afraid of the suffering her baby might one day endure, she allowed the doctor to perform the procedure.

From the beginning she felt his disdain.

"I believe he looked at my life and decided abortion was the only answer." A few years later, she attended a pro-life conference where she saw pictures of the remains of an aborted baby.

"He lied," Sharon said. "[The doctor] told me the baby wouldn’t feel anything. Then he scalded my baby to death with saline."

The ironic thing was that I had attended that same conference. I saw her heart break and felt my own shatter as we faced the suffering caused by abortion — but for very different reasons. I grieved my infertility while she grieved the son she aborted. She believed the lies of a doctor, and I believed the lie that abortion was only a political issue. While I begged God to fill my empty womb, she begged Him to forgive her for emptying hers. There we stood, in our early 20s, hurting alone, together.

Now, Sharon searches my face for a response. Can I practice what I preach? Can I love her unconditionally and without judgment? Looking into her brown eyes filled with years of grief and silence, I say, "I love you. You are safe with me."

We blow our noses and hug. "I didn’t know the statistics [about rubella] then," she says. "The doctor didn’t tell me. If I had known the real statistics, I would not have gone through with it. I wasn’t a Christian, but I know I would have given my baby a chance."

While my heart whispers, Why didn’t you tell me? the sad truth hits me: How could she? In my steadfast pro-life stand all these years, I have failed to mention that I care about the women involved — until our conversation tonight.

But I’ve always known: Every abortion involves two victims.

Love despite shame

My first experience with abortion came in eighth grade. A girl in my Spanish class with a much older boyfriend whispered how her parents were taking her to another state to get an illegal abortion. I watched her innocence vanish as she confided her frightening secret. Even though I believed what she did was wrong, I truly loved my friend. Years later, other women told me about their abortion experiences; a few of them had chosen abortion more than once as a method of birth control. Although their stories always felt like a hard kick in my gut and in spite of my permanent struggle with infertility, I loved them. Not in my own power, but in His. With each story God gave me a glimpse of a grieving worse than my own.

My heart talk with Sharon was an answer to prayer. Seven years ago, I felt God urging me to pray for post-abortive women in my church and, later, women in all churches. And for those without churches. With Sharon, He offered me the privilege of loving someone face to face — someone who sometimes sat in the same pew at church, someone who came to my house for Bible study.

Loving someone I knew forced me to rethink how I talked about abortion. One day in conversation, I heard myself say abortion aloud. I cringed when I heard the edge. The kind of edge that comes out when we strongly disapprove of someone’s behavior. I knew the way I spoke the word could open doors or shut them forever.

The truth is, the word is offensive. It doesn’t slide off our tongues with grace and ease. There is no positive pronunciation. That’s why abortion advocates prefer a more positive tone, using pro-abortion or reproductive rights. So I asked myself, "What if when I say abortion I no longer let my disgust for the action cover the word and instead let the listener hear what I truly feel? The hurt. The sadness. The loss. I prayed God would fill my speech with salt and light — even the way I use the word abortion.

Many post-abortive women attend my church. They sing, pray, worship and grow alongside me. They seldom offer their full testimony because they don’t feel safe. We rightfully open our hearts to recovering addicts, poor children across the world and those who grieve loss. Women of abortion are grieving a loss, too. If they aren’t safe in our churches, where can they go?

Sharon talks about the forgiveness of Jesus and His redeeming love. She deeply loves her husband and the other children God has given her. Her gentle hugs and pats encourage everyone she knows. And she speaks the truth in love. She will tell you abortion is wrong because she knows its devastating pain firsthand. And she will tell you without hesitation, "Jesus loves you."

Sharon and I can love each other because we know the One who first loved us. And friends like her teach me His powerful and heart-changing message: A friend loves at all times.