Hold Your Rocks

I have always been fascinated by the story found in John 8 of the woman caught in the act of adultery. Can you imagine being torn out of bed while in the act of doing something shameful, not even being allowed to put your clothes on to cover up, then being dragged through the streets and thrown down in the dirt in front of all the townspeople—all holding stones, yelling at you, spitting on you, calling you names? It’s one of the more intense scenes in the Bible, just below the crucifixion scene, as far as I’m concerned. Granted, this woman was as guilty as they come, and yet the innocent Jesus stood between her and her accusers, talking to her with dignity while seeing right into her soul. The mob surrounding her reminds me of fierce protesters, zealous and serious about holding sinners accountable for their horrid acts of sin. I imagine their voices were just as loud as a couple my husband and I met one evening while out on a date.

Zealous for Works

We had just finished our meal and decided to head out for a walk around town. Smelling some sweet treats, we decided to stop and get some dessert at a local bakery just down the road. Then we began to hear some loud noises. As we got closer, we realized that the noises were actually voices yelling on the corner of the street. In a moment we saw two young people, male and female, with bullhorns and signs displaying images of dismembered body parts of babies, screaming at those who passed by, and shouting, “You are murderers!” and “God will hold you guilty for taking this innocent life!”

Those walking past them avoided eye contact, and some even yelled back obscenities, shaking their heads and crossing the street to avoid any possible encounters. The exchanges seemed to give them a boost of energy. The truth is I too thought, at first, Just cross the street. It wasn’t on my agenda to have the abortion discussion tonight and hijack an amazing date night. Yet we, both my husband and I, knew it was going to happen. I wasn’t too sure they would be ready for what I had to say, though, as I felt my approach to the discussion would be somewhat nuanced (or so I thought). But as we got closer and found ourselves right next to them, things shifted.

We were standing right next to them as they yelled out, “God loves the unborn child!” to which I yelled back, “I agree. You’re right!” They looked at us as we smiled at them in what seemed to be agreement. They beamed with joy, as if to say, “Finally, someone who gets it!” Then they began to point to the pictures of dismembered bodies of babies on their posters. They asked us, “Do you believe in God?”

“Absolutely!” we replied. “We are Christians.” We learned they had picked this corner because they believed it was filled people who were lost and practiced horrible sins—worst of all, the murder of babies (abortion)—and they needed to come and shine a light on this egregious sin. I suppose they were right in that the town was full of people who needed Christ. And once they realized we were Christians, they let their guard down a bit more and told us that they were too. We simply let them talk . . . but then something happened.

The young woman began to expound on the procedures of abortion and what happens in Planned Parenthood clinics. Again we listened, no interruptions, until she took a break for a moment and asked, “Do you know what happens in these places?”

I could tell she wasn’t ready for the answer she was about to receive. “Yes, I do,”I promptly replied.“I’ve had an abortion before.” I smiled to try and ease the tension. She must have wondered how I could be so joyous knowing I had done such a thing. She had no clue that I was free and that was why I could share with no reservations, guilt, or shame. They both looked at me with blank stares, and the street corner went quiet.

‘We are not saying that they are innocent and that there are no consequences for their sins. But have you ever considered what leads a person to walk into an abortion clinic?’

I knew she had a lot she wanted to share but hadn’t planned on hearing this. “Really?” she muttered. “Well . . . so you know then,” she managed, but then she seemed perplexed. “You had an abortion?” I knew what she really wanted to ask. Especially because we had just declared that we were both Christians.

My husband broke the awkward silence: “So you both believe in the sanctity of life?”

“Yes!” they both shouted resoundingly.

Nodding his head, my husband continued, “I do too. And with that you must also believe that all human beings’ lives matter to God, correct?”

They thought for a moment, and then the young man replied, “Well, yes, murder is wrong, and God doesn’t like the taking of innocent life.”

My husband nodded again. “When you say innocent life, what are you referring to?”

Thinking for a moment, the young man pointed at the picture of the dismembered remains of babies on the photo: “This is innocent life. This life did nothing to anyone and doesn’t deserve to have its life taken.”

“You said God cares about innocent life, but you also said you were a Christian,” my husband continued as the young man nodded in agreement. “Well, then, you know that there are no lives on the planet that are innocent,” my husband pressed. “The Bible states in Romans 3:23, ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.’ It also says in Psalm 51:5, ‘Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity, and in sin my mother conceived me.’ Romans 5:8 says, ‘But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.’ And Ecclesiastes 7:20 tells us, ‘Indeed, there is no one on earth who is righteous, no one who does what is right and never sins’ [NIV]. So the protection of the life in the womb is just one aspect of describing who God loves. He also loves the lives who are outside of the womb, until the day they leave this earth.”

The young man stood for a second and then looked at the young woman, who began to reply, “These people are committing murder, and that is evil and unjust.”

“But God loves them too,” I chimed in. “God loves the man on death row. God loves the murderer, the thief, the rapist, the molester. We are not saying that they are innocent and that there are no consequences for their sins. But have you ever considered what leads a person to walk into an abortion clinic?”

She looked at me, and I said, “I can tell you, because I’ve lived it.”

My Story

For the next few minutes I shared my story: About a little girl growing in the womb of her mother, hearing voices of anger and rage, feeling the emotions of distress. A baby growing inside a woman who was broken and beaten, and who harmed herself—who struggled with addiction and cravings, stress and the frustrations of life. I shared with them being born into a home filled with addiction and abuse; of being sexually molested starting at the age of 3 (because that is as far back as I can recall) by family members and friends of family members; of living through my parents’ divorce, an addict father leaving us, and my single-parent family plummeting into poverty and survival mode. When addiction, poverty, and brokenness are present in the home, the trajectory, the fate, of those children is all too predictable.

I shared about the violence I grew up around: my father’s toward my mother and my mother’s toward me and my siblings (both physical and verbal). I shared about going without food and the fear of not having shelter, stealing to ensure that we had something to eat until our next access to funds. I spoke of feeling, as a child, responsible for providing, which led me to put myself in abusive spaces, because if I didn’t, it might have cut off our access to resources.

Growing up, I tried desperately to break generational cycles of dysfunction, teenage pregnancy, addiction, and abusive relationships, only to find myself staring helplessly into a mirror at the age of 17. I had finally made it to college, but now found myself impregnated by a drug dealer who was also a user. My hypersexual activity from a young age was a result of looking for love and affirmation from a man, any man, as well as early exposure to what I thought was the only thing that made me valuable to men—sex. This pregnancy solidified what I had so desperately wanted to prove wasn’t true: that I was just like them. The people whom I loved and hated, the people who hurt me and who were all I knew. I was heading down the same path, and, staring into that mirror, I could see myself living out my mother’s life before my very eyes.

Yes, we should fight for the lives of those who can’t fight for themselves. But that is not limited to the womb.

I felt as if I had to make a choice. I had lost so much, and the only thing I had left was my college scholarship. Having a child would complicate things. I had to figure out what to do in order not to lose the only thing I had left in life that made me feel special, important, and worthy. I looked at the father of my unborn child and couldn’t see him being a present father . . . and if he were present, he would likely turn out to be just like my dad, and I didn’t want that for my child. Allowing what happened to me growing up to happen to this child was not an option. I thought surely abortion was a better option than that. I struggled for an entire week with mental anguish, pain, guilt, and fear. Eventually the fear won, and I made my way to the clinic.

The guilt of that choice followed me for years, even after giving my heart to the Lord and receiving His forgiveness. The truth is that I had the hardest time forgiving myself, and carried the burden and shame of the decision I had made. But the survival instinct was so strong: I worked hard to try to put it behind me and return to school. Ironically, my attempts at keeping the dysfunctional relationship with the young man who had made me pregnant took my full attention, and I ended up losing my college scholarship. That not only devastated me but also sent me into a deep depression from which I struggled for many years to recover.

Since that time, I have gone through a lot of healing, therapy, and help. Not just for the abortion but for my entire traumatic upbringing. The abortion was a symptom of a much larger issue in my life: Unaddressed trauma, abuse, and brokenness. When I see people picketing and yelling in the streets about the sanctity of life, I often wonder, Do they really believe what they are preaching? Do they really believe that every person who walks through the doors of an abortion clinic is doing so because they are simply selfish, evil, and promiscuous, and want to murder? Have they ever sat down and talked with people to find out what leads them to that place?

Zealous for People

That night, standing on the corner, sharing my story with those two strangers, was not expected. I could understand their fervor and urgency. Yes, we should fight for the lives of those who can’t fight for themselves. But that is not limited to the womb. God does care about the unborn life, but God cares about the lives who are born as well—the little 3-year-old girl who was molested, broken, and abused; who lacked the ability to create healthy boundaries and safety in her life, and had no idea whom she could trust; who struggled with depression and suicidal ideation because “if there was a God, how could He allow this to happen to me?” I found out, eventually, that I serve a God who took the time to wade with me through all those experiences and yes, even the abortion, with grace and mercy, to allow me to see that He does care.

The young picketing couple had a new perspective. It didn’t stop them from feeling strongly about the act of abortion, but it did give them a window into the heart of some people who find themselves there, at an abortion clinic . . . much like the woman caught in the act of adultery that day, thrown down at the feet of Jesus.

The crowd was right there, ready to defend the sanctity of the marriage bed. Yet Jesus knelt with her on the ground, as those around her spat, cursed, and judged her for what they saw taking place outwardly. He understood that she had been led into that lifestyle by someone present in the mob that day, ready to stone her. This isn’t to excuse her personal choices, but He understood that no man comes to sudden ruin. The path to destruction is gradual and sometimes encouraged by others.

I can almost guarantee you that the insults and shameful rhetoric was nothing new to her. Many of those thoughts probably rang in her mind daily. But thank God for Jesus, who shows up, and is willing, while others are throwing stones, to see us, acknowledge where we’ve been and how we got there, and decides to stand with us in the dust. He raises her up and calls her, with compassion, to something better. Healing is possible, and no matter what others say, you can live free in Christ—“Go and sin no more” (John 8:11). I don’t think all her trauma went away that day. But I am pretty sure she experienced what she had longed for her whole life—to be seen and known for something more. If you are wondering what to do with the stones that perhaps you may have been carrying . . . hold your rocks. In fact, stones build houses! It’s far more useful to build up than tear down. Here are some other things we can do with our stones:

• The National Alliance to End Homelessness suggests that approximately 1.5 million children experience homelessness each year in the United States.

• According to Feeding America, about 9.3 million children in the United States experience food insecurity daily.

• According to Congress.gov, child protective services agencies receive more than 4 million reports of child abuse and neglect (involving more than 7.8 million children) each year.

By no means does this excuse abortion, but perhaps there is so much more that can be done to impact the lives of people living on a sinful, broken planet, not just in the womb, but all the way to the tomb.