Lately there’s been a flurry of talk in the news and on social media about abortion. And as someone who’s had an abortion, I wanted to be the voice of those who don’t talk about theirs because of shame, worry, embarrassment, and a fear of, “What would they think of me if they knew?” But I also wanted to give them hope if they’ve lost all theirs.

This is what you might hear if you could unlock the door that hides their pain: 

If you’ve never had an abortion you may not know…

“How badly I hurt when I see babies in strollers.

That I feel sick to my stomach when abortion is talked about on TV.

How alone I feel.

That “Sanctity of Life Sunday” is paralyzing.

That pro-life social media posts send me to the floor in shame.

That I regret my decision everyday.

That I dream about my baby.

That even though I gave my baby up for fear my life would be a mess, I now wonder how much better my life would have been.

That my grief is overwhelming.

That I am 1 of 4 women walking around America who’ve had an abortion. We carry what feels like 500 pounds of shame. But we

I used to read my Bible to be obedient and be a “good Christian”. I think we do a lot of things like that, don’t you? We attend church, read our Bibles, serve, etc., because we think it’s the “right” thing to do. Like maybe God is happier with us after we do the thing than He was before. Not sure where this idea of God came from, unless is came from people-pleasing, approval-seeking, trying-too-hard people who put their insecurities on God and instructed others how to live. And sadly, yes, I think that’s where this idea of God came from.

But years later, knowing the truth about who God is and His deep love for me, I read my Bible because I’ve learned it’s a megaphone from His heart to my soul. God has spoken through His Word to give me direction, once to tell me to leave my job, write my book, and be obedient when I wasn’t. Through His Word, He’s given me peace when my parents divorced, told me Markus and I would have a son when we weren’t getting pregnant, and encouraged me to extend forgiveness when I wanted to withhold it. And

I spent some time today with a gal—also our babysitter—whom I’m discipling. And I’ve learned that this discipleship thing isn’t as scary as it sounds. We don’t have to have it all together to disciple someone, but just be willing to say, “Follow me while I follow Jesus.  But be ready for me to share with you where I have struggled.”

This afternoon, we hung out on my front porch and I asked her questions, sometimes invasive, about her new boyfriend. We established early on that my role in her life would be to help sharpen her and my questions might be hard, but they’d make her better.

We also agreed I’d hold her accountable. Today she told me she wants to be in God’s word before school as much as possible. So, for the next couple days (baby steps), I challenged to set her “bedtime alarm” feature on her iPhone to help her go to bed at a good time tonight and wake up 20 minutes earlier than usual tomorrow morning. Monday, she’ll start again. When we meet two weeks from now, she will tell me what she learned from Hebrews 3, the text she wanted to study.

There

I wrote and performed the racial reconciliation spoken word, “Forgive Me”, for the 2018 “Come. Unity Event”: Church, Act on the Dream” in Plano, TX. The event celebrated the life and legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr.

In this piece, I confess my Caucasian ignorance and ask people of color to forgive me. I also call the Church, no matter the color of our skin, to lead out in the hard work of reconciliation as His image bearers to bring a picture of what’s happening in Heaven down to our world below. As you read and watch, I pray you’re encouraged and challenged to do the same. May we make God famous.

Forgive Me

Forgive me.

Forgive my arrogance.

Forgive my statements of ignorance.

Forgive my unspoken, but definitive thoughts of superiority.

Since I, for so long, saw you as the minority.

I grew up in a white-filled town,

People of color were almost nowhere to be found.

It was not segregated, no, not at all,

But my eyes only saw “sameness” in my school halls.

My textbooks were penned by mostly Caucasian writers,

Who didn’t teach me African Americans were the strongest of fighters.

Multiple, ignorant voices teaching every white student,

That the invention of the

Yesterday, my 7-year-old son Solomon, sat crossed-legged in a chair and told me he knew of 13 girls who liked him. He proceeded to tell me their names. Now, I think this kid is pretty adorable, but thirteen girls?? Come on.

But I listened and nodded, and gave Solomon the desired, “ooohhs,” and “aaahhs,” and “wooooows”.

“Solomon, how does it make you feel that all these girls like you?”

“It’s weird mom. They stare at me in class and then want to play with me at recess. ” He twisted his pant leg in his fingers.

“Do you want to know why I think they like you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Because you’re respectful and speak kind words to them. You use manners and care for others. You often hold the door open for people and wait your turn. You raise your hand in class and don’t blurt out. And you make the new kids feel welcome. I know you don’t always do these things, but you try. There’s a reason your teacher continues to place you in study groups with some of the disruptive kids in class—she thinks you can impact and influence them to make better choices.” (I also reminded him of healthy

It quite possibly could be every Christian parent’s dream to see their kid, like my 9-year-old above, worshiping God with an arm extended and eyes closed, appearing fully surrendered to their Father. Isn’t this what we pray for, yearn for, and deeply desire for our kids? I know I do.

I believe the purpose of parenting is to partner with God to shape the spiritual trajectory of our kid’s lives so they leave our homes bent on making God famous. And I know I will feel that I have lived into this purpose, if I see my kids in love with Jesus.

But when I look at my kid worshipping God in this picture, great is my temptation to relax, to slow up. To step out of the boxing ring of the fight and off the treadmill of the race towards helping my kids love Jesus more than life itself. As if I’ve done my job, and now it’s time to exhale and let my hair down, because I see my kid outwardly expressing his inward reality.

But this is the worst move we could make as Christian parents.

The reason my 9-year-old can extend his arm like this so freely,