Jesus says “Be not afraid”. But I was terrified and cold in a cloud of shame. I’ve strived to hide it. Even from myself. And I hid it successfully for many years, but it lived behind a shiny film I used to mask it.
After registering, I called Nancy many times, as a means for reconnaissance; getting the lay of the land. As if going into battle: and In case I would again be humiliated. But I heard her friendly voice say, “you will feel so much better after”! And how brave I was she said.
I had four abortions. I needed more assurance that it would “be okay”. She assured me The Lord would be with me, and the work of RV was called by Him. “Really?” I had to call two or three more times.
I told Nancy about my background, and my conversion to Christianity. I should say before describing my childhood difficulties, there was some caring and love, but I was raised by teenagers, with many problems: trauma, dehumanization and concentration camps on my mother’s side. My mom was raped on the farm as a teen. On my father’s side, many generations of Scottish alcoholics. My father was violent and they fought constantly. It was an air-raid-a day, and as an only child, I lived in a war zone getting all the fire. One day, my father beat up my mom in front of me, stark naked. Mom said “What about the kid”? “What about the kid,” was his glib reply, like I wasn’t in the room. Poor, we didn’t have a bathroom or bathtub, just a laundry tub sink.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
As a very young child, I was aware there was something good somewhere though. Mom was an atheist, and when I asked about Jesus, she said “Jesus was just a really nice guy, and Mary was a nice girl—who got into trouble”. “What did she do??” I asked. I had to find God on my own, and I went off to Sunday school on my own. My mother was an illegitimate daughter growing up in a Mennonite Village in Saskatchewan.Gramma and three uncles and an aunt fled from their farm in The Ukraine, during the second revolutions, as the Bolsheviks shot up the house in the middle of the night. My poor grandmother. One of my uncles was gored to death by a bull, as he was "farmed out". My grandmother was indentured to an Austrian dairy farmer, my grandfather.
Now I understand through epigenetics, trauma can span and overarch generations; emotionally, psychologically, as well as physically. Mom walked away from the Mennonite Church because of hurt there, and poor Gramma became a Jehova’s witness. My dear mom worked, and I was left alone. The lady upstairs was charged to look after me, but she told me to “go outside”. Every day. We were poor and the neighbours kids in nice houses bullied me.
Nevertheless God put the love of beauty and art on my heart, and as a child I drew and painted, played and listened to music. And Mom sent me to art classes as a teenager. Art took me away from the pain and ugliness I saw and felt. In university I studied music and art. My crowd as a young person at University consisted of an older crowd of artists, poets and writers. I think all of them were, like my mother, atheists, and or thought they had a firm grip on Scientism. Everyone seemed to sleep with everyone else. It was a basic form of socializing in our culture.
Before universityI was pregnant with my son, who is now in his 50’s. Before that, Mom announced, “If you get pregnant, I’ll go to Essondale”, (the “funny farm”—thereafter re-named Riverview). So, naturally when I did get pregnant, even after she took me to the doctor, I said I WAS NOT. A teen’s brain really doesn’t do logic very well. And I was terrified, so I lied. Then, after my son was born, she said, “You should have told me right away, and I would have sent you to Japan to get an abortion”.
In the culture then, as now, abortion was considered as good as birth control, if that didn’t work. And it didn’t for me. So tragically, I became pregnant four more times. I did ask two therapists if an abortion was ok. Good? As a person with very low self-esteem, suffering already with extreme depression, I was profoundly Naive, I self-medicated: and was engaging in sex to be accepted, and sadly—hoping for love. Still hoping for love. But even as a wild child, I wanted to get married and have children. A very sad, mad, girl. I was also diagnosed with adhd in my 50’s. A little bit late!
As I write this, I see myself as a wild adolescent female, and can envision a faux episode of David Attenborough’s “Life of the teenage girl.” Only my nature and transition into adulthood didn’t quite work the way God intended.
My past life is a litany of sadness, devastation and sin. I don’t know how I got through any of it. I wanted those babies, but didn’t know I could because the boys refused to help even if I had them. You go on, and just forget the fact that the men insisted you “get rid of it”, or words to that effect. Somehow I got through university despite my mental health issues. I had been studying to some extent other religions looking for God. And now I was looking hard for God, experimenting with Kundalini Yoga, and Hinduism for laypeople. etc. I “looked into Christianity” by talking to some pastors and Christians, but was made to feel wrong asking questions and expressing the criticism I had.
While in music school at UBC, I took Russian Studies, and discovered the great Christian writers and philosophers, of Dostoyevski, Solzhenitsyn and Tolstoy. I was so happy to have found Victor Franklin’s “Man’s Search For Meaning” was an awakening, ever stoking my curiosity.
The Great Conviction
I attended an “Alpha” class at The Missionary Alliance Church, in 1999. It was a great church, and I learned the bible stories, kept reading and listening. Around that time I watched a TV documentary, Frontline, about Pope John Paul II. He spoke to me. I understood his conservatism, especially, I thought, regarding women. He grew up and as a young man, he witnessed the death and horror of the Nazis in Europe.
He spoke about “The Culture of Death”, and my fledgling curiosity and desire to meet Jesus exploded, filling my whole body. It was a dramatic conversion. In one moment I realized the abortions were grave sins. In that same moment I was convicted, I simaltaneously knew the infinite mercy of God and His Forgiveness—in that same moment.! How could that be ?? But I knew His Great Mercy. That was the moment of my conversion!
How could any of these things have happened? I was swept up in the Culture of Death.
What a precious, generous good and kind God!
The power to save this poor soul surpasses all understanding. His Grace extends even to a young girl who thought it was okay to have an abortion if she got pregnant. The birth control didn’t work after all. And they, the boys, didn’t want a baby. So, ironically in a great paradox, the abortions are the reason for my conversion. Everything can truly be redeemed. The way it works defies all understanding. How can this be? That someone who murdered her children could be forgiven?
I am reminded from time to time by Satan of my sins. I sometimes still struggle by dark thoughts and feelings of shame. I do my best to stop it in prayer.
Rachel’s was all that Nancy promised. I have taken a while to write this letter. I’ve had a litany of health issues including two surgeries, and various and painful issues. I have ME and CFS. And, I am still living the unfurling of the consequences of my sins, but I can say life is wonderful adventure. Even as I might become confused and sad, God has given me an imagination and the love of art and beauty, that I can create some little beauty for Him, worship Him and know His promises are for me too. I can make little things. I think I have the heart of an evangelist. I practice covert evangelism, and I have joined The Legion Of Mary. I go out to witness and offer people The Miraculous Medal.
Life is an adventure. I am a fine artist, I continue to paint and create art, I go to St.Augutine's Church in Vancovuer, attend Bible Study and have joined The Legion of Mary. I find this ministry delightful and it seems to suit me.