Mercy's Call

I thought I had already been down that road.  I had taken that journey back to that awful place, despite my fear and hesitation, and returned from it knowing that I had been forgiven.  I had confessed my sin and moved on.  What I didn’t understand then was that I had left something important behind and years later, God would call me back there to finish what we started. 

I first felt His whisper through a friend who mentioned in passing that she facilitated abortion recovery weekends through an organization called Mercy’s Call.  I admired her for her desire to help others heal from such deep wounds.  I knew all about those wounds and the hurts and shame that bled from them.  But that was then and I was on a new path of healing from wounds of another kind.   

At some point over the next few weeks, this same friend and I were having another discussion about Mercy’s Call and she said something that turned my soul inside out.  She mentioned that she still mourns the loss of her unborn children.  Mourn?  Now, that was something I had never considered, much less allowed myself to do.  It was in that very moment when the word “mourn” hit my heart that God’s whisper became a (loving) punch in the gut.

It wasn’t long before an opportunity arose to attend a weekend and I jumped at the chance, knowing that the process of healing I was currently in had everything to do with this particular process of healing.  I was terrified of all that I would be facing going into it, but yet I went with the expectation that something big was going to happen.  I just needed to show up and trust and God would take care of the rest.  “The rest” indeed.

He took my hand and walked me back through many of the dark, painful places of my life that led up to and surrounded my abortion.  I was barely 16 when I made that decision but God, my Healer, took me back even further to show me that there was more to my story than what my original version portrayed:   My version was still rooted and steeped in shame, despite God’s forgiveness.  He showed me how abuse had carved self-hatred, unworthiness and dozens of other insecurities into my soul and how it stole my vision of who I really was: His beautiful, treasured daughter.  He showed me how these events drove me to seek out love and affection in harmful ways and though I had my own responsibility for that regretful choice, there were other influential people and factors involved who shared that responsibility with me.  He showed me that I was still paying penance for my early years of life, thinking that if I punished myself enough and withheld enough good things from myself, I could get to a point where I would actually be worthy of the forgiveness that God had already granted me willingly when I first confessed it to Him.  That burden grew heavier and heavier over the years because there was no punishment I could inflict upon myself that was ever going to be enough to atone for taking my own child’s life.  I had made my bed and was wrapped up tight in a blanket of lies that continually reminded me that every last bit of that heavy load was solely mine to carry for a life sentence.  And then God reached out His mighty, yet gentle hand to me and whispered “Give it all to me.”

He wasn’t asking for my repentance or confession – I had already given that.  He wasn’t asking for self-vindicating works or for a promise to sell all my belongings and become a missionary across the globe as an offering.  He just wanted all the ugly stuff.  He wanted the beastly burden I’d been lugging around for so long.  He wanted my sin, my shame, my terror, my losses, my anger, my traumatic experiences and all of the rage and unforgiveness (towards myself and others) that was still in my heart as a result.  And last but not least, He wanted . . . my trust in what His intentions were with it all.  Still leery, I searched and questioned and saw no fine print.   I had come to a place of “the rest” and just in time.  I was so tired of carrying that shameful burden that I could not take another step with all of that weight bearing down on me.  So, I lifted my hands up to the sky (literally) and in faith, I let go!   And in return for all that unsightly mess, including all the times I rejected Him, He lavished me in His comfort and love.  But He didn’t stop there.  He also gave me the son I never knew!  Through the amazing women who facilitated this weekend, my Heavenly Father reminded me that I am a mother of THREE, not two children and that my first child is alive and well in God's kingdom and he waits for me there!  He allowed me the space to mourn the loss of never being able to hold my son or know him.  He allowed me to wrestle with questions like “Did it hurt him when the machine took him from my womb?”  What would he look like now?”  “What if . . ?”  And then my wise and wonderful Father brought my attention back to His grace. 

As the weekend came to a close, one of the facilitators placed before me a little white box with a cross inside that represented God’s forgiveness and asked me if I was willing to receive the gift of God’s Forgiveness.  I went after that gift like a ravenous beggar clawing at a divine feast.  It was the first time in my life that I had ever allowed myself to “receive” what I knew (but only in my head) had already been given to me.  I accepted it without shame and there were no strings attached . . . only grace.

We ended with a ceremony to celebrate and honor my first child, Austin Isaiah Davis.  During that ceremony, a facilitator read a conversation that God was having with my unborn son, who wanted to know things about me.  He wanted to know what I look like, when I would be coming home and if I would recognize him when I arrived.  Then he asked God “Why is she still there and I am here?” and my gracious Father replied “You know, my son, I don’t remember (Hebrews 10:17).”  This was “the rest” that God had planned for me in a single weekend.  I can only imagine what more He has for me (and you) in these remaining days on earth and in the hereafter. . .

The Gift (In Honor of Austin Isaiah Davis)

You made your Glory shine

In that sacred, secret place

And though I turned your gift away

I could not stop your Grace!

You were there when I rejected

The child you made for me

You saw it all and still, you used

My sin to set me free!

O only you, Jehovah,

Could take my blackest deeds

And snatch them from my blood-stained soul

To cast into the sea

O, thank you, Abba, Father

For the grace to mourn & grieve

For peeling off my burdens

That forbade me to receive

Behold, the former things have passed

And I no longer cower

From that painful place of loss

But celebrate your POWER!

Today you do a brand new thing

And I cry out with joy

To tell the world, despite my sin,

“I have a little boy!”

He waits for me at Heaven’s gate

And cheers me as I go

And once we know our first embrace

I’ll never let him go!

Yes thank you, Lord, for ALL OF IT

The terror and the shame

For only you, O Great I AM,

Can do all that you claim!

To learn more about Mercy's Call, visit:  http://www.mercyscall.org/

In the Dirt . . .

In the dirt, she waited

With worms and crawling creatures

Covered up and smothered

Were all her sparkling features

But tucked away from sunlight

And choked of proper air

She held a dormant treasure

Completely unaware

For no one ever told her

That she was born a seed

And so she took her place in life

As but a lowly weed.

But deep beneath the muck and mire

Love had found her still

And loosed the soil that captive held

A purpose yet fulfilled

It could’ve yanked her free from threads

Of roots which held her down

But chose instead from there on high

To stoop its knee to ground

While toiling in the same dirt

She’d worn for all her life

Love drew her out with nourishment

Of water, breath and light

Now slowly, she emerges

From the pit of bitter Hell

As Love sings ever sweetly

Of the seed He knows so well

And though she’s been cut open

And all has been exposed

What once was called a worthless weed

Is now Love’s priceless rose.