It wasn’t the party we might have previously envisioned, and the circumstances were nothing we would have desired.
We weren’t at a restaurant of your choice. We weren’t shaking our heads as you pretended to scan the menu as if you’d actually try something different for a change.
We weren’t having a family game night, talking trash to one another as the cards fell across the table. We weren’t teasing lovingly commending your persistence even though you have a knack for coming in last place.
We weren’t even at your house because you’re not there. You’re not there and I know that’s the birthday wish that supersedes them all.
But you are here with us, which is a blessing in itself.
You’re here after that alarming text I received on the afternoon of April 4th.
Specifically women who, in many major circles, are placed in the category of the unthinkable. They’ve done the unimaginable and should be added to the list of the worst of the worst.
They’re talked about on Facebook like they’re heartless individuals who can’t see, feel, think or read. They’re often ripped apart by those who have never been in their position, yet jump to many conclusions as to how they got there or why they did what they did.
This is for the broken.
This is for the hurting.
This is for the lost, embarrassed and ashamed.
This is for the woman who needs to hear that she’s not alone.
This is for the one who needs to know there is forgiveness, freedom, liberty and boundless love in Christ.
This is for the woman who, like me, had an abortion that she regrets.