The Power of Prayer

by Lorana Hoopes

  “God has a purpose for your baby.” The words pulled at my heart, and I stopped.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, whirling to face the woman.

  “I can see the pain in your face, but death is not the answer. This baby was made by God, and He has a plan for it.”

  Anger sparked within me. “Yeah, well it’s my body, so I can do what I want with it,” I snapped back and continued to my car. Sheesh, why can’t people keep their opinions to themselves?

  Once home, I sat on the couch and pulled out the brochure again. The brochure portrayed the procedure as quick and easy, but questions swirled in my head. If it isn’t a baby yet, it wouldn’t really be murder, would it? I mean I barely knew the father, and I doubt Daniel would stick around to support me and a baby by another man. This would be easier. I can pretend it never happened and get on with my life, and I’ll never make that mistake again. An odd sensation stirred in my stomach, but I put the brochure away, dismissed the thought, and headed to bed.

  As I pulled back the blanket, a colored corner of something on the floor caught my attention. Bending down, I picked up a travel book. It was one of the books that JD had given me the day he left; it must have fallen from my bag when I was unpacking. Giving no further thought to it, I tossed it on the bed and plodded into the bathroom for my nightly routine.

  As I brushed my teeth, I turned sideways and eyed my belly in the mirror. Was it really only a lump of cells? What would it look like? Was it a boy or a girl? I shook my head to clear it. No use thinking like that if I wasn’t going to keep it. I finished brushing and flossing and then climbed into bed. The travel book caught my eye again and I opened it. A picture fluttered out, and as I picked it up, I gasped. The picture of JD and I atop Dunn’s Falls stared back at me.

  I traced his face and then looked at my own happy smile. Turning it over, I found a note scrawled in pen:

  * * *

  Dear Callie,

  I enjoyed our time together. I hope everything works out for you and your fiancé, but if it doesn’t, please remember that you are loved by the God of Heaven. He loves you and is always looking out for you. If you let Him, He will bless you in abundant ways. I’m not leaving my number as it wouldn’t be appropriate right now, but know that I will be thinking of you, will pray for you, and if it is in God’s plan, then we will meet again. –JD

  * * *

  I read the note again and again as I thought back to the time spent with JD. He had been so different and so refreshing, but I wondered how he would react if he knew my latest news. He hadn’t been like other men and he never seemed to want anything from me, but would he still find me attractive if he knew I was pregnant? Then reality crashed in again. Why was I even thinking about JD? Other than New York, I had no idea where he lived. I didn’t even know his last name. The chances that I would ever see him again were abysmal. Sighing, I set the picture on my nightstand and turned off the light, falling into a fitful sleep.

  **

  JD sighed as he finished his dinner for one, yet again. It wasn’t that he wanted to be alone, but after his last relationship he’d become pretty picky. The good news was that he was becoming a half decent cook. He had tried microwave dinners for a time after Alexa, but those had grown old quickly. Then he’d taken to dropping in to see his parents, right around dinner time, in the hopes of a home-cooked meal, but now they were in Florida and he was in New York, a little far to go for dinner. So, he’d taken up watching cooking shows in the evening after work and he’d learned how to make a few decent meals.

  He placed his plate and utensils in the dishwasher and wiped up the counter. Walking into his living room, he sat down in his favorite blue recliner, turned on the TV, flipped through a few channels, and turned it off again. Nothing on TV appealed to him anymore. He picked up the book he had been reading from his coffee table, and his eyes landed on a piece of paper. It was his prayer list. No time like the present.

  Scanning the list, JD sent up prayers for each name. When he finished, he placed the paper back down, but an unease in his stomach called him back. He perused it again; he had prayed for everyone on the list, but the feeling did not abate. Did I forget someone? He closed his eyes, trying to remember if he had forgotten to write one down, but nothing came to mind. Shrugging, he placed the list down again and froze. Images of Callie flooded his mind. He hadn’t thought of her in weeks, but tonight the feeling was strong. He fell to his knees, and whispered a prayer for her.

  Chapter 10

  “Mommy?”

  I woke up and glanced around trying to find the owner of the voice. A small girl, about the age of three, with long blond hair and blue eyes stood by my bed, little hands hanging on the edge.

  “Mommy? Why didn’t you want me?” Tears glistened in the girl’s big blue eyes, and her lips formed into a pout.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why didn’t you want me? You had me in your tummy, and you let them cut me up and suck me out?”

  The anguish on the cherub face tugged at my heart, and my breath caught in my throat. “They cut you up? But, they told me it was a bunch of cells, not a baby yet.”

  “Mommy, I had a heartbeat and a brain. I felt everything they did to me. Didn’t you feel me try to move away from that thing? Aren’t mommies supposed to protect their children?”

  “I...” I stammered, but no answer came. My forehead wrinkled; mommies were supposed to protect their children, weren’t they?

  The little girl’s eyes dropped to look at her hands. “Was I not pretty enough? Did I make you mad?”

  “Oh, honey, I wasn’t mad. You are beautiful. I... I wasn’t ready to have a baby, I guess, and it was my choice.”

  “What about my choice, mommy?”

  Again my mouth opened, but no sound came out. I had never considered that question. I believed that what I did with my body was my choice alone, but here was this tiny life showing me that she too had a body and a desire to live. “I’m so sorry.” The little girl was so beautiful and angelic. The child began to fade. “Where are you going?” I stretched out a hand to touch her, but the girl was too far away.

  “I have to go, but mommy, I would have loved you; I really would have.”

  The girl faded, and I woke with tears running down my face. My eyes searched around the dark room, but there was no girl; it had all been a dream. I placed a hand on my stomach, but nothing moved yet. Could it be true?

  I clamored from bed and retrieved my laptop from the desk. Taking it back to bed, I propped up some pillows and turned it on. Where to begin? I typed in “abortion procedures” and pages after pages filled the screen. The “procedure” was much more graphic than the brochure from the clinic had claimed. In fact, it seemed almost barbaric, but there was a non-medical procedure, a pill I could take if I was early enough. That seemed less awful until I read that the women were usually just sent home to have the miscarriage themselves. The thought of what I might see as I miscarried made that an unappealing option as well.

  As I kept scouring, I ran across a page discussing side effects of abortions. There are side effects? I clicked the link and stories of women who regretted their abortions littered the page. There were stories of women having miscarriages or ectopic pregnancies after abortions and stories of women having hysterectomies in their mid-twenties because of previous abortions. Fear coiled in me like a spring. I didn’t want a baby right now, but I did want one in the future. If I aborted this baby, would I have pregnancy issues later like these women? I tried to convince myself that there couldn’t be that many instances of these complications because I’d never heard of any. The media certainly had never mentioned them.

  I scrolled back to the top of the page and searched for abortion side effects. Again, links filled the screen. I clicked the first one, and my eyes devoured the page. Thirty percent? The spring coiled tighter. Thirty percent of women who have abortions go on to have reproductive issues including miscarriages, premature babies, and infertility? More
than half of all women later suffer from mental health issues including depression and suicide. The coiled spring turned cold, and my mouth dropped open. How had the media never discussed these statistics? Wasn’t it their job to give all the information? I bit the inside of my lip. Thirty percent wasn’t the biggest number, but what if I wanted to have a baby in the future and couldn’t?

  The alarm blared beside me, causing me to jump and shut the laptop in surprise. Could it be time to get up for work already? My stomach still churned like I’d just gotten off a roller coaster, and the fear gripped ever tighter. I’ll have to tell Daniel about this and get his opinion. After all, it could affect him too.

  I wiped my palms on my skirt as I exited the car. Pulling my shoulders back to portray a confidence I didn’t feel, I entered the coffee shop. Daniel stood at the counter ordering; I took a deep breath and marched up to him. As I touched his arm, he whirled to glare at me, but his eyes softened when he realized it was not some stranger.

  “You’re late, so I ordered for you already.” Agitation colored his voice, and I cringed. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  I cleared my throat and swallowed a few times, “How was your morning?”

  “It was awful.” He grabbed a pastry and our coffees and led the way to the last empty table. A few other couples were in the small cafe, but singles with laptops comprised most of the crowd. “I had meeting after meeting that accomplished nothing. It was ridiculous . . .”

  As he droned on about his frustration, I ran my finger along the coffee cup lid. I wished he didn’t sound so angry, but maybe the coffee and pastry would relax him. A few nearby patrons glared at Daniel’s loud voice before returning to their work. I continued listening, waiting for a softer side to emerge, but Daniel’s posture never loosened. He checked his watch and rolled his eyes which I assumed meant he had to get back to work. It wasn’t the perfect time, but if I didn’t ask now, I might not get the chance.

  “Daniel,” I said, putting my hand on his arm to keep him from standing, “how would you feel about having a baby?”

  He turned his mouth down and stiffened. “A baby?” The nearby heads popped up again, agitation in their eyes. His voice had not been quiet. “Did you not hear me talking about how stressful work was? A baby would make it worse. You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

  I bit my lip. This wasn’t going as planned.

  His nostrils flared and he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper, “Callie, how could you be so irresponsible?”

  My teeth clenched together, “In case you forgot, it takes two people to make a baby.”

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. “I know that, but I thought you were on the pill. You were supposed to take care of that.”

  His words stung, and I drew a deep breath, sending back my own biting words, “Well, I guess in the whole leaving me at the altar thing, I might have forgotten to take them for a while.”

  “Oh, here we go again,” he threw his hands in the air. “Is that always going to be your excuse? I left you at the altar?”

  My eyes narrowed, “Well, you did, and it had repercussions.”

  “Look,” he took a deep breath and ran a hand through his dark hair, “that event is behind us; it’s water under the bridge, but surely you can see that a baby would not be good right now. We have to take care of us first. Get an abortion and be done with it. Then we can move on with our lives.”

  I looked down at my hands. Had he always sounded so callous and selfish? “I’ve been doing some research on the matter though, Daniel, and I found that thirty percent of women who have abortions either have trouble conceiving later or have pregnancy complications because of it. What if I can’t have a child later, when we might want one?”

  Daniel waved his hand and scoffed, “Thirty percent is nothing. Think about the seventy percent that aren’t affected. That is a much bigger number.” The wall of defense that I had built earlier began to crumble under Daniel’s harsh words.

  I leaned forward, splaying my hands on the table and playing my last card. “Yes, but don’t you think it’s a baby? Isn’t it murder then?”

  “Come on, do you think the Supreme Court would honor the procedure if it were murder?” he smirked. “It’s a bunch of cells right now, so think of having an abortion like removing a scab from a sore.”

  My face wrinkled in disgust at the thought. “Still the procedure seemed pretty gruesome, Daniel; they cut the baby up and then suck it from the womb. I saw pictures of cut up little arms and legs online.”

  He flicked his hand, dismissing my concerns. “First off, those pictures are doctored; you can’t believe everything you read online. Besides, you have to think about us, about yourself. Do you think you could make partner while trying to raise a baby? Then, there’s the problem of our schedules – we both work long hours and would have no time for a baby. Wouldn’t it be worse to raise a baby we didn’t have time for?”

  His words began to make sense in my mind. I didn’t have time for a baby, and surely the mass in my belly was only cells right now; it was still early in the pregnancy. A small voice inside insisted again that it was wrong, but Daniel’s words were louder and the fear of the unknown drowned it out. “Okay, I’ll think about it again,” I agreed.

  He frowned, but let the subject drop.

  That night I eyed the bed warily as I undressed. Though I still wasn’t comfortable with the decision, I had decided the abortion did make more sense. All of Daniel’s arguments were true, but the dream from the previous night continued to haunt me. I didn’t want to see the girl again. My daughter? I didn’t want to feel the guilt. Climbing into bed, I turned on the TV, hoping for some mindless entertainment. Though I fought sleep as long as I could, eventually my lids fell closed.

  Chapter 11

  My eyes opened to a clear blue sky and a field of white daisies. A small child’s hand was encased in my own. I looked down to the top of a blond head. The girl appeared younger this time, maybe eighteen months, walking but not super steady on her feet. Her blue eyes locked on mine and then filled with tears, which streamed down her face.

  “What’s wrong, baby girl?” I picked up the girl and brushed her hair back.

  “Why you not want me? Why you let them take me from you?” The baby’s face scrunched and loud sobs escaped her mouth. I searched for words of comfort, but none came. This defenseless baby girl was crying because of my selfish choice, and I could say nothing to soften the pain.

  I awoke covered in sweat this time. Was it going to be like this every night? What would happen when I had the abortion? Would the girl go away then? Or would I become like the eighty percent who had emotional repercussions? Questions paraded through my mind, one after the other. I turned the TV back on and watched infomercials till morning, trying to erase the beautiful face of the baby from my dreams.

  As I poured my third cup of coffee that day, I fought the emotional turmoil in my stomach. I had to schedule the appointment once and for all. I couldn’t keep losing sleep like I had the last two nights or I would get fired. Picking up the phone, I dialed the abortion clinic and set an appointment for later that afternoon. I had expected a feeling of peace now that the decision was made, but a feeling of dread blanketed me instead.

  I pulled into the parking lot of the clinic that afternoon after work and sighed. The same older black lady, who had been there before, sat by the front door. Oh great, just what I don’t need. Locking the car, I ducked my head and strode past the woman. Please don’t talk to me. Please don’t talk to me.

  “Please don’t kill your baby.” The woman’s pleading voice reached me just as my fingers touched the door handle.

  I stopped, heat searing up my spine. I turned and faced the woman, lashing out at her. “I’m sorry, but what business is it of yours?”

  The woman cocked her head and stared at me. Her dark eyes contained a deep sadness. “Can I tell you my story?” She folded her hands in her lap, “And then I’ll never bother you again.
”

  I shifted from one foot to another and bit my lip. I didn’t know this woman or care to hear her story, but my stomach was curdling again and something told me to give the woman a few minutes. “Fine, go ahead.”

  The woman paused, closed her eyes for a second, and took a deep breath. “My name is Sandra Dobbs. When I was twenty-five, I thought I had my whole life ahead of me. I was planning to be a nurse, but I made the mistake of being intimate with my boyfriend, Peter, and found myself pregnant. I wanted that baby, but we were young; he was a med student and he didn’t have time right then for fatherhood. We fought for a few weeks, but in the end, he won, and pressured me into having an abortion.”

  My head fell forward, and my eyes widened. It was like this lady’s story was my own. My hands curled into fists as the emotions battled inside of me. One part wanted to stay and hear the story, the other wanted to flee and pretend it had never happened.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have been intimate outside of marriage, and though I wanted a baby, I too agreed it wasn’t the right time to have one, so I went through the ‘procedure.’ On one hand, I was relieved, but on the other, guilt plagued me afterwards. I became withdrawn and started drinking, and Peter and I split up. My drinking grew worse, but then I met a wonderful man, Henry, and he started bringing me to church. I stopped drinking for a time and told him I thought I had accepted God, but I don’t think I really had. I hoped if I acted like everyone else that He would forgive me, even though I couldn’t forgive myself. My life seemed fine; Henry proposed to me; and we got married. For several months, I think I was happy, and then things changed. We couldn’t get pregnant. After two years of trying, I went to a doctor to see what the issue might be. It turns out the ‘procedure’ had damaged my ability to ever have a baby.”