“It’s okay dad. I don’t know how, but I know God is going to take care of us.”
He nodded and clasped my other hand, but he didn’t seem convinced.
“We’re going to stay until you get out. Maybe a little longer. Your dad’s going to work on adapting the house for you,” my mother’s words tumbled out in a rush.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said.
“Yes we do,” my father added, “and we aren’t taking no for an answer. Neither of you will be able to drive for a while, so consider us your personal chauffeurs.”
I nodded, and my eyes filled with moisture. I guessed some help would be necessary to get reacquainted with our new life.
Henry was released later that week. They wheeled him in to see me, and I was shocked by the transformation. The bruising around his eyes was a deep purple, and he looked like he had lost ten pounds. His speech was slower, and he would pause every now and then as if trying to remember a word.
“I’m so sorry you can’t come home yet,” he said, holding my hand. “But I’ll come visit whenever I can. They told me I can’t drive for at least a month, but your father has offered to drive me until I can again.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I never meant for this to happen.”
His eyes clouded a moment, and I wondered if he was still angry.
“We’ll talk about that later. Just concentrate on getting well for now.”
That was easy to say, but much harder to do. The therapy was intensive and often painful, but the worst parts came at nights when I was alone with my thoughts. It was those lonely nights when pity crept in, and I began to hate myself again.
The Light at the End of the Tunnel
After three months of extensive therapy, the hospital finally released me. Henry had healed slowly over the time, but I couldn’t help the jealousy running through me that he could walk while I was lifted out of bed and placed in a wheelchair. He still leaned on a cane as his strength had been the slowest in returning, but it was a step up from the walker he had been sporting just a week ago.
Raquel and my parents were there as well, all smiling as if this were the best day, and it should have been. I was ready to get out of the grey, sterile hospital, but I had little to look forward at home. There was now so much that I couldn’t do for myself.
“Wait until you see the van Raquel helped set us up with,” Henry said. Raquel had set up a fund to cover some costs that insurance wouldn’t cover and had used the money, along with a lot of her own, to purchase a modified van that would allow me to drive when I felt up to it. Forcing a smile on my face, I tried to cover the depression I was feeling.
As we pulled up to the house, and Henry helped me out of the car, the sadness set in again. Though the house appeared the same on the outside, except for the ramp my father had erected over the stairs, I knew the empty inside loomed. There would never be children sliding down the banister, and the swings would remain motionless in the backyard. Before I could stop it, a giant sob escaped, and I began crying uncontrollably.
Henry rushed to my side, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“It’s gone,” I said, “It’s all gone.”
“Oh, Sandra, it will be okay,” Raquel said, joining him. “We’re all here for you. I’ll bring Alyssa to come play, and it will be okay.”
I nodded, but that seed of jealousy flared inside me again, and all I really wanted was her gone. Why had I been unable to have kids while she had Alyssa? Why had my ability to walk been taken while she walked on two perfect legs?
Henry pushed my chair up the ramp and opened the door. “I want to show you what we did,” he said, leaning over my shoulder. He pushed me down the hall toward the guest room.
My father ran ahead, sporting the biggest grin I had ever seen on his face. He pushed the door open, and I gasped. They had completely redone the guest room, adding on a larger closet and a walk in bathroom with modified features, so I would be able to use the necessities myself.
“We converted this into the master bedroom, so you don’t have to worry with the stairs. Everything is right where you need it.”
My smile was genuine this time. The gesture had been really thoughtful.
“We’ve also modified the kitchen for you. Would you like to see?”
I nodded, and Henry wheeled me down the hall and to the kitchen. My father had lowered several of the counters, making them accessible to me and brought several of the most used accessories forward. I would be able to reach the toaster, the microwave, and the coffee pot.
“We’ll work on fixing the stove for you later, but for now you’ll just have to suffer through my cooking,” my mother said.
I turned questioning eyes on her.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Henry said, “but I asked them to stay a little longer. I still tire easily, and I want to make sure you are taken care of until you are fully recovered.”
“Thank you,” I said.
With my parents around, there was little I couldn’t do, but it didn’t stop the depression from sinking in. The hospital, though sorry, had fired me, and I had nothing to fill my long days. I had taken to driving aimlessly around town, with the excuse that I needed some time alone. In reality, I had begun drinking again, and those times out were often spent buying alcohol and drinking it in my van. I usually drove to a church parking lot as they left me alone and would sometimes let me use the bathroom if I needed to go while there.
Mesquite View church was one of my favorite places. The green manicured yard reminded me of spring and the tall, old trees gave shade to my van. Plus, the staff always let me in to use the bathroom.
I lifted the freshly bought bottle to my lips, enjoying the fiery burn that slid down my throat. When the lack of feeling started to sink in, I set the bottle down and closed my eyes for a minute. I had a bottle of pills with me that I was contemplating taking, but I hadn’t found the energy yet.
A rapping at the window startled me. A young man and woman with dark hair stood outside the window, motioning for me to roll the window down. Fear formed as a lump in my throat. Surely the worst they could do was call the cops. Grasping the handle, I turned it clockwise just enough to be able to hear them. They seemed nice, but what if they were trying to mug me?
“Hi, what’s your name?” the man asked.
“Sandra,” I said cautiously.
“Hi, Sandra. I’m Tony, and this is my wife Margaret. We’ve seen you parked here a few times and wondered if there was anything we could do for you?”
I bit back the rude reply that immediately came to mind, but what did spill out wasn’t much nicer. “No, I’m fine. I’m just enjoying the view and a little drink.”
They glanced down at the half empty bottle beside me before meeting my eyes again. “Well, Sandra, I’m the associate pastor of this church, and Margaret is our counselor. God told us we needed to come and talk to you, so would you let us do that? Just talk with you?”
These two were complete strangers, but something in me said yes. Maybe it was the fact that I had missed going to church the last few months, and though the chaplain had come by often, his visits hadn’t filled the need in my heart for some purpose, some reason that God had left me the way he had. Maybe it was because of the bottle hidden in the glove compartment. Whatever the reason, I nodded and maneuvered out of the van.
They led the way into the church, much bigger than the one Henry and I had attended before the accident. Tan carpeting covered the floors and ahead I could see a large sanctuary with a raised platform stage. Tony, however, turned left down a hallway labeled offices.
At the third door, he stopped and pushed it open. Inside was a small conference table, a desk, and a bookshelf laden with books. I wheeled inside and Tony and Margaret followed, each grabbing a chair from the conference table.
“So, Sandra,” Tony said, folding his hands in his lap. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us how we can help you?”
I gaz
ed into their sincere eyes and dropped my head. “I don’t know why God would want to help me. I’ve blamed him for everything, and I certainly haven’t been a good Christian. Even when I had a chance, I was only strong for like two weeks, and then I drifted away.”
“Because God loves you no matter what you’ve done,” Tony said. “He understands when we are angry with him when things happen that we don’t understand, but he still loves us. He waits patiently for us to come back to him, and when we do, he welcomes us with open arms. You may see brokenness, but God sees you mended and loved.”
A glimmer of hope sparked in my chest. “Do you really believe that?”
“I know it to be true,” he said. “Not only because I’ve read it in his word, but because I lived it once. You see, just after I finished seminary school my father got cancer. I couldn’t understand it because cancer didn’t run in our family, but my dad was a fighter. I prayed every day for God to heal my father, and being a new pastor, I was kind of cocky and just believed he would.
“After a year-long battle, my father passed away. I was angry at God. My father had been a wonderful father and a good Christian; I couldn’t understand why God would take him and not the other people who seemed much worse in my eyes. I even gave up preaching for a time, but then my wife reminded me that not only was my father in Heaven and no longer in pain, but that God answers prayers in many ways.
“While I thought God wasn’t answering my prayers, maybe his answer had been that extra year. Maybe he was supposed to die earlier, but God gave me more time. Also, she reminded me that God said we should all long to be there where it’s perfect. I missed my dad, but I knew he was no longer hurting and that I would get to see him again one day. Slowly, I turned back to God and to ministry and God began to bless my ministry.”
“I wish my story were that easy,” I sighed.
“It wasn’t always easy,” Margaret said, “but it was always worth it. God is an amazing and loving God, and he only wants what’s best for us.”
Margaret’s face held lines that showed her ability to laugh, and her eyes sparkled. Though these two were perfect strangers, there was something in their open faces that gave me peace, and I opened my mouth.
“I . . . um, I’m not sure where to start. Five years ago, I had an abortion. It was the worst thing I could ever have done. When I met my husband Henry a year later, he brought me to church and introduced me to God, but I didn’t totally accept him, and I never told Henry about the abortion.” I looked down at my hands, waiting for the courage to rise again.
“A few years into our marriage, I found out I could no longer have kids, and when I told Henry, he lost control of the car and we crashed into a tree. It paralyzed me and Henry suffered a head fracture. I think I really found God after that, but now I’m wondering why I’m still here. I can’t have children; I’ve lost my job; and I just don’t know what purpose God has for me.”
Tony let out a low whistle. “Wow, that is a lot. Now I see why God wanted us to meet. Your story reminds me of Job, are you familiar?”
I hadn’t read Job since my life had fallen apart, but I remembered most of the story, so I nodded for him to continue.
“I think one of the biggest things I’ve taken from Job is that suffering isn’t always deserved. I have so many people ask me what they did to deserve what they’re going through, and if you look at Job, he did nothing. God allowed Satan to try and tempt Job to show his righteousness,” Tony said.
“Why does he do that?” I asked.
“Well, sometimes it’s to show his glory. Remember God made the world and us. We are no one to question him, but remember that he also blessed Job tremendously at the end. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth keeping our faith in God.”
“I know I always have trouble with God allowing Satan to tempt us,” Margaret spoke up. “Sometimes it hard to reconcile that a loving God would allow us to be tempted, but again I think it speaks to what Tony was saying that God is blessed at the end if we are strong enough.”
“I guess I just don’t understand how God can be blessed from my story.”
“Have you ever thought” – Margaret began quietly – “about telling the women who go to the center your story?”
I regarded her with raised eyebrows. “You mean sit outside and talk to the women coming in?” My heart sped up at the very thought and I dropped my eyes to my lap. I never wanted to see that place again.
Margaret touched my arm, “I know it would be hard,” she said, “but imagine how many women are going in like you did, not really wanting an abortion but feeling pressured to. What if telling your story to them could help them make the choice to save their baby?”
A wave of emotion rolled over me. The very thought of going back there made me sick to my stomach, but I didn’t want any other women to end up where I had. What if I could make a difference? What if I could save a baby from the same fate mine had met and a woman from the awful guilt I felt? What if someone like me had been there that fateful day when I had gone? “I want to, but I don’t know if I could.”
“I know it’s a big step, and maybe it’s not something you can do right away, but I’ll be happy to go with you if you ever do decide it’s something you want to do.”
“Why don’t you try something in the meantime?” Tony suggested. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Why don’t you let us help you get a job, and” – he rose from his chair and walked over to the desk. A drawer opened and closed, and then he was back. – “become a prayer warrior.” He handed me a brown leather journal.
I held it in my hands. The leather still smelled new. As I opened the cover, it creaked, and I peeked at him with questions in my eyes.
“It’s to write down prayer requests. That way you can pray for people by name or by physical description if you don’t know their name. You can put checks beside them when you’ve prayed for them, so you know who you’ve done each day. Sometimes praying for others is the best thing we can do for ourselves.”
“Thank you,” I said running my finger over the cover again. “I’d like that.” As I held the book, peace like I hadn’t felt in a long time covered my shoulders, and I knew the first thing I had to do.
I called Raquel on my way out of the church and asked her to meet me at the house. It would be easier to share if everyone were there at the same time.
Raquel arrived as I was rolling up the ramp.
“What’s going on, Sandra? Are you alright?”
The first tug of a smile I had felt in a long time pulled at my face. “I think I will be.”
She followed me into the living room where Henry and my parents were already sitting, quizzical expressions on their faces.
“I know I haven’t been myself lately, and I’ve been worrying some of you.” I glanced at my mother as the pill bottle popped into my mind. How close I had come to ending everything! “But I met some people today who, for some reason, gave me the words I needed to hear. I’m going to go back to school and look into being a counselor.”
“Honey, that’s wonderful,” my mother said.
I held up my hand as she began to stand up. “I’m also going to try sitting at the center where I had my abortion. I’d like to tell women my story in hopes of saving other lives.”
I turned my focus to Raquel. “I know you work a lot during the days, but I was wondering if on your next day off you might come with me.”
She looked down at the floor, and I waited. Though she had told Henry and my parents about her abortion, I knew it was still a hard subject for her. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I didn’t want to pressure her. When she peered back up, tears glistened in her eyes. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” she whispered.
I rolled to her and squeezed her arm. “I know I’m not, but I’m counting on God to give me the words, and if we can save any of them from going through what we did, isn’t it worth it?”
Slowly, she nodded. “I still wonde
r; you know? Would Alyssa have a brother or a sister? I don’t even know. Some days it gets really bad, and I think I don’t deserve to live, and then I look down at Alyssa and realize I have to. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you more; it must be even harder for you.” She squeezed my hand and tears rolled down both of our faces. “I’ll be strong for you.”
“I’ll pray that God gives us both strength,” I said, squeezing her hand back.
Henry and my parents gathered around us, and Henry led us all in prayer.
That night, before I fell asleep, I pulled out the prayer journal Tony had given me and opened it up to the first page. The smell of leather reached my nose, and I smiled. Strength for Raquel and I, I wrote and paused. It needed more. Give me the words to say to reach women. Filling the first line in the journal filled my heart with joy for the first time in a long time. I felt almost complete.
A New Beginning with a New Purpose
Margaret, Tony, and I prayed together the next morning before Margaret and I headed out to the center. I let her drive as my nerves were still balled up, and my hands were shaking. I hadn’t been back to the center since the horrible day, and fear consumed me. What if I couldn’t handle it? What if they yelled at us? What if I passed out like I had the day I was there last? I sent up a prayer for peace and slowly the questions dissipated from my mind.
Margaret pulled into a nearby business, and we made our way to the center. My heart began to speed up in my chest, and my breath didn’t want to work. A hand touched my shoulder, and Margaret smiled down at me. I took a deep breath and nodded.
There was a small bench out front of the center, and we parked there- Margaret on the bench and me in my wheelchair next to it. For a moment it was silent. There were no cars, no birds, no talking. It was just us and God. I could feel his presence there with us, like a comforting blanket. Minutes later, a young woman, probably in her late twenties, came walking up the concrete path. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her blue suit looked very expensive. My mind told me she would not be receptive to my words, but God told my heart to speak anyway.
Where It All Began Page 15