Another Casualty of Abortion

 

Being active in the pro-life community allows me to meet and work with many dynamic and inspirational people.  Such was the case a while back when I had dinner with Father Frank Pavone, National Director of Priests for Life and Georgette Forney, President of Anglicans for Life/Co-Founder of the Silent No More Awareness Campaign.

While enjoying outdoor dining on the beautiful San Diego Harbor, our light banter eventually turned to the Planned Parenthood undercover videos and how they are exposing the truth about abortion.  During that conversation, I shared a casualty of abortion I had recently realized after thirty-plus years. Georgette suggested I share it on my blog so here it is:

I had two abortions which resulted in abuse of alcohol and other self-destructive behaviors.  I not only aborted two precious babies, I aborted my fertility by having a tubal ligation at the age of thirty … a means to punish myself. I no longer deserved  to be a mother. However, God disagreed and gave me another chance at motherhood. In 1991, a precious ten-year-old foster child captured the hearts of my ex-husband and me and on 6/1/1992, became our forever son.

It was when my first granddaughter was born that I realized the other casualty of abortion. By punishing myself with sterilization, the biological chain of life ended. I would never hear, “Your son has your eyes,” or “Your granddaughter has your smile.”

My son blessed us with a total of six grandchildren and a great-grandson. Sadly, none of them will carry the smile and laugh I inherited from my mother or the ears and eyes from my father.  Still, they carry something just as powerful.  Something that transcends biology ... they carry my unconditional love.   

                                

The Confession

 

While entering Holy Week, my thoughts wander back to my baptism on 4/15/2006.  

Through RCIA I was told when an adult enters the water of baptism, past sins are washed away ... A time of renewal and celebration.  On that Easter Vigil, I stood at the baptismal font in a brown gown and instead of joyful anticipation, I was scared to death. Being fifty-three years old with a colorful past, I envisioned the water boiling due to the amount of sin I carried.  Of course, the water remained cool.  

After the baptism, I went to the ladies' room to remove the soggy brown gown (I had been fully immersed) and don a white one before reentering the church to receive confirmation.  I was uncomfortable wearing white ... I didn’t feel cleansed.  Days later, I shared those feelings with my sponsor and she suggested I make an appointment with our priest to make a general confession.  Well, that was scarier yet! Once I was “found out”, I would surely be the quickest ex-communicant in Catholic history. 

 I tried to delay the inevitable by telling myself, “God knows what I did wrong, I already apologized to Him and He knows I’m sorry.”  Then a little voice in my head would say, “Patti, if that were the case, why do you still feel unclean?”  It had taken several arguments with that little voice before I made the appointment.

Walking into Father’s office, I shook nervously and even before I sat down, the tears flew.  He handed me a box of tissues and smiled kindly.  I was sure that kind look would disappear once I started talking.  It didn’t.  He listened, patted my hand, and even smiled from time to time. After a while, something miraculous happened. The shame slowly dissipated and I stopped avoiding the “really bad stuff”.  I closed my eyes as I continued and truly felt the presence of Jesus. He, not Father Fernando, was holding my hand.

By the time my confession was over, I was emotionally drained and exhausted but felt energized within.  The weight of shame and remorse was lifted, and for the first time in decades, I was at peace and knew I was finally worthy of receiving the Eucharist.  Until I actually verbalized my transgressions and asked for forgiveness, they darkened my soul.  They were a detour on a beautiful faith journey that distanced me from God and experiencing His love and mercy.

 

For your listening pleasure, here is an Easter Vigil song by the choir I belonged to at the Church of St. Timothy in Escondido, CA.  

 

I AM FINE

 

How often do you say "fine" when someone asks how you are – even when struggling with something? Yep!  Thought so.  

I'm guilty of it, as with many others (misery loves company).  For some reason, we are afraid to voice our true feelings.  We don't want to bother anyone with our fears or problems; we don't think they'll understand or want to appear weak. Unless you have a therapist attached at the hip, you need to talk to somebody.  Suppose your boss or an acquaintance walks up to you and asks that dreaded question.  In that case, they probably wouldn't be the best people to get into a lengthy dialog about your troubles.  Social media wouldn't be a good idea either.  I'm referring to our trusted family members, friends, or clergy.    

Pretending everything is okay works for a while, but eventually, whatever is causing anxiety will bubble, then boil over ... making it worse.  When the issue first surfaces, it will be resolved more often if we reach out.  If not, then at least they might have ideas on where to turn.  No one should struggle alone.  

I'm a firm believer in the power of prayer and try diligently to "turn it over." Still, I believe in the power of family, friends, and clergy. God also speaks through them. 

Just my thought for today.  Oh, wait a minute ... do you know what "FINE" stands for?

 

                                             Frustrated

                                  Insecure

                                  Neurotic

                                  Emotional