A Love Like No Other

Today, I want to tell you a love story.
It all began exactly 13 years ago on a lonely Valentine's day.  I was lonely because my husband had to work that Saturday, but knew he would be home that evening for our special Valentine dinner.

Just two months before, in December, my heart had been pricked.  It was pricked by an answer to prayer.  After what could only be described as the worst year of my life, I prayed, desperate to hear God's voice.  My life had been shattered by not one, but two miscarriages.  Both times I was 3 months along in the pregnancies.  Both times, my babies' hearts had just stopped beating.
No warning.
No sign of anything indicating the pregnancies were no longer viable.
After the losses,  D&C hospital procedures, unanswered questions, and tears, my own life felt no longer viable.  All I had ever wanted was to become a mother.  And now, I was no longer sure I ever would.  Could my life still have meaning if I could not bring another life into the world?

Sleepless and tired of feeling apathetic, lying in bed one night, I cried out to the Lord; praying for Him to show me what to do next.  I prayed that He would give my life purpose once more.  As I awoke, His message was clear.

He wanted me to talk to women who wanted to have abortions.

God heard my prayer!  He answered my prayer!  I felt joyful.  But soon, that joy turned to doubt.  Like Jonah, I questioned God's direction.  "Why me, Lord?  I can't go talk to them!  They want to kill something I may never be blessed to have."

For almost one month, I wrestled with God.  I resisted His voice.  My heart remained pricked to His call of obedience.  Although He had answered my prayer, I was angry and confused.  How could God use me, such an unwilling and inadequate servant?  What did I have to offer to these type of women?  Where would I even go to find these women?

God was about to show me!

Sitting in a church pew that cold, January morning, I squeezed Jason's hand.  Our eyes met, mine filled with tears.  "I don't think I can do this.  Let's go," I whispered into his ear.  He just stared back into my eyes and squeezed my hand, reassuring me that I would be okay.  It was Sanctity for Human Life Sunday at our church.  A day to honor life.  A day to remember the life that had been taken through the legalization of abortion with the landmark, Roe vs. Wade case, dating back to January 22, 1973.

To honor new life, our church was hosting a special baby dedication service that morning.  At the front of the church were babies, most of them newborns.  Their parents and grandparents were happily dedicating them to the Lord on this special day, marked with photos and keepsake bibles.  My heart sank.  How I so desperately wanted to be standing in the midst of these blessed people!  Our first baby, who was due in December, would have been 1 month old.  If it weren't for our misfortune, Jason and I would have been dedicating our little one.

After the ceremony, a woman came to the podium to talk about a place that needed help.  This place was an advocacy and pregnancy center, focused on giving help to expectant mothers by offering services such as pregnancy tests, sonograms, parenting classes, and baby supplies.  It was a non-profit Christian based center that was run by volunteers and churches.  Along with giving practical care to these women and families, these volunteers were trained to offer life-affirming choices to these women; giving brochures and contact information on adoption agencies, providing paperwork to help with housing and benefits, and teaching what God has to say about the importance of human life through His word.  Along with diapers, formula, maternity/baby clothes, these women were also given a bible and a place to go to for a warm embrace, along with a willing, non-judgemental ear to listen.

This is where God was telling me to go!  So now, He had not only told me what to do, but also where I would find the women He wanted me to speak to!  Along with a brochure of the pregnancy center's location and contact info, I left church that Sunday morning with hope, and a renewed sense of purpose and direction for my life.  I decided to visit the center and become a volunteer.

It took me a few weeks to build up the courage; afraid that the other volunteers would wonder what I was doing there, especially if they knew I secretly didn't want to talk to women who may want to end their pregnancy through abortion.  Saddened by the thought of being alone on Valentine's day, I mustered up the strength to shower and dress, as Jason left for work.  God was speaking to my heart that morning; reminding me of His answer to my heart's desire which was to bring beauty from pain.  I truly wanted something positive to come from my grief.  I knew what I had to do:  I would go to the center today!

On that Valentine's day, 13 years ago, I began a journey.  A journey that led me to become a volunteer, witnessing to dozens of pregnant, (sometimes relieved to not be pregnant), young women.  God placed compassion and love in my heart for these ladies and their babies, that grew with each pregnancy test, prayer, hug, and bible given.

I finally understood what unconditional love meant.  The kind of love that my parents had for me.  The kind of love that my Heavenly Father has for all of His children.

Valentine's day, February 14, 1999---a year to the day that I walked into that pregnancy center, I walked into a hospital where labor was induced, bringing forth the life I so desperately craved.  On the following day, my son, James Aaron Powell, was born.

As I celebrated his birth, I celebrated my own.  The birth of motherhood.  A love like no other.

Aaron's birthday---February 15, 1999