"There is nothing I regret more in my life."

I participated in the abortion of my child (I have since named him Tony) in December, 1973. I was 21 years old and a senior in college. My girlfriend at the time, I'll call her Kathy, was a junior and we had been sexually active since September. I assumed she was on the pill, she thought we could avoid pregnancy by other means. We were both mistaken.

Although I had been brought up in a mainstream Christian church, I had not really understood my need for God, or what faith in Christ was all about. I felt strangely disconnected from deeply religious people. In fact, I had often found those with strong Christian beliefs to be rather offensive, judgmental and even scary at times. I was majoring in psychology and sociology and most of my teachers and authors I respected looked upon religion, faith and spiritual beliefs with serious skepticism. They seemed to conclude that strong belief in the unseen was at minimum wishful thinking, and often a sign of psychological disturbance. I pretty much bought into those ideas. By the time I was a senior, I had declared myself an agnostic. I no longer prayed, went to church, or thought much at all about spiritual matters. I believed in mankind's responsibility to make things better, and in the beauty and power of love. I believed in nonviolence and in protection and care for the vulnerable in our society. But God? Where was the proof?

Strangely, I still held to the church's teaching against abortion. To me, it was violence against the most vulnerable of all human life, the voiceless unborn. It was anti-love and life ending. Abortion was a huge issue that year. Early in 1973, the U. S. Supreme Court's Roe v. Wade decision legalized abortion. It opened a door that I'd be walking though before the end of the year. Who would have guessed?

Kathy came to me in early December saying she missed her period. I didn't believe she was pregnant. We had been struggling lately, and drifting apart. I remember thinking, "This couldn't be happening now." Kathy went for a test and came back to tell me the results. I so clearly recall her eyes scanning my face for a reaction. "It was positive. I'm pregnant," she said. I was stunned, frightened. I believed what she was saying, but immediately I wanted a way out. My first thought was to question if I was really the father. "How do I know it's mine?," I asked. The hurt in her eyes told me the truth. I was the father. I apologized for asking.

According to many people's thinking, which Kathy believed as well, it was the woman's body and the woman's decision. The Supreme Court decision agreed. But to me, that had never seemed quite right. Yet, when faced with an unwanted pregnancy of my own, I quickly bought into that belief. I think it was an attempt to avoid responsibility for what I suspected was going to happen. I told Kathy I would support any decision she made. Deep down inside though, despite my views against it, I was hoping she would decide to abort. I asked her, "What do you want to do?" To my relief, Kathy was certain she wanted the abortion. I know now that we both decided to abort our child. Who knows what might have happened had I advocated for a different option. It wasn't long after the abortion that I became "pro-choice." I guess it was a way of trying to make what I had done acceptable.

Why did I fail to hold to my beliefs and chose to abort? I think many things affected my decision. I chose to abort out of weakness, fear, shame, self-interest, convenience and a sense of urgency. I lacked strength and courage to stand up for what I believed was right. I was afraid that if Kathy would have had the baby, she would have kept it and made me financially responsible. I was thinking of going to graduate school and feared that having a child to support would make that impossible. I was also afraid and ashamed to tell my parents. They were in the midst of struggling with other problems. I wanted to spare them any more heartache. I had no thoughts whatsoever about the baby's interests. Abortion seemed like the most convenient option. Marriage was out for sure. We would have never made it together. The single parenting and adoption options didn't even enter my mind. Maybe I wouldn't let them.

Kathy had already learned that she could get an abortion about 100 away. I immediately offered to take her and help pay the costs. She agreed and called for the appointment. It was that fast. In a matter of just three minutes, I learned that I had fathered a child, decided for abortion, and set the plan in motion. Courage, love and concern for the vulnerable were lost in the panic of a crisis. I chose what I thought was a quick and easy way out of a difficult situation. How very, very wrong I was. It was not quick, and it was far from easy. There is nothing I regret more in my life, and nothing I would like more to undo.

The appointment in mid-December could not have come too soon for me. All I wanted was for this to be done and over with. I couldn't sleep the night before. I laid awake for hours until finally getting up and walking the streets. I remember being very angry at life, probably at God. I do not know why I was blaming Him for what happened, and for what we were about to do. I think it is common thing though, to blame the Lord of Life for the sin and death we inflict on ourselves and each other. It makes no sense to me now.

How vividly I remember the abortion clinic and all that happened there. We entered the reception and waiting area, registered and paid the fee. We waited silently before a woman came for Kathy. They exited through a door on the right and I remained out front.Things seemed liked they were moving in slow motion. I started to get more anxious. My stomach was in knots. I felt sick, like throwing up.

I began to worry for Kathy. I was afraid there might be complications. I had no idea of what she was going through. Trying to imagine it only made me feel more sick. I felt guilty for putting her in that spot. My thoughts were racing.... "What if there are problems? What if Kathy has to go to a hospital? What if she dies? How am I going to be able to live with this? This is tissue, not a baby. It has the potential for life, but there's no life there now. There can't be any feeling or memory. Do people really have souls and spirits? Is there a God? I can't believe in God and go through with this. There is no real baby, no soul, no spirit, no God." I tried to distract myself with some reading. I couldn't help but look at the other people in the waiting area. All of them were women. I suspected they were the mothers, or friends of the "patients." I wondered where the men were....

Kathy returned in about an hour and half. She looked horrible, as if someone had just beaten her up. Her face was red, her eyes full of fear and sadness. She'd been crying. I felt so ashamed, like I had just paid someone to assault her. Kathy said she was bleeding badly, but they told her to go home anyway. I became afraid she might pass out, or worse. But Kathy seemed to want out of there in the worst way. We quickly left and arrived back on campus in about two and a half hours. I drove Kathy to her dorm where her best friend was waiting to help. She was still bleeding, but I felt relieved to have someone else involved. I left after a few minutes, and drove back to my place. I changed clothes and went on a long run. Back then, I used exercise much like an addict might turn to alcohol or drugs. I escaped and found relief from stress. Thankfully, Kathy soon stopped bleeding. We immediately broke off our relationship. I graduated in May, and went on to further studies at a different university. She graduated the following year.

I received my masters degree in August, 1975, and married one week later. After more studies, I began my work as a school psychologist in the fall of 1976. My wife and I were unable to have children biologically, so we adopted our two daughters, one in 1979 and the other in 1982. I was still "agnostic" in my beliefs, but I slowly started taking interest in unexplainable phenomenon like pre-cognition and odd and unexplainable coincidences of good fortune. Slowly, I began entertaining the idea that maybe there was someone, or something out there that loves us and intervenes on our behalf. In 1984, I read the book "The Road Less Traveled," by psychiatrist M. Scott Peck. He wrote about love, self-discipline, responsibility, mental and spiritual growth, grace, miracles and the reality of God. I thought to myself, "Now here's a well respected thinker, scientist and compassionate person who believes in God. Can that be? Can you really think, keep your senses, and believe in the unseen?" A doubting Thomas like me would need real proof.

I prayed three prayers over a span of about six months. They were my first prayers since the abortion ten years earlier. By the way, all three prayers were answered affirmatively, and each one was quite a miracle in itself. The odds of that happening by chance were astronomical. The seeds of faith were being planted. God seemed to be knocking on the closed, but unlocked door of my heart.

Many stressful and difficult events took place over the next two years. I had terrible gastrointestinal problems and my diet consisted of a few bland foods. As direct result of my excessive running and sports involvement, I had two knee surgeries. I also had trouble sleeping, and became seriously depressed and confused. The self-help rational emotive psychotherapeutic techniques that I had employed to control my emotions were losing their effectiveness. I sought out the help of a psychiatrist. I told him about my increased interest in God about my suspicions that I had an eating disorder, and other addictive and compulsive behaviors. I told him about my diet, my running 60-70 miles a week, and my history of alcohol and marijuana use. He dismissed all these concerns, and diagnosed the depression. He was convinced the depression was causing the eating problems, and that my other behavior was just my tendency to over-do things. The abortion never came up. He prescribed several medications, and I took them.

But the prescription drugs didn't seem to do anything more than help me sleep and control some anxiety. In fact, after a couple of years, I thought I had become addicted to them as well. I began to think that I needed a more whole person approach to what was ailing me. Spiritual things were becoming more and more important to me. Again, I prayed and soon found a chemical dependency counselor, who, along with a clinical psychologist, diagnosed the eating disorder and my addictive tendencies. Both felt I needed inpatient treatment and recommended a program that emphasized the emotional and spiritual dimensions of problems and their solutions. I agreed. And in October, 1986, I entered an eating disorders program at a hospital in a Midwestern state. The psychiatrist and psychologist there concurred with the eating disorders diagnosis and found chemical dependency as well.

Lots happened in my 29 days at the hospital, most importantly my conversion to Christianity. You might think that this would be a whole different story, but without Christ, I would not be alive today, but alone recovering from my addictions and abortion experience. Both my counselor and psychologist were serious Christians, as were some of the other staff and quite a few of the patients. I noticed they were real, and didn't pretend to have it all together. I found them to be humble, honest, direct and loving. They were tough, but gentle. They allowed me to know their weaknesses, thoughts and feelings. They seemed to have a peace, and most of the staff were recovering from their own problems and addictions. I could see they were growing and getting healthier. This led me to open my mind to the possibility that their Christ was real. Maybe He could help me like He seemed to be helping them. Soon, He made himself known to me, and on November 3, 1986, I was blessed with the gift of faith in Jesus Christ. I had a new life and a reason for hope.

I began to find deliverance from my compulsive eating, starving, exercising and use of chemicals. I admitted my personal powerlessness over them, believed in God's ability to free me, and let Him take control. I found myself strangely and happily released from the obsession and compulsion of the addictions. What a joy it was. But as I was withdrawing from the numbing effects of my addictions, I was flooded with all kinds of intense feelings from my past, including feelings of guilt and sorrow for my many sins.

One day in group, I heard and saw a young woman tell about the abortion she had. Her guilt, agony and weeping stirred something deep inside of me. I felt like getting up and running out of the room. But in the midst of her crying, I heard the words, "I killed my baby, I killed my baby, I killed my baby." Her utterance pierced to the depths of my soul. Under my breath I whispered to myself, "I killed my baby too." Tears began welling in my eyes, but I fought them back and soon the session ended.

But at the very next session, though trembling with fear and shame, I confessed and told the story of my own abortion experience. I shared a secret that had long been buried in my past. I was unable to look anyone in the eyes. I was convinced they would all be shocked and repulsed. Instead, after finishing, nearly everyone in the room came over and hugged me and thanked me for being honest. One person even said she was sad for my loss. The acceptance and encouragement touched me deeply. The love those faithful people shared with me filled a hole inside that I didn't even know I had.

Almost immediately, I knew in my mind that God had forgiven me. Some time later, I began to understand why Jesus had to die on the cross. My thoughts went something like this... "He had to die to pay a penalty that I cannot pay. There is nothing that I can do to make it right. My child is gone. I can't bring him back. No restitution will suffice. My sin and guilt has to be left at the foot of His Calvary cross. Jesus died that I might live. God wants me to accept His Son and the forgiveness He so freely offers." This revelation of God's love overwhelmed me. Soon, I committed my life and will to His care and command. I've been working to trust and obey Him ever since.

But knowing and accepting God's forgiveness in my mind was not the same as believing and experiencing it in my heart. Nor were the two days of grieving in the hospital sufficient to mourn the loss of a child. I would not deal with the depth of these issues until years later. I think it was a matter of me needing to be more mature and stable.

The first years of my Christian walk were focused on learning God's Word and staying free from my addictions. After obtaining a decent level of recovery, and some specialized professional training, I started a private psychotherapy practice to help people with eating disorders and other problems. I soon had more clients then I could serve. But after about five years, I developed a severe case of TMJ arthritis and had to quit my counseling work. But what was God up to? It was soon clear that He had some unfinished business in my heart and soul. Among several other issues, I would finally have to deal with the emotional reality of the abortion.

Early in 1993, I found myself reacting strongly as I watched TV commercials about mothers' post abortion thoughts and feelings. One commercial showed a mother imagining her aborted baby as a young healthy child running to her out stretched arms, only to fade away at the last moment. She cried and I wept with her. I also started having dreams and nightmares about babies and death, and I found myself looking at little children and wondering what Tony would be like had he lived. Waves of grief would come over me. While looking at my daughters, I would ask myself, "How could you have done that to one as real and precious as them?" Then I would mentally beat myself up for failing to have accepted God's forgiveness. I was going in circles.

Fortunately for me, I had enough education and experience to know that I was having post traumatic stress symptoms. It was time to seek counsel. I needed some structure to help me through what I believed God was stirring inside me. I asked Him for guidance and was led me to a counselor who specialized in dealing with "post abortion syndrome."

Twice monthly sessions went on for over a year. The counselor had me write and talk about the conception, the decision to abort, the abortion itself and all the beliefs, thoughts and feelings surrounding the whole experience. Therapy letters to God, Tony and others, along with a visit to the abortion site and a memorial service helped surface beliefs and feelings held deep in my heart. I grieved for Tony's countless losses, for my losses, and even for my parent's loss of a grandchild and my children's loss of a sibling. I Never imagined there would be such feelings.

The death of a child, no matter what the circumstances, is a very hard thing to endure and deal with. But to deal with the a loss of a child who died at your own hand is beyond hard. I tell people now not to enter into this issue in any deep way unless they are quite sure God is leading them in that direction. Parents of aborted children need to be ready to deal with such an issue. They need to be supported by understanding and compassionate fellow believers. They need to find people who can hear them out, not excuse their guilt, allow them to grieve deeply, and hold their experience up to the light of scripture and God's forgiveness through Christ.

For me, facing the full reality of the abortion would have been an impossible task without God and His provision of those who came alongside. My counselor was the first to understand and encourage me to allow my core beliefs, guilt and grief to surface. My wife, a pastor, people in my fellowship group and a few close friends also listened and helped carry the burden of my healing. At times, I thought it was never going to end. I was often tempted to turn and run. But the Lord would not let me escape. He knew what was best, and I chose to stick with it and do the work that abortion recovery demands.

In time, I began to believe in my heart that Tony was a real person with a body, mind, heart, soul and spirit. He knew comfort and he felt pain. He was a unique creation of God, knit together with special love and care. I have grown to love Tony, and I miss him. He did not deserve what happened to him. What he did deserve, was the dignity of a name, the honor of a memorial and the grief of his father. He received all three.

Like so many things that are difficult and painful, God has used this experience to help me grow and learn. I am more mature now, and hopefully wiser. I understand more of who God is and what He is like. I know more about the cross, and of our absolute need to rely on Christ for everything. Apart from Him we can do nothing (John 15:5).

I have also learned that crisis events should be handled with caution, and with the counsel of wise and trusted others. Options need to be explored, and consequences should be fully understood. I learned that people can have very strong convictions and values and still fail to honor them in difficult circumstances. Without God, we people can slide into evils we would never imagine possible (Romans 7:21-25). Without the strength and power of the Holy Spirit, we cannot overcome sin and live out our beliefs and values (Galations 5:16).

I have learned that resolving guilt and grieving losses are processes. Heart felt guilt and shame about past sin does not resolve with one telling, and neither does grief end with a few days of mourning. It is healthy to weep and mourn (John 16:20). We can often believe the grieving is over, only to find it surfacing weeks, months or even years later. These feelings come in waves followed by times of relief and rest, and even joy, "You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy," (Psalms 30:11).

During the course of my recovery, I learned what happens in abortions by vacuum aspiration, the means of Tony's death. It is a horrific thing for the woman. But when I grasped what actually happened to Tony, I quite literally went into gut wrenching convulsive like reactions. It felt as though a part of me was being broken and sucked into that vacuum. I know that sounds gross and maybe hard to believe. But the truth is often difficult to hear, especially in a truth distorting, fallen world like ours. Failing to deal with such reality can make us sick. It can affect our relationships with God and others, and we may find ourselves immobilized with physical disease, anxiety, depression and/or addictions. The hope is in knowing that the truth will free us. God is in favor of freedom and healing. He wants us to deal with the reality of our sin, pain and loss. He can use us more effectively when we have repented and healed.

I still have regrets about the abortion. I always will this side of heaven. I also have occasional sadness and grief. Certain things will trigger tears. But the overpowering guilt and shame has been removed. I am free from any serious depression, eating problems and addictions. I'm moving on with life, no longer pretending that the abortion didn't have its affects. I'm beginning to see myself and other Christians as God sees us, His new creatures in Christ, forgiven and reconciled to Him (2 Corinthians 5:17-19).

I can now echo with certainty David's words in 2 Samuel 12:23 concerning the death of his infant son, "But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." One day, Tony and I will meet. In and through Christ, our reconciliation and joy will be complete. Thank you Lord.