Yori’s Story
Born in the very liberal country of France, I was raised with few guidelines, directions, or values. As a result, I became a product of my culture. I developed very permissive views about life which included being a proponent of the freedom of sex and the right for a woman to do whatever she decides with her own body.

According to the world, my life was quite successful. Being an actress, the influence of the show-business environment reinforced some of my freedoms, the consequences being early sexual involvement, pregnancy, and the birth of a child out of wedlock. As an atheist living outside of traditional values, I married and divorced several times. Another child was born from one of my marriages.

At a point, I found myself pregnant again. Being single at this time with professional commitments, my predicament was nothing less than “inconvenient”. Since in my culture abortion was an acceptable solution, it was with no negative feelings that I decided to terminate this pregnancy.

Instead of bringing relief, the supposed harmless procedure turned out to be source of anguish. Reoccurring questions would cross my mind that would leave me deeply downcast and confused. Why would we call a desired child a “baby” and an unwanted child a “fetus” or an “embryo”?  Why would the mindset of a mother change the way a pregnancy is viewed and labeled? Why use the term “pro-choice” when the opposite of “pro-life” is “pro-death”? And if abortion is a trivial procedure, why would I, like so many women, keep it a secret? I could see the hypocrisy, but decided to shut down my feelings and go forward with my life.

A few years later, I found myself in the same situation, pregnant once more at the wrong season of my life. This time, I was determined not to allow any negative feelings, having rationalized that I could not have this child, period! In my mind, another abortion was the only option. But there was something bigger at work here. I came out of it in misery, as if clouds of guilt, shame, and depression had invaded my soul.

After years of trying to overcome persistent thoughts of unworthiness, I saw a light at the end of the tunnel. There was hope in a God whose existence I had always denied! It was hard to believe, but, since I was such an emotional wreck, why not give believing in God a chance? If it did not work, I would be none the worse for trying.

And so, I placed my hope in God! And so, it paid off.
 
It is only when I connected with God that I understood that, indeed, there was more to abortion than what I was told. It was God who showed me that my confusion was justified and that a mother cannot be immune from the irreparable harm inflicted to the child she was made to love and protect. It was God who gently awakened me to my faulty beliefs and judgments, and it was God who compassionately brought me to sorrowful repentance. It was God who mercifully extended His forgiveness, and it was God who brought healing to my wounded heart and my stained conscience. Without God, I would still be entangled in the maze of my tormented spirit.

Having many facets, healing did not come at once. There were several defining moments and milestones on the path to recovery. Among them, I had to acknowledge that I had never connected with my aborted children. In fact, there was a huge discrepancy between my feelings for them and my feelings for my living children. How could I be so callous in one case and so tender in another? How could I be so disengaged on one hand and so loving on another? I did not know it then, but, in detaching myself from those who were never given a chance to take their first breath, I was trying to dissociate myself from the pain. Alas, instead of releasing me, the trick failed letting my unresolved issues silently consume my mental health which led to deep depression. Consequently, it became clear that one of the steps toward healing was to reconnect with my two little ones.

As an atheist, I would have dreaded reverting to the source of pain, but as a believer, I knew that God was committed to carry me all the way through the journey. As an atheist, I would have chosen to shut down the voices within, but, as a believer, I knew that only the truth could set me free. Yes, the digging hurt badly, but, through the process, I have learned about the offsprings who are waiting for me in heaven. I gave them a gender, a name, and a date of birth. I cried over them. I mourned them. I counted my loss. I talked to them. I asked their forgiveness. I cuddled them. I embraced them. 
God is in the business of putting the broken pieces back together. His plan of reconciliation is as mysterious as it is profound. It begins with our being reconciled with Him. But this first transaction is just the beginning of a surprising road on which we reconcile with others, with ourselves, with life, and with our messy past.

Today, these two little ones are mine. By the grace of God, the battle is over and my wounds are healed.  “With man, this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God” says a verse in the Bible (Matt. 19:26). I can testify to that, and I can testify that one can become whole again after falling short of God’s plan for her life. I can also testify that, no matter our history, one can live free of guilt and shame.

God is the Master Healer. Who else better than He can mend our hearts and restore our dignity?

“But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings, and you will leap like calves released from the stall” (Malachi 4:2).