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I Was Almost Aborted (But That’s Not the Biggest Reason Why I’m Pro-Life)


My ma met my biological father at a party. They partied. She got pregnant. When he found out, he got transferred 2,000 miles away (he was in the Army).

Instead of standing in shame to give an account for another bad decision before her strict Baptist parents, she got in her car and drove from Denver to Boston. Under the pretense of staying with my Uncle Tommy and Aunt Carol, ma’s real plan was to have an illegal abortion. This took place years before Roe V. Wade would be put into law.

Thankfully, my uncle and aunt talked her out of it. And, at eight months pregnant, she came back to Denver and gave birth to me on August 20, 1965.

For years I wondered why ma would often burst out in tears when she looked at me. When I was twelve years old, my grandma sat me down and told me the whole story. Until the day she died my ma never knew that I knew that she almost aborted me.

Through a series of crazy, yet divinely orchestrated events, my tough, body-building, street-fighting family members became Christians. But not ma. Even when four of her five street thug brothers, my uncles, converted to Christ, she was a hold out.

She bore too much shame. She had too much sin.

Or so she thought.

I got saved at the age of eight and learned how to share the Gospel at the age of twelve or so. The first person on my heart was ma. I began to share Jesus with her and she would say things like, “You don’t know the things I’ve done wrong” (I did because my grandma had told me everything.)

For years I shared the Gospel with her and, finally, at the age of 15, I was privileged to lead her to Christ at my grandparents’ kitchen table.

But, in spite of her salvation, she still felt a lot of shame until the day she died, seventeen years ago. Now she stands before the Savior, guilt-free, shame-free and sin-free, because of the shed blood of Christ on the cross.

There are several reasons why I’m pro-life:

One reason is that, well, I’m glad to be here. Last year I sent out a Tweet that went viral. It read, “In 1965 my mom drove from Denver to Boston to have an illegal abortion. My uncle & aunt talked her out of it. She often cried when she looked at me, feeling shame for almost aborting me. At the age of 15, I was able to lead her to Christ. Grateful for that. Grateful to be alive.”