If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. ~ Psalm 139:8, NKJV.
When I was a teenager I was forced into having two abortions by the cult I was being abused in. Well, first they raped me to get me pregnant, and then they aborted the babies that were the product of the two rapes.
The first one happened when I was about thirteen, and the pregnancy was terminated in an abortion at about three months, before the baby was viable outside the womb. It was a boy, whom I named David Adam Christopher.
The second one, when I was about fifteen, was terminated somewhere between four and five months, at a point when they knew the baby would be viable long enough for me to be able to bond with her before she was killed. And yes, it was a girl. I named her Emily Margaret Rose. For both babies I tried to pick the most beautiful names I could think of, names that were not only beautiful, but were also at least partly biblical with good meanings.
In the abortion that killed David Adam Christopher, I have a very clear picture in my mind of a machine that I’m assuming was an abortion machine. It was a large blue rectangular box with a clear plastic dome on top, and as they were sucking the baby from my body I can see his tiny body parts mixed with blood swirling in the dome as the machine is running.
With Emily Margaret Rose it was even worse. I was the one who had to kill, murder her actually. I had no choice; they forced me.
After she was born they let me hold her, and they had me nurse her. At the time I didn’t understand exactly what they had planned, and I didn’t know why they let me bond with her, but I was glad for it. Then they took her away and put her on a table, which turned out to be an altar. She was naked, and they made me take off my clothes as well, something I always hated doing.
Then they made me go to the altar and they put a dagger in my hand. The dagger was a special kind of double-bladed knife that had an electrical cable coming out of the handle. The cable was hooked up to a machine that generated electrical current, and as long as the machine was on, current flowed into the knife. As long as current flowed into the knife I couldn’t let go of it because my muscles couldn’t stop contracting. The only way they would allow me to drop the dagger was if I stabbed Emily until she was dead. I had no choice. Not physically, nor emotionally or mentally or spiritually.
I can see very clearly in my mind’s eye the images of having to do this to my tiny, beautiful baby girl. And I can distinctly hear her shrieks of agony as I plunged the dagger into her little body.
I take great comfort in Psalm 139:8 when I contemplate this horrific memory, because I believe what it says, that I was not alone in that Hell-on-earth, that God didn’t abandon me even there. I also believe I will one day meet both my beautiful babies when I get to Heaven. I hope they can forgive me for what I was forced to do. I’ve often felt that I should have been willing to die myself rather than allow them to be aborted and murdered like that.
I feel so many things as I relive this event. Fortunately I don’t go back to it very often, and I didn’t expect to do so today, but it came out as I was talking to McT about other things in therapy. And once I start talking about it, it doesn’t take much to put me right back in the scene again. I don’t know if that means I haven’t truly put it behind me or what. I’ve repented before God to the best of my ability, and asked His forgiveness for every aspect of it. I know, at least in my mind, that I had no control over what happened, that I was forced into it, but I’m not sure if I know that deep down inside.
I say that because whenever I think of it my feelings get all jumbled up and chaotic inside. They kind of flit and fly all over the place and I have a hard time catching them so I can look at them. It’s like they’re trying to escape detection so I don’t have to deal with the underlying issues.
The problem is, I want to deal with those issues. I need to deal with them.
I don’t feel a great deal of guilt or shame about what happened, but I do feel a huge amount of sorrow, grief, and distress about it ~ sorrow and grief at what might have been for those two babies had they survived and escaped the cult, and distress at what I put them through in the process of aborting (David), and killing them (Emily).
Of course there’s absolutely no guarantee that they would have been able to escape. Given that they were created by the cult for child sacrifice ~ the reason they raped me in the first place was to get me pregnant so they could use the baby that was the product of both rapes in rituals, with the ultimate goal of sacrificing the baby’s life ~ something expressly forbidden by God in the Bible,
“They have built high places to Baal on which to burn their children in the fire as burnt offerings to Baal, something I have never commanded or mentioned; I never entertained the thought.” ~ Jeremiah 19:5, CSB.
“They have built the high places of Baal in Ben Hinnom Valley to sacrifice their sons and daughters in the fire to Molech — something I had not commanded them. I had never entertained the thought that they do this detestable act causing Judah to sin!” ~ Jeremiah 32:35, CSB.
What the Christian Standard Bible (aka CSB) calls a detestable act the King James Version calls an abomination, which the dictionary defines as an atrocity, a horror, an obscenity, an evil, a crime, an outrage, and a monstrosity. In Hebrew this word means a morally disgusting thing, ethically wicked, and an abhorrence.
It’s good to know that God finds what happened to my two babies as morally repugnant as I do. I just wish I hadn’t been forced to participate in it.
I guess what I’m getting at with all of this is that, even though I’ve made a lot of progress, it’s obvious that I still have a whole lot of work to do. Thankfully God is able and He’s still on the throne of my life. He’s been doing miracles in my life from the beginning on, and I don’t expect He’ll stop now.