WALKING BACK THROUGH THE ONE-WAY DOOR
Tabitha writes and shares this poem that many women can fully appreciate.
We should obey God's quiet and still voice.
Walking Back Through the One-Way Door
She looked at her feet as they dangled carelessly
Beyond the edge of the cold steel table.
The smooth worn cotton of the surgical gown tugged
Uncomfortably at her neck.
She shifts slightly to adjust the fabric, allowing
A more comfortable fit.
But her unease goes so much deeper
Than can be remedied by physical comforts.
It's her second time on the table
And although someone waits for her outside,
She sits on the table alone.
Fifteen years old the first time,
Her heart beating so fast and her thoughts
Imagining the disappointed looks on her parent's faces.
But she hadn't told her parents.
Her friends, and the father of what was growing inside her,
Had told her that it was her only option -
That it was the only thing to do.
How she had secretly yearned for the comfort of
Her mother's arms, for someone to tell,
For someone that would understand.
But the women at the clinic told her that it was best this way.
They told her that it was a lump of lifeless flesh,
Never showed her a picture of fingers or toes,
Arms, legs, mouth and eyes.
When she awoke, what had been inside was gone
And all that was left was pain and grief.
She had started spending innumerable hours alone -
Alone with her unease, her doubts, and her growing grief.
Those who had encouraged now told her to get over it.
Her boyfriend had moved on to someone new
But that little extinguished life tugged at her heart
Over the years and over the miles
And now, years later, in college now
It seems that her life has come full circle.
She feels like a little girl again
Alone and frightened and contemplating her "right"
And her "choice."
Life has been pretty good
And law school beckons like the red cloak of a matador
She sees it and cannot turn her head away.
But the stretching in her abdomen
Calls her mind away once more
She knows it is not the baby she is feeling,
But the strong drive of her body to nourish and prepare
A resting place, a hiding place, the perfect cradle.
One tear, then another, and so the familiar mantra begins
Fear battles compassion
The head battles the heart
And then, in the wee dark recesses of her mind,
There shines a light from her youth
Mrs. Thompson's Sunday School class
With the picture of Jesus warming the cold brick walls
Songs flood in unbeckoned - Jesus loves me, and
This little light of mine.
A smile flickers across her lips and she wipes away
A few stray tears with the back of her hand.
And for a moment,
A long beautiful moment
There is peace in her heart again.
Jesus Loves the Little Children echoing
In the recesses of her heart,
The words once whispers now an insistent reminder
That she was once in a warm protective womb
Trusting in the mother that had accidentally created her
Her life had been good,
And isn't that all this little being inside of her was striving for?
It's only chance? It's only shot at life.
She thinks of herself,
And how she would fight and kick and scream
If someone tried to take away her dreams
And she blushes deep as she realizes
That those with a voice may protest
While those with none must trust.
And now that trust is laid at the door of her heart.
And so it was, that with a deep breath
And the courage of a mother
That she walked back through the one-way door.
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