My (Abortion) Story

I loved Jesus, but church was another story… When I was about seven years old, the pastor stated that if a black family visited, they’d dismiss services and try again the following week. My parents didn’t understand why they spent so much time raising money to support missions in Africa,  yet  were not permitted to worship with American citizens in our own neighborhood.
We stopped attending church.
“I am woman, hear me roar” reverberated throughout the halls of our home, the passions of the era defined my thoughts which governed my actions. I am woman, hear my pain…
I thought I had terminal cancer when, following a routine examination, a nurse led me into my doctor’s office, told me to have a seat, and placed a box of tissue directly in front of me…
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