Anna's Secret

I have a hug for you from God.”
Anna rose from her bench and bent to hug the older woman. When she tried to pull apart, Rita hung on tight with a strength Anna knew she should not possess.
Rita whispered into her ear. “God has not left you Anna. The question is … will you leave him?”

Anna drew in one breath after another, but air refused to fill her lungs. Buckled over with arms wrapped around her abdomen, she fought off another bout of nausea. Tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the bathroom floor. The small room closed in on her and spun like she was whirling on a ride at the fair. She stumbled out and down the hall.
Cold, merciless fear gripped her and grew into full-blown terror. Anna slumped onto the nearby kitchen chair, her legs too weak to hold her.
Pregnant! “Oh, good Lord, no, no, no.”
Although her last pregnancy had been nineteen years before, she had not forgotten the muzzy sensation and sharp pangs of nausea that ebbed and flowed. She had known in that deep part of her soul she was pregnant, yet denied it. The positive pink line on the home pregnancy test brought in a crushing reality.
How could she, an upstanding long-term member of the First Baptist Church, mother of two grown children, a woman so recently widowed, be pregnant? She could hear the dialogue of the gossip mongers circling in her head like vultures over fresh carnage. She would indeed deserve every unkind word.
Shaking, Anna buried her head in her hands. Like a rag doll, her elbows collapsed onto the kitchen table and her upper body followed in a heap.
Oh, God, what have I done? How could I have betrayed my own moral beliefs, the standard by which I raised my children, the building blocks of my Christian faith?
She lifted her head, and yanked the ponytail holder free. A curtain of hair fell over her face as if to cover the shame. After all the years of careful living, of sacrifice, I’ve blown it. How? How? How? That one word tumbled about in her head like a dryer cycle she couldn’t shut off.
Anger snaked from the pit of her stomach up and out. She pulled to her feet in frustration and slammed the chair to the floor behind her. A guttural cry filled her lungs as she screamed into the heavens. “God, is this your answer? I live my whole life for you. I ask for mercy for one mistake, and this is what I get? What kind of God are you? I admit I messed up, but under the circumstances aren’t my actions understandable? Don’t I deserve at least one break?”
Silence filled the room.
In the days following, Anna nursed her acute disappointment in God. Like strands of a spider’s web, Anna felt helplessly caught in its sticky filament. The more she struggled, the greater her entrapment grew.
How can I conceal the truth from Matt? How can I keep this secret from the church, my friends, my family? How can I wake up from this nightmare unscathed?
Abortion—the only option that allowed enough darkness in which to hide. Like a half-knit blanket, the core of Anna’s belief structure began to unravel stitch by agonizing stitch.
She longed to pray and find comfort in the God she loved, as she had done through many struggles in her past, but Rita’s words surfaced over and over … “God wants you to know you’re forgiven, but you’re not to make excuses before him.”
Anger flared each time she thought of these words. “Oh, so caring for a sick husband for years, and the fact I raised my children without help from their father, not to mention the loneliness, counts for nothing? If you think I’m prepared to let my world fall apart because of one stupid mistake, you can think again.”
In softer moments, she’d pray and plead. “God, please … I’ve stayed clear of Matt and all temptation. Surely, you don’t want the world to know? My failure would only tarnish your name. What about my sons? They’ve been through enough.”
Her anger and excuses were met with silence, and it infuriated her. “God, why are you silent?”
Will you listen? Your child and the father of your child have rights too.
She knew her behavior toward Matt was cruel, especially considering she was the one who had practically begged him to stay that night. Then when he succumbed to what most would consider a natural response, she spurned him. In truth, he displayed more character than she did. He made every effort to see her again. She was the one who couldn’t face him after the way she had thrown herself at him. Though he kept trying to text and call, she remained a silent coward. The doorbell unanswered. Her front door locked.
Try as she might, she couldn’t forget that night. They had connected in a way that went much deeper than a moment of pleasure, and the truth of that experience petrified her. In rare moments, snippets of honesty flooded in like dust mites dancing on a shaft of sunlight. She would promptly slam the door of her heart shut so the light could not reveal what lay in the shadows. Truth brought pain, brought accountability, and demanded action. With this new set of circumstances, shame knocked on her door, and she opened it wide.
Each day that passed, truth grew less urgent, less relevant. The solution and rationale of abortion grew sounder and stronger.
She’d been right to keep Matt at bay, and now she had more reason than ever to avoid him.
She heard that still small voice, My child, this is not my way, it is yours. An involuntary shudder worked up her spine.
How could she possibly reveal such truth to her sons, her sister and family, her church? And what would Steven’s family say, especially after all the help they had given her? Even now, they were paying for her courses. No, she had