"I could feel hot, salty tears coming down my face. I sat and cried silently... I was scrunching myself up against the wall as far as I could. All of a sudden, someone from behind us taps on the guy’s shoulder..."
"I could feel hot, salty tears coming down my face. I sat and cried silently... I was scrunching myself up against the wall as far as I could. All of a sudden, someone from behind us taps on the guy’s shoulder..."
I recently found myself feeling offense. Red, hot anger, that I felt was justified, righteous, even. But what I couldn’t understand was, if it was righteous and justified by God, then why did I feel so bad?
They told me to wait. To wait until... Until I saw a heartbeat on the ultrasound screen. Until I reached the second trimester. Until I knew baby was healthy.
I had been the same age when my mother witnessed me having a grand mal seizure. I prayed, “no satan, this ends with me. This curse does not follow my daughter.”
