So she had admitted the second abortion to no one. Not her friends. Not the father of the baby. Not even her mother, who drove her to a private doctor’s office for the second abortion, thinking her daughter was having a simple outpatient procedure to correct a medical problem.
Faced with the question in black and white, Marolda hesitated. “I told you I’d had one abortion,” she said to Sylvia, “but really I’ve had two.”
“Okay,” said the center director. “Put two.”
Marolda’s history of abortion meant that to volunteer, she needed to go through not only regular volunteer training, but intensive postabortion training as well. She agreed, but she says the experience was not easy. “I was antsy and irritated. It was nine weeks of intense digging through my past—every Tuesday for two long hours.”
Raised in Antigua by her Anglican grandparents, Marolda had grown into an intelligent, goal-oriented, self-sufficient young woman who had hoped to become a physician, like several other members of her extended family. She moved to the United States to attend college and enrolled as a biology student. But other circumstances from her past lay just under the surface of her polished, engaging exterior.
She had had virtually no relationship with her father growing up; her mother raised her daughter alone during Marolda’s first years, then moved to the States to get her own education and establish herself so that they could eventually be reunited. As a teenager Marolda was raped, but it remained a secret. Although she was raised in church and believed in God, Marolda found her experience with Him changed after her first abortion.
“I was alone, lonely, sad, and bleeding. I called the guy who was the father. He didn’t come. I went from my bed to the bathroom and lay down on the floor. Then I did something I’d never done before. I cried out to Jesus. I just cried out His name. And He was there.”
Slowly, through postabortion training and the satisfaction of helping young women who found themselves in the same situation she had twice confronted, Marolda felt life seemed to be turning around for her. She met Bryan, the minister of music at a local church, who would later become her husband. Soon the crisis pregnancy center offered her a full-time job as a volunteer coordinator. She accepted, putting her studies on hold.
The world was righting itself. Life was good . . . until Marolda became pregnant a third time. This time, she wasn’t a student. She was an employee of a crisis pregnancy center, dating a young minister. Feeling guilty, depressed, and ashamed, Marolda was sure of only one thing: she would not have another abortion. Bryan agreed. And there would be no secrets. They told their respective families, who offered support. Bryan told the leadership of his church. And Marolda told Sylvia. Together, the two of them went before the board of directors of the pregnancy center and told them.
The board suggested she and Bryan marry immediately, and if they did so, Marolda could keep her job. Although she wanted to marry Bryan, she refused. “I knew I had a sin issue that needed to be dealt with,” she says. “I needed to repent, be forgiven, and finish the hard work of healing. I didn’t need to hide again—I needed to allow God to complete the work He had begun.”
It was one of the lowest points of Marolda’s life. She was pregnant, unemployed, unmarried, and disappointed in herself. She and Bryan began to get counseling together. “I told myself, ‘What a fool you are,’” says Marolda. “But God is so faithful. He met me right where I was and loved me.”
God would have one more unexpected challenge for Marolda. In September of 2002, she and Bryan learned through amniocentesis that their baby might have spina bifida. Doctors recommended an ultrasound to explore further. What the test revealed was a second-trimester baby boy with no abnormalities. They had already decided that whatever they learned would not change their plans to have the baby. But later that day, Bryan asked Marolda if she was ready to marry him, and she said yes.
On February 22, 2003, a thirty-two-week-pregnant Marolda married the father of her son in a celebration that included their closest family and friends. The bride wore the largest bridal gown she could find. Their son was born a few weeks later.
Today the college student who wanted to do something good for a crisis pregnancy center to soothe her conscience is now counseling pregnant women again. Her former boss, Sylvia, opened another center serving the inner city and invited Marolda to come on board as director of client services. “I was a stay-at-home mom, loving life with my husband and our baby, and God said, ‘Come out of your cave, Marolda, I’m ready to use you again.’” She also counsels postabortive women, because she knows it is possible to put aside living in guilt and shame.
And Marolda still sings.
For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his love for those who fear him;
as far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed our transgressions from us.
(Psalm
103:11-12
)
amy carmichael
Loving Others
A
my Carmichael was born to a devout Presbyterian family on December 16, 1867, on the north coast of Ireland. When she was a child, her curiosity was strong, and her favorite playground was the rocky beach where she explored the little things that were alive in the ocean’s tide. She loved the adventure she found in the outdoors.
She was not a conventional little girl. Once, given a beautiful dollhouse completely furnished with exquisite furniture and elaborately dressed dolls, she surprised her nanny by emptying out all the furniture and filling the house with moss, stones, and beetles. Amy found those things much more interesting.
Her parents surrounded all their children with beauty. They taught them to be observers and learners, told them exciting stories, gave them many pets to love, and taught them about God’s love. Life was full, and Amy was a very happy child.
Even when young, Amy showed a deep sensitivity toward the pain of others. When her mother first told her the story of Jesus’ crucifixion, she ran outside to find solace in the garden. She could not understand how anyone could take the life of a man so special and good.
She later recalled a lesson she had in prayer at age three. She knew God answered prayer and so knelt by her bed one night, asking for blue eyes, quite confident that she would have them in the morning. At dawn, she jumped out of bed to check the mirror. She was bewildered to find she still had brown eyes. And then she felt the Lord gave her an explanation: sometimes the answer is no. At a very early age, she learned a profound, hard lesson about the nature of prayer.
When she was twelve, Amy was sent to a Wesleyan Methodist boarding school in Harrogate, Yorkshire. She was homesick but did not question her parents’ decision. Amy didn’t particularly like Marlborough House boarding school, but at the end of the three years she experienced a watershed moment. One evening, there was a children’s special service in Harrogate. While singing the famous hymn “Jesus Loves Me,” Amy realized that there was much work to be done in the world. She always knew of Jesus’ love, but in those quiet moments at age fifteen, she knew God was requiring more of her. There, she surrendered her whole life to His service.
Around that time, for business reasons, the Carmichaels moved to Belfast. Financial difficulties forced the parents to remove all the children from boarding school. The Carmichaels never discussed money struggles in front of the children, but later Amy learned that her father lent several thousands of pounds to a friend who was not able to pay him back.
It was during that time that her father contracted double pneumonia. He died at age fifty-four. Amy didn’t seem to question that this was God’s best for her father and her family. She trusted God and knew He would take care of them. Her mother found solace in Nahum 1:7: “The
LORD
is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him” (
KJV
). Amy followed her mother’s example. Instead of becoming angry and resentful toward God, she threw herself into serving others. Her sisters learned from Amy’s enthusiasm and benefited from her knowledge and hunger for beauty. Amy was not preoccupied with her looks, her clothing, or her social life like most seventeen-year-old girls. Her sensitivity toward others was evident in her actions.
One dull, rainy Sunday afternoon she was returning from church with her family. She and her brothers saw an old woman carrying a heavy load down the streets of Belfast. They didn’t know her situation but went to help the woman, despite the stares from other Christians on their way home.
The harsh wind was blowing through them, and the drizzling rain drenched the woman’s bundle of old rags. Amy tried to ignore the looks and comments of others who disapproved of their helping a lower-class citizen. Suddenly, in her mind’s eye she caught a glimpse of an ornate Victorian fountain and the words of 1 Corinthians 3:12-14 flashed before her: “Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is. If any man’s work abide which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward.”
Amy knew the words were for her, and at home she shut herself in her room to settle her heart before God.
Soon, Amy began holding neighborhood meetings for children, encouraging them to read their Bibles daily and spend time in prayer. Amy also worked at the YWCA, helping the “shawlies” (women who could not afford hats to cover their heads and so instead wore shawls) learn about God’s love for them. Amy’s church members criticized Mrs. Carmichael for letting her daughter associate with the lower class and venture to the slums to get them and bring them home for ministry.
But Amy poured herself into the lives of the children in her neighborhood and into the shawlies. She knew she was sheltered and was not aware of all the world’s evils. While she tried to do all she could for others, she felt it wasn’t enough. She wanted to serve more. She wanted more of God.
The number of shawlies coming to the neighborhood disturbed Amy’s community. They were uncomfortable with so many of the lower class invading their streets. Amy knew she needed to find a building to accommodate them. In a magazine advertisement, she learned she could construct an iron building for five hundred pounds. That was an awesome sum of money, and Amy knew she needed the Lord’s help.
Amy and the shawlies began to pray faithfully for the funds and were rewarded when an older woman with ample finances sent word to Amy telling her she would fund the hall she needed. The iron tabernacle was a lively place, and the shawlies enjoyed Bible studies, singing classes, and prayer meetings because of Amy’s desire to serve.
Amy soon moved to the slums to help women around the clock. She heard the brawls and screams of desperation each night. In the day she heard the factory sirens and the heavy footsteps of the working class trudging to work. She learned to do without privacy and quiet and was not afraid to walk alone, even in the dangerous parts of the city.
Though Amy enjoyed her work with the factory girls, on January 13, 1892, God told the young woman it was time to leave. She was torn, as she felt she was needed there. Yet, clear as a human voice, she heard “Go ye.” Through the struggle of leaving family and enduring others’ criticism, Amy faithfully determined to go to the mission field.
She went on to spend fifty-three years in South India without furlough. She became known as
Amma,
which means “mother.” There, she founded the Dohnavur Fellowship, which was a refuge for hundreds of children who were secretly set aside for Hindu temple prostitution. Amma was greatly loved at Dohnavur and resolved to give all of her life to save the children.
Throughout her life of service, Amy’s silent offerings, unseen struggles, and steady obedience made those around her wonder if she was some sort of angel or saint. But Amy knew her humanity was what God could use to fulfill her calling. She wrote, “Teach us, good Lord, to serve Thee as Thou deservest; to give and not to count the cost; to fight and not to heed the wounds; to toil and not to seek for rest; to labor and not to ask for any reward save that of knowing that we do Thy will, O Lord our God.”
Amy was willing to serve.
[Christ Jesus] Who, being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
but made himself nothing,
taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself and became obedient to death—
even death on a cross!
(Philippians
2:5-8
)
kate
Free from Fear
I
am confident of this: God has never abandoned, and will never abandon, me.
For most of her life, Kate doubted this truth. Certain that hurt was coming her way, she set out to protect her heart. She believed friends and family eventually would abandon her, so somehow God would too.
Kate’s fear didn’t make any rational sense—she knew that. She had a home that was the envy of others. Her parents were loving and devoted Christians. Yet Kate’s heart sank every time her father pulled out of the driveway for a business trip.
Will he come back?
she’d think.
No. No, he won’t—I’m sure of it.
Kate doesn’t know how all this started, but as she grew so did her fear that she would be alone. By junior high she wasn’t spending any time developing friendships; it was far too risky. Without any friends to distract her, she threw herself into her studies. Her 4.0 GPA proved she was self-sufficient and safe, she thought. Kate graduated from junior high with the highest marks in her class, but not one friend.
Even though Kate had been busy closing herself off, she had a tiny vulnerable spot: she wanted to be liked. She wanted to sit in the lunchroom with other kids and laugh. She wanted to be understood. At the start of her freshman year of high school, Kate joined the drama team. Fortunately, it came with a ready-made group of friends. In fact, most of her new drama cohorts were upperclassmen. Kate began to open up just a little.