We were young, wild, and free, or so we thought. We could smell the wet leaves on campus, autumn rains washing away our regret, or so we thought. You really liked him, and he seemed so nice, so into you, or so we thought.

But college life was like that when we were young and wild and free. All these new ideas about the world, ourselves, about those boys becoming men. Forget our parents. Forget our churches. Forget our God. We became our own little goddesses. Casting off the rules. Casting off our clothes. Casting off the guilt.

College was like that.

I had my boyfriend and birth control.

You had your flings and close calls.

And then it wasn’t close anymore.

I didn’t hold it against you. I knew I was lucky in love and you were on a losing streak that year. And when you met him, I was so happy for you. He seemed like the one. But he didn’t give you one dollar for that abortion, though he was sure glad you took care of it. So I gave you the money and drove you to the clinic and sat there crying for you.

You, my friend, it was you I loved. Back then I didn’t love Jesus and I didn’t love itty bitty fetuses all wrapped in mother’s flesh. It was your body. Your decision. It was you I respected, your right to life.

We saw those signs on the street. Those pouty Christian kids standing beside their proud Christian parents holding those right to life signs and I loved you, my friend. Screw them. I loved you.

After your abortion, we picked up pizza and beer. But I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t drink and I went to bed early. Sick for you. And sick for me. Those Catholic nuns who taught me catechism did a good job. It all came back to me that night.

I never got over that abortion. Though it was legal. And safe for you. And the lady who checked us into the abortion clinic was one of the nicest ladies I’ve ever met. Nicer than those Christians on the street shaming us with their signs. Those Christians didn’t care about you. Didn’t care about me. Or so we thought.

Now I’m one of those Christians. And I care about you. I care that you are a girl who got herself in trouble. Isn’t this what they said in the eighties? “She got herself in trouble.” Maybe he got you in trouble. Maybe you drank too much alcohol, but didn’t say “yes.” California just passed a law that says you must say “yes,” but it will still happen. You will still get drunk sweet college girl. And you might still get pregnant even without saying yes.

Or maybe you said, “Yes” with all your heart that night.

Because you are young and wild and free. You will think this way in college. Not every one of you, but a lot of you. Some of you good little church girls out from under your parents and from under your church for the first time.

I don’t know how your parents will feel when they find out you had that abortion. How your church will feel if they find out about your abortion. But I know how God feels.

God will say: Ask for my forgiveness.

Jesus said this to me, and He will say this to you: Ask for my forgiveness my child. A life for a life. I am here to give you life. Then Jesus will open his hands and show you his scars. His nail pierced hands stretched out in love for you.

He will point to the cross and say, It happened right there. I died for you there, my friend.  

And you will become one of those “right to life” Christians you thought you’d never be.

Never. Ever. Be.

You will stand there holding a sign, but without all that pride on your face, tears on your face because you know this twenty-year-old girl walking into the clinic. You know how scared she is. How desperate she is. How alone she is. She may be with a friend, perhaps even her boyfriend, but she feels so alone.

Her soul is alone.

Screaming in all its aloneness.

And your soul will call out to her soul.

Oh. sweet soul come this way, I’ve walked in your shoes. When you walk out of that abortion clinic, I will call you. I will love you. I will point to the cross and say, “You thought you took life into your hands, now you have blood on your hands, but only He has the power of life in his hands. Jesus has blood on his hands. The blood that saves you.”

Isn’t this a relief?

To lay it down. Lay that abortion at the cross, my friend. This thing you’ve carried for days, months, years. Condemnation over this abortion. Maybe more than one abortion. Ask to be forgiven. Then go and sin no more.

And this is the sign I will hold up for you:  Forgiven.

Oh sweet one, you are forgiven.

Child of grace, you are forgiven.