I used to cry every year on his birthday...

Today on The Good Book Blog, a word of encouragement from a friend who wishes to stay anonymous:

I used to cry every year on his birthday ... Every Christmas, every Easter, and plenty of days in between. Sometimes I still do.

I don't actually know if he really was a "he". He might have been a she. I didn't ask. But I always imagine he was a boy. I would have liked to have had a son.

I regret it deeply now but at the time I just didn't feel I could face the pregnancy. I was young, I wasn't married, I was supposed to be a good church-going believer - a teacher in Sunday School. It was too hard to admit that I had messed-up. I know I wasn't the only single person in the church who had given in to temptation but I was the "stupid one" who got caught out. I had to make a decision quickly or soon my sin would be seen by everyone in the congregation. And I couldn't face the shame.

I didn't tell the baby's father. I didn't tell my father - or mother. I didn't really chat about it with my heavenly father either, not beyond a desperate prayer of "please God, don't let this be true". And so, alone, I booked an appointment at a clinic and took the medication that would change two lives forever.

I kept the abortion quiet for years. It was a shameful secret that ate me away from the inside. The guilt I carried alone nearly crushed me. Emotionally I was torn apart. Spiritually I did little but go through the motions of hymn-singing and saying the Lord's prayer. Physically, I found myself repulsed by any kind of touch - I couldn't trust myself to get involved with any human being again.

The silence was torment but speaking out, impossible. Until I reached breaking point, that is ... One day the story tumbled out. Depressed and desperate, I unloaded my heart, in tears, to a friend. If she were shocked, she didn't show it. If she were angry, she hid it well. All I saw was love - all I heard was grace.

She didn't tell me I was right - but she did tell me I was loved.

She didn't tell me it didn't matter - but she did tell me I was forgiven.

She didn't tell me the pain would quickly go away - but she did show me comfort.

In short, she pointed me to Jesus.

It's easy to think that the cross has limits. It's easy to goad yourself into thinking that some things are just too bad, too shameful, too awful to ever be forgiven. But God's not that small. Jesus' work isn't incomplete. When he said. "it is finished" he was referring to the work of taking the punishment for all the sins of all his children. He didn't say "it is finished, except ... "

It's easy to think that other Christians will condemn or judge or gossip - delight in sabotaging what's left of our character. But we are all sinners saved by grace, designed to love, called to spur one another one - not drag each other down. The church is a welcoming community that delights in helping people to become more like Jesus, no matter what their past. That's the plan, at least.

I know that now. I wish I had really believed that back then. Things didn't have to end up the way they did... If I had my time again, I would have done things differently. I'm not proud of my decisions in the past. But I know there is forgiveness and hope.

And I long for others to know that too. I long for those who keep their past hidden to know freedom as well. Because it is truly possible - in Christ.

And I yearn for those people who are wondering whether to quietly pick up the phone and head to a clinic to know something too ... The pills wont make things all better. Keeping things quiet wont minimize the pain. It wont all be "over" in a couple of hours. Allow yourself to be loved - by God and his family. There is grace for you too.

Some people reading these words won't get it. It won't make sense. But some of you do. If that's you - please don't suffer alone.

If you are hurting, pick up the phone to someone mature and wise who can point you to the Lord of the universe who loves you beyond measure. Talk to your heavenly Father who longs to make you more like his Son - to forgive you and nurture you and encourage you and equip you to live for him wherever you are right now.

There is hope. There is hope even here, today.