I was 21 years old and on my own. I was "playing house" with my boyfriend of a year. I had just gotten home from splurging at the grocery store. While there I had picked up a pregnancy test, because I had a gut feeling. I followed the instructions on the packet. When I looked at the results, I felt sick to my stomach. So many emotions! Fear, regret, anger. My life was going great, and now God was going to throw this curve ball?! I didn't want kids, and I certainly didn't want them under the current circumstances. What would my parents think? I was the oldest, the one all my siblings looked up to. I had already been kicked out of the house, so this was going to make me look even worse. My parents would kill me... No, they wouldn't, because I was going to take back control of this situation. 

Immediately, I called and scheduled an appointment for an abortion. I put the groceries away, ate some strawberries, and called my boyfriend to tell him the news. Without telling me he came over.  He wanted to talk about options! Options!  I'm was in control, and I'm was doing this my way. Reluctantly, he didn’t argue. 

The next day I went to the facility. Oh, the devil made it so easy! No protesters, but I was still scared of the pain the procedure may cause me. They did the ultrasound, and I barely looked at it.  But I remember, to this day I remember that little ball of light, almost like the sun shining in a mess of blackness. But that devil, he is good. They tell me I am barely three weeks, if that.  No heartbeat, not attached. Just a pill was required to stay in control! No painful suction, no prolonged wait, easy as pie. I accepted, no questions asked. I remember thinking it was weird that the doctor watched while I took the pill, like I wouldn't go through with it!  I went home and had to insert some pills to fully flush things out. Painful cramping began, but it was no big deal. I was in control, and life could go back to normal, no regrets—just the knowledge that I did something wrong. 

Fast forward almost eight years. My boyfriend, now my husband of two years, and I decided we wanted kids. Well, he did, and I thought I did. Funny how God likes to work. The day my daughter was born was euphoric. Blissful labor, oh and I got to watch the Gator's win while giving birth. The doctor placed Briseis on my stomach and that little baby looked straight into my eyes. I felt my heart break into millions of pieces. I was so wrong, I did want kids, just when it was convenient for me. She was my world, but a new emotion was sinking in—guilt.  Something was trying to resurface, but, hey, I was in control. I found out my husband cheated on me, and we sought out God with a new-found passion, determined to salvage the marriage. It worked.

Briseis was a year old, my husband and I were healing, and we decided to have another child. I got pregnant with no problems. I was three weeks along. We were helping my parents move from Houston back to Florida. I went to the bathroom and saw an ever so small blood clot. Fear creeped in, fear not of the unknowing but of the knowing. I was going to lose this baby. My family tried to comfort me, told me that God knew what He was doing, that something was wrong with the baby. I agree with them, but a new emotion started sinking in, regret for a sin made long ago. I had no control. 

I love my life, I love my God, I love my husband, and I love the three children God has blessed me with, despite what I did. I have asked God to forgive me for taking control of my child's life all those years ago. I have asked the child and family members for the same. I have forgiven myself, but that will never make the regret go away. Regret is the scar tissue that covers the old wounds that we cause. It keeps us growing. It hurts—it will never stop hurting. But what I did wasn't as bad as not trusting God enough to be in control. I wanted control of a situation I put myself into, because I didn't like the outcome I was getting. I know my miscarriage was God's way of showing me, even when I think I'm in control, I'm not. There was nothing I could do to save the baby I miscarried. It has taken me years and years of emotions, adding onto other emotions, to realize the extent of what I did.