your baby a mom, not a crushed skull
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True story by Jen Shroder (son pictured)
1/25/05 permission to repost granted
The broken wicker basket sat in the corner. It was all I had to
welcome my baby into the world. I was five months pregnant, in a town
I didnít know, listening to the loud shouts of my new drug-dealing
neighbors. I had arrived here on a bus a few weeks before, in darkness
and rain, curiously stared at by angry, starving drug addicts living
in the park. I couldnít even walk in the beautiful woods of Arcata
because of all the pot that was grown in the wilderness, trespassers
were shot on sight.
These were frightening surroundings to raise a child in.
I used to stare at the wicker basket on the soiled carpet and cry.
I had nothing to give this child, no skills to make a life for us. Up
until then all I cared about were parties and a ski pass. I never took
life seriously and I had completely bought into the "if it feels good,
do it" mentality I learned in high school, with Planned Parenthoodís
backup plan to abort unwanted pregnancies as a safeguard. But I
couldnít go through with it. The consequences at the end of the tunnel
were a lot more shocking than we were led to believe, babies FEEL
their bodies being ripped apart in the womb, their skulls crushed and
their brains sucked out. This is not "PLANNED" parenthood, itís
government funded "PLANNED" butchery of our innocent children, with
prices paid for their body parts.
The wicker basket wasnít much, but at least he would be alive. I
began scrounging for baby clothes until one day I started to think
about adoption. I didnít like the idea, but I thought I should
consider it. I went to the State, I didnít want anyone making money
from the prospect.
Jean worked at the adoption agency. She gave me descriptions of
five families that had hoped to adopt for years. One profile stood out
above the rest, Julie and Brian had faith and Jean showed me their
picture. I met with them and they seemed ideal. Suddenly I felt as
though I was standing between my child and a wonderful chance at life.
Julie couldnít have children thanks to the Delcon shield, (thanks
displanned parenthood), a birth control device that had destroyed her
womb. She had longed for children for seven years and had just about
given up when she got the call.
Over the next few months Julie became my Lamaze coach. I never knew
her last name. She was taking a risk too, that I wouldnít just show up
someday and interfere if I went through with this.
Normally adoption laws demand that babies live with foster homes
for 6 weeks before placement, but I insisted that my son was going
home with Julie or I wasnít giving him up. Julie had to submit to
adoption policies, but I didnít, and the adoption agency hustled to
skip foster care. Our son was born on Julieís birthday, and she
believed that was God whispering in her ear that this was meant to be.
At the time I didnít believe it, but looking back after knowing God
much better myself, I can see His hand all over it. God never meant
for me to toss away my maidenhood as I had, or for Julie to damage her
womb, but He forgave us of our mistakes and blessed both of us. Julie
sent me pictures of our son and wrote long detailed letters about him
as he was growing up. It hurt so much on his birthdays and Christmas,
but I knew he was happy and alive and loved. What a contrast to
Planned Parenthoodís alternative. There are so many times I wished I
had kept him, but I never regretted my decision against aborticide. I
get angry at the thought of what those murderous "doctors" and smiling
nurses would have done.
I have held the hands of many friends in high school as they went
through abortion and assured them it would be all right. None of us
fully realized what we were doing. We were children. We were misled.
We wanted so much to be grown up and Planned Parenthood taught us
false ideals of what that meant. We made huge mistakes. We have paid
dire consequences. Public schools should not conspire with Planned
Parenthood against parents who would advise their children to wait and
honor their virtue. Young teens donít need winking nurses handing them
condoms and shoving them toward their boyfriends. Our government
should stop separating church and state and start separating trusting
adolescents from murder.
See part 1:
Parenthood impacted my youth
Another source of
aborted body parts for sale