When I could bear my thoughts no longer, I felt the comforting presence of the Holy Spirit wrap around me like a soft cashmere shawl. I watched the waves racing each other to the shore, and suddenly I saw before me an ocean of women— millions of women, stretching all the way to the horizon— and I was speaking to them about abortion. The “still, small voice” of God’s Spirit spoke to my mind in that moment: One day I will place you on a platform where you will speak to these women.
“But I murdered my children,” I whispered. “I gave them up for a man who ruined my life.” I choked back a wail.
Tell the women that. I will give you the platform.
I stared at the ocean. The multitudes of women were gone. I could no longer see their faces.
“Mommy, we love you.” The lilting voice drifted over the waves. My heart skipped a beat.
“We’re with Jesus. And you’ll be with us one day, Mommy. But now you must go and do what the Master says.”
I knew that voice was telling me that I had to fulfill my calling— whatever it was that God had put me on this earth to do. I also knew that the child’s voice was not a figment of my imagination, even though I had listened to a little girl’s voice saying something similar on the radio just moments before. This was a little boy’s voice . . . and it was not the first time I had heard it.
That voice was familiar because I had heard it about a year earlier, before I had ever walked the aisle at church and committed my life to Christ. It was during that “beginning of the end” time when I was living in Flagstaff, not long after I had that final “interlude” with my ex-husband, Jesse.