A letter from Abigail R.


I am his mother, but he is not MY baby.

He belongs to the Lord. He has his own DNA. His own personality. His own soul. His own mind. His own blood. His own breath. He came from my body but he is not mine.

My body carried him. My body sheltered him. When I felt hungry, my body fed him first. When I felt tired, my body gave him oxygen frist. When I was bleeding, my body preserved his heartbeat. My own body is on his side, regardless of how I feel.

Do I have the right to control my reproductive health? I don’t know, do any of us ever really “control” our health? Health means “the state of being free from illness or injury”. A pre-born baby is not an illness.  An unborn baby is not an injury.

We don’t become strong by stomping out the weak. We don’t prove our independence by cutting out those who depend on us.

Being a mama is bigger than what any of us women can handle on our own. It’s daunting on its best days and terrifying at its worst. And pregnancy is just the start. But it’s also beauty:  we hold another’s life in our very being. That is sacred ground. That is God-sized stuff. But tread gently. Tread reverently. While we work with the Divine Creator… we are not divine deciders.

New York, I hold my little one closer tonight. I ache for you and I am angry with you and mostly I want to gather your young girls, the coming of age girls, and let them know:  there is a different and more beautiful way to be a woman.

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