“Pamela” came into my office at 16 weeks pregnant. Her boyfriend, a heavy beer drinker and a member of a motorcycle gang, browbeat her for several months to obtain an abortion. She was a waitress at a restaurant, barely surviving financially. Her father was a Baptist preacher and, although he was very disappointed in her, he encouraged her to do the right thing, which was to keep the baby. Her father promised to support her financially. He encouraged her to break the ties with her boyfriend, whom he considered to be unworthy of her affection. She was too far along to obtain an abortion at the local abortion clinic and realized that to obtain a late-term abortion she would have to go to Atlanta.
I met with Pamela every week for about four weeks for counseling and prayer. I also referred her to the local crisis pregnancy center, where she received additional counseling and prayer. It was evident she wanted an abortion about as much as a bear wanted to put his paw into a bear trap, because she had grown up believing abortion was murder. Yet she desperately wanted to keep her relationship with her boyfriend. She was afraid if she did not abort the baby she would lose him. I shared with her the very real statistic that most unmarried relationships break up after abortions, terrifying her even more.
Despite the counseling and the praying, Pamela broke my heart one Friday afternoon when she notified me of her decision to travel to Atlanta for an abortion on Saturday morning. She and I had become very close during our sessions. We had prayed together and discussed the issue on multiple occasions. I prayed for her repeatedly over the weekend.
To my surprise, she called on Monday to say she was still pregnant. With delight, I asked her what happened. She responded, “I went to the Atlanta abortion clinic, but when I checked in, I had a fever. Upon examination, they found I had a urinary tract infection. They gave me an antibiotic and told me to return in two weeks. While driving back from Atlanta, I prayed and decided to keep my baby.” She also decided the boyfriend was not worth the life of her unborn child, and she wanted me to deliver the baby. A couple of months later, I delivered her newborn baby girl without any complications and had the privilege of caring for her little girl for a couple of years; then I lost contact with them for a while.
At the same time Pamela pondered the fate of her pregnancy, I shared her situation with my Wednesday night prayer group at my church (anonymously, of course). Now, you have to understand the 50 to 70 folks gathered at Rock Hill Baptist Church in Inman during the 1990s were not your average Wednesday night crowd. Those folks were real prayer warriors. They got on their knees every Wednesday night, took hold of the horns of the altar, prayed for lost people by name, and told God they wouldn’t let go until the lost were saved, the sick were healed, and families were restored. During this time, we saw numerous answers to prayer, including salvations (my brother, for one) and restored marriages.
For about six weeks, we prayed for my patient. I even told her 50 people at my church were praying for her to make the right decision. The women especially prayed, with “groaning too deep for words,” on behalf of this mom and for her unborn child. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to go to Atlanta for an abortion.
Well, you already know the end of the story. I have no doubt God heard the prayers of 50-plus prayer warriors, the prayers of the women at the CPC, my prayers, and her father’s prayers on behalf of that precious unborn child. Her bladder infection didn’t occur by accident. It occurred as a direct result of divine intervention brought on by intercessory prayer! Jesus said, “And all things you ask in prayer, believing, you shall receive” (Matthew 21:22). Either that is true, or it is not. Either we believe that, or we don’t. The effectiveness of intercessory prayer hangs on the veracity of that statement and the faith of the intercessor. We chose to believe, God intervened, and that little baby survived.
Many years later when Pamela’s daughter was 19 years old, Pamela brought her to see me for a minor illness. When I walked in the exam room, I saw the daughter dressed in Gothic dress; her hair was jet black, she wore the blackest eyeliner, black lipstick, and black fingernail polish. She looked like she had fallen face first into a fishing tackle box because every part of her face was pierced with metal objects, even her tongue. More than this, she had a terrible attitude toward her mother, but she was alive. She was alive!
I could tell the mother was extremely proud of her daughter, who was actually quite an attractive young lady despite the Gothic attire and metal accoutrements. I really never was quite sure why she actually brought her daughter to my office, because an exam revealed minor symptoms that could have been diagnosed and managed at home. I suspect she wanted to show off her very attractive daughter and to allow me to see the product of all my praying and counseling.
Understand clearly: The measure of the culture is not what we do with the rich, powerful, or famous, but what we do with the weakest, poorest, and most infirm among us. The challenge for us is to hold up a high standard and to become the champions of the weak, the infirm, and the handicapped. Our challenge is to come alongside of them and to be their voices, their advocates.
— Robert Jackson, a member of First Baptist Church, Boiling Springs, is a family practice doctor in Chesnee. His book, “The Family Doctor Speaks: The Truth About Life,” is available at jacksonfamilyministry.com.