Tonight, I feel heavy.
I don’t even know where to start. I’ve avoided writing this down for so long, maybe because it feels too raw or because I’m afraid of how it might sound, even to myself. But lately, this has been sitting on my heart like a weight. And I need to pour it out — not for anyone else to see, but for me. Maybe to understand myself better. Maybe to let God work through the honesty of it.
Here it is, plain and simple: I believe abortion is murder.
Even writing that, I feel my chest tighten. Not because I doubt it, but because of what that belief costs me. I don’t say it out loud. I don’t post about it. I don’t argue in comment sections. It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I believe — I just know that in the world I live in, especially among people my age, this belief makes me a target. Or worse, a monster. People I love and respect — friends, classmates, even some from church — think this view is outdated, oppressive, even hateful.
But to me, it’s none of those things. To me, it’s rooted in love.
It comes from a place of reverence for life — all life. The unborn child who hasn’t had a chance to speak, to breathe, to be held. I believe that life starts at conception, that every heartbeat is sacred. I believe that God knits us together in the womb, not as a poetic idea, but as a truth. Psalm 139 has always felt so personal to me — "You knit me together in my mother’s womb." How could I read that and believe life begins only when it's convenient?
But it’s not just about the child. It’s about the woman, too. The pain, the pressure, the fear. I can’t imagine what it feels like to be pregnant and scared, unsupported, or alone. And because I can’t imagine it, I try not to judge. I really do. I don’t think women who’ve had abortions are evil. I don’t think they’re murderers in the cruel, criminal sense of the word. I think they’re human — hurting, overwhelmed, and in many cases, lied to about what abortion really is.
Still, in my heart, I can’t pretend it’s not the taking of a life. I’ve tried to sit with other perspectives. I’ve read, I’ve listened, I’ve prayed. But nothing has moved me from this belief. And maybe that’s because it’s not just a thought — it’s a conviction. Something spiritual. Something God has written on my soul in a way that no amount of social pressure can erase.
Sometimes I wonder what I would do if I were the one facing an unplanned pregnancy. Would my convictions hold? Would I have the courage to carry the child, even if I felt alone or ashamed? I like to think I would. I hope I never have to find out. But I pray that if I ever do, God would give me the strength to choose life — not just in theory, but in practice.
Being single and 24, I’m not in the middle of this issue the way some women are. I’m on the outside, watching the debates, listening to the shouts from both sides. And it’s so loud. So divisive. I feel like if I spoke up, I’d be dismissed or attacked. So I stay silent. And in that silence, I start to feel alone.
Even in church, people tread lightly around this topic. It’s become “too political,” too messy. And I get it — it is messy. But should we really go silent just because it’s controversial? Didn’t Jesus speak truth when it was dangerous, when it cost Him everything?
I don’t want to be hateful. I never want my belief to come across as judgment. I want it to come across as love. I want people to know that I care not just about the unborn child but also about the mother — her heart, her healing, her eternity. If she’s gone through it, I want her to know there’s grace. If she’s considering it, I want her to know there are other ways. I want to be part of the solution — to love better, support more, help create a world where no woman feels like abortion is her only choice.
But all I have right now is this belief, this quiet conviction that I carry with me in rooms where I can’t say it out loud. It’s lonely. But I remind myself that Jesus walked a lonely road, too. And that being faithful doesn't always mean being popular. Sometimes it means standing still when the world rushes past you in the opposite direction.
So tonight, I choose to be honest with myself. I choose not to bury this part of me. I won’t scream it at the world, but I won’t pretend it’s not real either. God gave me this heart — soft, but strong. Quiet, but unshakable. And He sees me, even when no one else does.
If I lose people over this belief, so be it. If I stay silent to preserve peace, I’ll make sure it’s never out of fear, but out of wisdom. Either way, I know who I serve. I know who made me. And I know that in His eyes, every life — born or unborn — matters deeply.
Including mine.
A Prayer for Newborn Babies
Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the precious gift of new life. Each newborn child is a miracle — formed by Your hands, known by Your heart, and created with divine purpose. You said in Your Word, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5), and today we praise You for the beautiful lives You are bringing into the world.
Lord, we lift up every newborn baby into Your care. Wrap them in Your protection, cover them in Your peace, and surround them with love. Let their bodies grow strong, their minds be filled with peace, and their hearts always be open to Your presence. From their very first breath, may they be held in the warmth of Your grace.
We pray for wisdom and strength for every parent and caregiver. May they be filled with patience, tenderness, and courage as they nurture and guide these tiny lives. Help them to love selflessly, lead with humility, and rely on You daily. May their homes be full of laughter, learning, and the light of Christ.
Jesus, You welcomed children with open arms. Let these little ones grow to know You, trust You, and walk in Your truth. May they become strong in spirit, rich in kindness, and bold in faith. And even when the world feels uncertain, may they always find their identity and security in You.
We entrust every newborn baby to Your unfailing love — the same love that never changes, never ends, and never lets go.
In Jesus’ holy name we pray,
Amen.
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