This is the second part to My Story.  It has come at a price.  My writing is bathed in prayer and in tears.  The process has been challenging, yet also rewarding.  There are still more parts, and in time I will write them.  I hope that in this part, you will see the Goodness of God.


I am a sophomore in high school.  I walk down the concrete halls of school everyday, sit in desks that were made too narrow for a pregnant girl, and I spend hours of my time diligently studying information I only need to remember for a test.  However, I am not mindful of how my life is to be altered.  I am about to exchange my youth for motherhood.

I catch the school bus to get me there.  So, I wake at 6:00 am.  I dress in clothes that are several sizes larger than I would normally wear.  I am over six months now.  I have been able to hide it considerably well from most of the kids at school.  Some know. However, no one directly says anything to me about it.  Maybe, they are scared to. Maybe, they feel sorry for me. Maybe, they are glad it is not them.

The aisle between the desks is tight.  I squeeze through and quietly wedge myself into my desk.  I requested permission to eat during class time.  I snack on cut cantaloupe I prepared from home. Studiously, I listen to the geometry lesson.

I get through the long, tiresome day.  The school bus drops me off, a few minutes late.  I have to sprint home now.  I have a city bus to catch and just minutes to get to the bus stop.  It is almost mile from home.  I dash to my room and change into my Baskin Robbins uniform. I race out the door.  I run, holding my belly in my hands.  I wonder if all the bouncing is all right.  I do not rest.  I cannot.  I have seconds to get catch my only ride to work. I am working to make a few extra dollars I can save for when she comes.

I prepare ice cream sundaes. I know the recipes well.  I enjoy a few myself, when it gets slow.  I stay until after closing time. I clean.  I drop the steamy mop to the dark tile floor.  My thoughts are not deep. I simply resolve to work diligently to surpass any expectation others may have of me.  I carry the heavy weight of judgement, of what others must think.  My worth is swallowed by my shame and I endeavor to find it in my works. Because…

I do not yet know, Father God, for Whom I exist.

I do not yet know, Jesus, by Whom I exist.

I do not yet know the hairs of my head are numbered

by the One Who created me.

I do not yet know, in His love He chose me, for Himself, as His own,

before the foundation of the world.

I do not yet know He has plans to give me and the baby inside me,

a future and a hope.

I do not yet know the love of Christ, which He desires to lavish on me,

far surpasses mere knowledge.

I do not yet know He came to heal the brokenhearted and set free the captive.

I do not yet know, but soon will, and… I will sing the song of the redeemed.


My mom knows.  She has met Him and longs for me to, also.  Unconditional Love has labored all our lives to give us the very best she could.  This day is no different.  She is taking responsibility of all the affairs that are beyond this 15 year old, now 16 year old’s knowledge and experience.  Legal issues.  Doctor appointments.  Government aid.  Health Insurance.  

Unconditional Love bears the load, without hesitation or complaint.

She accepts me.  Accepts us.

It is 11:00 pm and Unconditional Lovemy mother, is waiting in the car to bring me home.  I have homework.

It is another day.

My mom offers me a pamphlet, a lifeline.  She said that when I am ready, read it, because it tells how to be saved.  I do not understand what that means.  I put it away and forget about it.

It is evening. I sit on my bed, textbooks and papers sprawled about me. There is a belly between the homework and I.  A little baby girl growing inside of me.  What is going to become of this life? …


I wonder…


A curious thought runs through my mind and then I remember the pamphlet. I read.  It tells about the Way.  It tells me I need a Savior and that God sent One for me, for the world. His Son, Who’s name is Jesus. God, Who seemed like a distant imaginary character until this moment, suddenly becomes to me a God Who loves me so much, I am told, I am worth dying for and for proof of His love, He did.  He did not stay dead. No!  He raised from the dead.  He is alive.

It tells me that my way to heaven cannot be earned. “I want to go to heaven.”  I read the prayer on the back.  It says I need to pray it out loud and believe what I am saying.  In the quiet of my own bedroom, I utter the most profound, precious, remarkable, consequential, and significant words anyone could ever say.  I give voice to them and I believe… Salvation Prayer.

It was enough for Him to draw near. Enough for Him to start breaking the chains off of me.  I do not feel anything changed, not yet.  I am still one who is too young to be a mother, but soon will be.  I am the same, but somehow different.  I have no idea of the beauty bestowed on me for the ashes I have offered.  I have no idea of my destiny, now rewritten.

I continue my homework. The morning will come quickly.

Continue Reading: My Story Part 3

Read: My Story Part 1