by Pastor Dan Miller
Editor’s Note: This article was reprinted with permission from Dan Miller’s book Spiritual Reflections
She was a young, single college student: no money, no husband, no children. Yet her hands nearly quivered with delight as she held at arm’s length the several pieces of a white, crocheted set of clothes designed for an infant girl. Meticulously handcrafted, these delicate treasures proved simply irresistible. She quickly purchased the set—matching bonnet, booties, sweater and blanket—and had them wrapped for safe-keeping.
She had no immediate plans to bear a child, just an innocent dream that she would someday know the joy of dressing an infant daughter. With light heart and a twinkle of hope in her eye, she brought her purchase to her dorm room and placed it in her Hope Chest. It remained there for a very long time.
A Hope Chest stores treasures that symbolize one’s dreams. Tangible items are tucked away in such a chest with keen hope that the future will play out so as to permit their use. But sometimes a Hope Chest becomes a casket where dreams are buried.
by Colleen Tronson
Entering the abortion clinic’s waiting room for the first time, I found it filled with people sitting on colorful plastic chairs and filling out medical forms. As I crossed the room, not one person made eye contact with me.
When it was time for an abortion, a nurse appeared and called the first name of the next patient. As their names were called, women passed through the windowless double doors alone, leaving behind the friend or loved one who waited to drive them home after the abortion.
After many women were called, it was finally my turn. I went through those doors to a small room where I undressed and sat on the examination table. I was afraid of having the abortion but even more afraid of leaving without having the “procedure” done. I lay back on the table and allowed the abortionist to remove the baby from my womb.
The abortionist used a vacuum suction machine attached to a glass collection bottle located under the table. I cried as the nurse told me to relax, that the abortion would be over soon. My baby died that day. A part of me died, too. It went away through the suction tubing that removed the child from my womb.