This story is a dramatic  testimony to the value of life–even life that results from a rape.  It was featured in Amazing
Grace for Survivors


It had been more than
a year since Casey was stillborn, and it seemed Steve and I would never be able
to have the third child we wanted so badly.
 The nurse in the doctor’s waiting room was used to
seeing me there. She knew how hard we had tried since losing Casey. I guess
that’s why she just couldn’t resist giving me a sly grin while practically
singing her words, “The doctor will be right with you … and I think you’ll
like what she has to say.”
The poor
thing had no idea what I was really going through. The doctor came in to share
my dilemma. I was pregnant all right. And neither of us was smiling. We both
knew that I had been raped.

The Unthinkable
What should
have been glorious news instead brought devastation of heart, and memories of a
brutal attack by a total stranger. 
Sitting there, I relived the night it happened. My husband had gone to
church for a late-night meeting. I was so tired. The boys were tucked in, and I
had gone to bed before Steve left.
 Sometime later, the light came on in our room.
“Honey, turn off the light,” I muttered in a sleepy grog. The light
went out, but there was a sense that he was just standing there in the dark,
and that was annoying. I opened my eyes to see the shadowy figure of a man in
the doorway. It was not my Steve.
I bolted
up in bed but was promptly warned not to make a sound. Thinking of my two small
sons, I complied. But the next moments were excruciating in every sense. At
first I wailed, I begged; I offered to pray for the stranger who controlled my
body, my life. But with a knife at my throat and threats aimed at my children,
I silently endured a humiliating violation of my person. I was raped within the
darkened walls of my own home–in the bed I shared with my husband.
Aloud, I
asked God to forgive the man, and for a moment he stopped. I wondered whether
he was feeling conviction for his sin and was going to leave me alone, or kill
me. He did neither. He resumed his attack.
The
trauma of rape is great. The horrifying moment grasped and exposed every hidden
thing in my heart and life, from the present personal shame to deep-seated
inferiority, and even the growing marital discord between Steve and me. Rape
exacerbates these things, and chips away at anything that is out of order or
not built on solid ground.

The Morning After
To have
my doctor tell me that I had conceived was like hearing a judge sentence me to
carry a lifelong reminder of the rape. My trust in God was shaken.
 It’s
easy to chant pro-life songs when you’re standing in front of an abortion
clinic holding a cardboard sign. But the melody is different when you’re on the
other side of the poster, faced with the reality that your life is about to
change dramatically—forever.
I guess
that’s why I took the Ovral–a pill that prevents a fertilized egg from
implanting itself into the womb. It’s regularly given to rape victims, quite
literally to keep a potential life from taking hold.
My
doctor gave me the Ovral, emphasizing the impracticality of raising a child of
rape, and bringing up the “just a blob of cells” line more than once.
Realizing that a fertilized egg was a human embryo, I refused at first, citing
that it was potentially the same as abortion. But a surprising majority of
Christian friends and family members sided with the doctor. My pastor. My
mother. Steve.
We were
all repeatedly reminded that pregnancy was a long shot and that taking the
Ovral was just a precaution, just to ease my mind. The case for taking the
preventative was capped with reminders that the child would not look like
Steve. She would be half African American.
“People
will think you cheated!”
“You’ll
see that man’s face in that child every day!”
“Do
you want to tell the world you were raped? Because that’s what you’ll have to
do.”
I took
the Ovral before the 72-hour window had closed. Then I tried to forget about
it. Of course, that was impossible with the impending fear of AIDS and the
growing animosity between Steve and me.
The Baby Lives
And
then, to my dismay, we discovered that the Ovral hadn’t worked. I was
pregnant. It seemed my world had fallen apart, and the journey to a normal life
would take a much longer time than I thought. Perhaps I would never overcome
this.
Thank
God, I didn’t test HIV positive, but my doctor still advised a six-month
abstinence from intimacy with Steve, until we were certain that the virus was
not lurking in my body. The abstinence didn’t bother me since I had no interest
in intimacy but it added to an already strained marital relationship.
We
decided we should let the child be adopted, and spare ourselves all the added
strain of trying to love and raise a reminder of the vicious attack. We even
began making arrangements with a kind couple in our church who desperately
wanted a baby.
God
seemed so distant, so cold. Why had he allowed me to be raped in my own home as
my babies slept in the next room? And why had he allowed my third child to be
conceived in this way, instead of within the sanctity of marriage, as Steve and
I had planned?
But God
was there. Although sin had its run, God was there. We just had to be reminded
that He is not a God of easy fixes.
 Steve and I became desperate, and sometimes it’s that
human desperation that drives us to God. We know Him; we love Him; we say we
trust Him. But sometimes, we do not cleave to Him as the lover of our souls
until we find ourselves completely helpless.
As for
the fairness of being victimized, we have to realize that ever since sin began
there have been victims. Cain slew Abel (Gen. 4:1-8). Amnon raped Tamar (2 Sam.
13:1-22). But what should the victims and their families do with their pain? Do
they resort to their own devices, or do they give it to God and His will?


An Innocent Life

Gradually,
as the child in my body grew, both Steve and I began to change. It was a
spiritual work. We grew attached to the little life inside me and delighted in
its movements, just as we had marveled at the evidence of life when I carried
Chad and Simon. This child was alive! It was a miracle that the child had
escaped death.

It
became clear that the baby was God’s
child first, and it was as innocent as those conceived any other way. We grew
astonished and ashamed that we could have ever imagined not keeping the baby.
We continually repented of our lack of trust in God; of putting our hand to the
situation when it should have been left to God all along, and when we
discovered the child was a girl, it became even more special. I particularly
had wanted a daughter. The adoption was off.
When
Rachael was born, a light went on in our family. We learned the true meaning of
the Father’s love. He looks upon us with more than acceptance-He embraces us
wholeheartedly, because He has called us His children. “For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but
you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father'”

(Rom. 8:15). And in that spirit, Steve embraced Rachael as his own, and we have
since adopted a wonderful older son, Deshawn.
Today,
we celebrate nine wonderful years with Rachael, our only daughter. It seems
like a bad dream now that we ever considered living without this amazing little
girl. She is a constant reminder to us, not of rape but of the startling beauty
one can find hidden in tragedy.
Heather
Gemmen Wilson
Heather is a bestselling, award-winning author and
international speaker and blogger: http://www.thisheather.com/.  The above story was originally published in Christianity
Today.   She lives in Indiana with her
husband.  Together they have six
children.



Get a 10% discount when you buy a copy of Amazing Grace Survivors in which this story was taken, by putting in the discount code: Catholic10 when going to The Catholic Company

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3 Comments

  1. A powerful testimony! I remember reading it in Amazing Grace for Survivors…a valuable tool to keep life's trials in perspective. What an amazing reality…that God is faithful to his promise – Romans 8:28…"All things work together for good, for those that love and serve the Lord."

    A friend of mine adopted a baby boy, conceived in rape. His young mother told her, "I can't punish the child for his father's crime."

  2. Thanks for your comments and story. Pam Stenzel is a powerful pro life speaker–truly gifted. She was adopted and learned she too was conceived as at the result of a rape. When you see people that resulted from rape but were allowed to live, you realize how precious life is. I've also heart that it help women to heal and get over the pain by giving the baby life.

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