Over the years Rob and I have had many women walk in and out of our lives.

Lately, though I have been thinking about the very first single mom who walked into our lives.

I can see us pulling up to the gas station on Briley Parkway waiting for her to walk up from the hill with her belongings in tow.

I can still see her sitting at the glass topped, wrought iron white kitchen table in our 2 bedroom apartment at the corner of Nolensville Rd and Ocala Drive, she was showing me her senior picture and rubbing her baby bump as we spoke.  We did not have much and had only been married a short time, but we did have an extra bed.

She shared a room with our little girl who was only a year herself.  We did what we could to help her as she had chosen life.  I took her to appointments and we waited patiently for that day to come where we would rush her to the hospital so she could deliver her baby.

That day finally came in the middle of the night.  Off to the hospital she and I went.  We were left to ourselves for the most part.  There was no birthing room for this mom. No friendly chatter from friends or family… just the beeps from the machines in a dark, windowless, tiny room that only fit a bed, a hard chair, like you would find at a conference and the needed machines. I found myself trying to get comfortable, as I was told this could take a while. Even though I was a mother, I would not know how long it was about to take, because my daughter decided she needed to (as the doctor said) come out the window.  I showed up at 6am and was prepped for surgery by 10am and by 10:21, my first born had made her appearance.

The time had come, the nurse walked in and said “Lets go have this baby”.  They put up the side rails, unlocked the wheels and off we went.  We were in the hallway about to enter an area of the hospital called the “Delivery Room”, when from behind us we heard a voice calling her name.

The nurse stops, and the bed comes to a stop in the middle of the hallway.  This person is starting to say things like, I am sorry I was not here for you, but now I am.

The nurse looks at her and then says, “you can only have one person, who will it be?”

I choose her.

They wheeled her through the double doors, along with her longtime friend by her side.  The doors closed and that was the last time we ever laid eyes on her again.

I don’t have a clue if the baby was a boy or a girl.  I don’t have a clue where she went when she left the hospital.

Over the years I think of her often, I even still have her senior picture on my desk.  The baby would be reaching the 30 year old mark.  I wonder if he or she went to school.  If he or she got married or even has kids themselves.

I believe that God allows me to go through things, to feel things, to even witness things in order to make me a better servant for Him.  But I have to say, for the first time in 30 years, as I was thinking back on our time with her, that I felt a strong sense of longing, like I think I would if I had given my child up for adoption.

I cannot explain this longing nor can I explain the why?  Except that God has recently brought to mind the need for more families and churches to get involved in the lives of women who choose life, to walk with them in relationship not just through the pregnancy, but also for as long as God asks you to so that she and the baby know that: You are my masterpiece created anew in Christ Jesus so you can do the good things God planned for you long ago. (Ephesians 2:10)