Just touch one, Lord. . . .  My repeated prayer ever since I first told my story almost twenty years ago has been the same -- for the Lord to somehow use my saga of shame and regret to help someone else.  He's always answered.  The first time I shared my testimony publicly, a woman came up to me afterwards and said, "Thank you for sharing.  My mother forced me to have an abortion when I was sixteen.  I have always felt it was wrong.  You're the first person to validate what I've always known."  But, my favorite answer to that simple prayer lies in the story I'm about to tell.

First, let me tell you my own journey.  I grew up in a Christian home.  As a teenager, I remember my father telling me, "Abortion is wrong.  I'm pro-life except in cases of rape or to save the life of the mother.  As with most of my father's opinions, I took his and made it my own.

A short time later, my biology teacher told the class to write a birth plan for an unplanned pregnancy, and I refused:  "If I never get pregnant, there won't be an unplanned pregnancy.  Abstinence works 100% of the time."  I never contemplated at age 15 that just a few years later, my "plan" would be tested -- and I'd learn the hard way that this "plan" fell way short of preparing me for reality. . . .

I met him on an airplane while traveling home for Christmas.  He offered to get down my overhead luggage for me, and then refused to give me my suitcase.  As I followed him off the plane, still asking for my suitcase, he said, "I'd like to carry it a while longer, if that's okay.  Would you like to get something to drink?"  Surprisingly, I decided I liked him, and agreed to give him my phone number. 

When he called a couple of weeks later, I invited him to church instead of going for a drink.  He counter-invited me to attend his church.  Thrilled he was also a "Christian," I readily agreed.  When I told him, "I'm waiting for marriage for intimacy, so if sex is what you're after, we should end this now," he assured me, "You're preaching to the choir."  He lied.

I'm convinced now that he was in the later stages of a significant pornography addiction.  I can't rationally explain his behavior any other way.  You see, a pornography addiction left unchecked, will always lead to acting out what you read about, and look at.  Over time, your conscience is seared, and just like a cocaine addict, you'll do anything to get your "fix."  For him, I would be his fix -- whether I agreed or not.

When his initial attempts to lure me into bed were futile, he turned to the date rape drug.  

One night I had a horrible dream.  In my dream, I was back on my old college campus -- only now, I was in the later stages of pregnancy.  Late at night, I went from dorm to dorm, looking for a place to sleep.  Desperately tired, everyone turned me away.  Finally, my former boyfriend let me in, but told me I'd have to use the top bunk.  With difficulty, I climbed up, and subsequently fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, I woke up and told my "boyfriend" about my dream.  His eyes were as big as saucers.  At that point, I still didn't know.  But then I went to the bathroom and something unusual fell out of my body.  Plus I had a growing awareness of soreness, and I knew something was wrong.  I ran out, and yelled, "I need to go to the emergency room!"  He convinced me nothing had happened, but two weeks later, I learned the truth. 

Denial has a sedative effect.  People who have never been there like to say, "I'd never allow myself to be abused like that!"  When you have the starring role in your own horrible TV reality show, it just doesn't seem possible.  In fact, your mind helps you to believe it's not really happening in order to preserve your sanity.  I couldn't believe my boyfriend -- the man my heart had set on marrying -- would rape me.  So, I believed him instead . . . , until two weeks later when two positive pregnancy tests forced me into a reality I wasn't prepared to face.

In the days and weeks after realizing I'd been raped, I walked around in a daze.  My dayplanner for work usually had very little "white space" due to all of my notes.  The near-blank pages after the rape reflected my distracted and zombie-like mental state.  I merely went through the motions of life.  

At the same time, the world's standards demanded I make a life or death decision for another human being.  I just couldn't.  So, I leaned on those I trusted most -- my family, my best friend, and my church.

I tell people now that if you have the honor of being asked for your opinion in the case of an unplanned pregnancy, be prepared to give a real answer.  Telling someone in crisis, "Whatever you want to do, I'll support you" is of no real help at all.  She's asking for definitive advice.  She needs to hear, "I know this feels horrible and you can't see how you're going to get through this, but you will.  I'll walk with you every step. You are going to make it.  You're strong.  You can do this.  I know nine months seems like forever, but it's really not.  Don't make a decision today that you will regret for the rest of your life.  Choose life.  It's the best choice for both of you."

Unfortunately, the only specific advice came from my pastor.  She told me, "Let me put your heart at ease.  In the eyes of the church, any decision, prayerfully considered, is okay.  In your case, I think you should have an abortion.  You need to be able to move past this.  You should have an abortion."  

She went on to tell me about her two daughters who had also faced unplanned pregnancies.  One had chosen adoption, the other abortion, and both were equally good decisions, she said.  She dismissively added, "There's a couple in the church who want to adopt, but, no, you shouldn't talk to them.  You need to have an abortion."

I remember my heart telling me, "Isn't there something in Psalms about this?"  My heart began to break as the door slowly closed inside.  I felt I didn't have a choice.  I was convinced that nobody would adopt my baby with my having a 50% chance of carrying the gene for neurofibromatosis (a horrible disease my Dad battled most of his adult life.)  I began to steel myself for the abortion.  I felt like a lamb being led to her death inside.  I didn't believe I had a choice.

After the abortion, I learned there is something worse than being raped.  The abortion felt like being raped again -- only worse, because this time, I had consented to the assault.  In both cases, men assaulted me physically.  The second trauma -- the abortion, shut me down emotionally, putting me over the edge.  

It took four years to begin the slow path out of denial and into healing in Christ.  If it hadn't been for the wonderful husband God sent me, I don't know how I would be here today.  He told me from the beginning, "I love you, but what you did was wrong."  That chink in my denial helped me years later, after the birth of our first son, John, to finally see the truth.  It shattered my heart.  But, it needed to break . . . so God could put it back together again.

A "Divine appointment" took place a few years ago when I spoke at my church.  Plans for me to speak had been rescheduled several times over many months until the Sunday in November when I finally shared a ministry update with our church.  I now work with the Center for Bio-Ethical Reform, sharing abortion victim images primarily on college campuses across Virginia and the Southeast.  That day, I prefaced my talk by saying my words weren't meant to condemn anyone, and not to believe the Enemy if they felt that way.  

As a post-abortive woman myself, I understood that misplaced guilt all too well.  I explained the reasoning behind our work, citing the work of successful historical social reformers like William Wilberforce, Lewis Hine, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr..  And, I showed pictures of first trimester abortions -- little babies, with limbs and appendages torn from their tiny bodies.  It's devastating to see for the first time.  And, I had no idea there was a pregnant rape victim in the audience that day. . . .

Morgan told me two months later that she'd been there.  Sitting in the audience, it had been a rare Sunday for her to be in church at all.  She told me, "You were there for me."  

The night she'd been raped, she had snuck out of her home to hang out with friends.  Gang-raped on the way home, she hid her ruined clothes, and told nobody, except a few close friends what had happened.  When she discovered she was pregnant, her high school friends arranged for her to have an abortion the following Saturday.  She had told her parents she had a sporting event in Washington D.C. so they wouldn't be suspicious when she left for the abortion.

But, then, in church, she heard my testimony and saw the pictures -- and she knew she couldn't do it.  

Morgan gained the courage to tell her parents what had happened -- despite feeling ashamed she had snuck out of the house and that she'd planned an abortion.  They rallied around her, and supported her in choosing adoption for her baby instead.  During her pregnancy, I was able to connect her to Save The 1 and she joined their private Facebook for birthmothers from rape, so she wouldn't have to be alone in this.  A family at the church put her in contact with the perfect family for her baby.  Months later she gave birth, and named him "Justice."

The pain from losing my son Matthew is the single greatest regret of my life.  It crushed me.  Abortion forces a mother to turn against her own flesh and blood.  It's self-destructive like no other trauma -- the scars run deep.  Rape is traumatic too, no doubt.  But, compounding the trauma of rape with the second trauma of abortion is contraindicated.  Abortion hurts rape victims; it never helps them.  The best choice for the mother who has conceived in rape is to continue the pregnancy, surrounded by supportive family and friends, or through the support of a pregnancy resource center.

I lived with a family member and my mother as a young teenager. This family member began dating a man much younger than her, who would ultimately turn my world upside down for the worst, yet at the same time, I ended up with the biggest blessing of my life.  This 33-year-old man moved in with us shortly after they began dating.  At first, he was kind of like a cool uncle.  But now I realize that, from the time this man moved in, he had begun grooming me. 

He would advocate on my behalf to convince the adults in the house to allow me to do things with friends, so I felt like he was in my corner.  On one occasion, he told the family he was taking me to see a pastor for counseling, but instead, he surprised me by taking me to dinner and to the movies.  He also began to sneak alcohol to me and my friends. I needed new underwear, and he took me to buy some, which included thongs. 

After this happened, I asked a friend if that was normal, and she said no not at all, but this type of distorted and perverted relationship was all I knew.  I had no idea of the manipulation that was going on. He encouraged me to skip school and hang out with him at home after everyone left for work. And, he did the same in a way, by pretending he worked night shifts, but he would leave for work and sneak back in the house and hang out with me watching movies.

Eventually, he began initiating physical contact.  At first, I didn’t know what to make of it.  I thought that just maybe, some people have this way of showing care for someone with a quick peck on the lips.  I looked up to him, and I wanted to make him happy, even though I told him to stop and I knew it was wrong.  But he was a lot bigger than me and I felt helpless.  I tried pushing him off each time, but I knew physically I couldn’t stop him. 

I felt terrible.  I just felt terrible.  He kept saying it was all okay.  I had already been sexually assaulted previously, and I had a sense of what was supposed to be normal, but these experiences distorted my concepts of safe relationships.

For a year between the ages of 14 and 15, I was sexually and physically abused by this man.  He told me that if I ever got pregnant, I would have to have an abortion.  My whole life, I’ve always been 100% pro-life.  I’ve always just had a strong conviction that abortion is wrong, no matter what.  So, when he said this to me, I didn’t argue, but I knew it would never happen if I were to get pregnant.  He told me he had a vasectomy anyway, so I really didn’t think it could happen. Of course, now, I see the inconsistency in what he was saying, but at the time I was 14 and had no frame of reference for sorting through all of this.

When I was 15, I found out I was pregnant.  It was kind of odd, because he just said to me one day, “You need to take a pregnancy test.”  He was with me when I took it. When I saw the positive, I just began to sob.  He hugged me and said, “It’s going to be okay,” but I knew it was not. 

I knew I was going to have to tell my mom.  I sat down on her bed, and I told her I was pregnant and, of course, she wanted to know by who?  I told her it was some random 20-year-old guy.  She was furious and right away told me we were going to go to the police and said “He’s going to pay for this.”  It broke my heart knowing that if she had known the truth then, she would have been even more heartbroken.

We made an appointment with my pediatrician, about five days later.  My rapist drove me and my mom.  I wanted to get pre-natal vitamins and see how my baby was doing, to make sure I had a healthy pregnancy.  I was about eight weeks pregnant and everything looked normal.

When we got in the car after the appointment, he pressured me greatly. He said that I "was not going to have this baby.”  I was hard-headed and stubborn as always, and said "Yes, I am," but inside, I was terrified.  I didn’t want him to do anything to hurt my baby. 

Although he was still pressuring me to abort, oddly enough, he was otherwise very nice to me, and very accommodating.  However, the morning after the doctor’s appointment, the police came to our house, banging on the door.  He hid in the attic, and the entrance was in my room where I was sleeping.  I awoke to guns in my face and the police asking me where he was.  They eventually dragged him out of the house, putting him in handcuffs.  It turns out, he was wanted for felony charges of assault and kidnapping of a girlfriend he had a few years ago.

Once he was gone, I felt relief knowing I wouldn’t be subjected to assault and abuse, and I knew I would have some time to think. That momentary relief was ripped away when I overheard a conversation between family members discussing all his violent history, and I was afraid he would come for me and my baby when he was released from prison.

About a week later, he wrote to us saying he was getting out in about 10 days.  He wrote to me, “Don’t believe things you hear about me.  Remember what we talked about and what you need to do.”  That’s when I spoke with a family friend, and we decided to tell my mom, together, that he is the one who is the father of my baby. That was one of the most painful conversations I have had, but it needed to be done for mine and my baby’s protection.  My mom was heartbroken and sobbed and sobbed.

We went to the police and filed a report.  He was released from prison on the prior conviction of assault when my son was six months old.  It wasn’t until my son was eight months old that they finally did a DNA test, which took four months to come back.  In the meantime, he was harassing me, driving by my house, etc..

He ultimately got a plea deal and was convicted of criminal sexual assault with a minor and sentenced to three years for raping me, but got timed-served for the prior assault.  Thank goodness, he’s on the sex offender registry in South Carolina.

Although this was a lot to endure, getting pregnant is what really got me right with God.  Don’t get me wrong -- I was devastated, because I anticipated that this would be a long, heart-breaking road raising this child.  

With the pressure to abort from not just family, but friends as well, I remember sitting outside on the back patio, and for the first time in my life, I heard God truly speak to me.  He told me that I was to raise this child, and not to worry, because He would take care of everything. 

From that moment on, I had a steely determination when it came to my pregnancy and my baby.  I told anyone who doubted, that I could do all things through Christ who gives me strength.  I didn’t even know exactly what that meant at the time, but I knew in my spirit it was true.  

As He always does, God provided.  I had everything I needed for my son, mainly through donations through church and from friends around me.  I was so blessed to have an abundance of support and love for me and this child. 

I’m not going to lie -- I was a fantastic mother to my son, even at 16!  I wasn’t what people think of as the stereotypical teen mom who supposedly leaves her child with grandma to do whatever, and the grandparents raise the child.  I took care of him, I breastfeed him for 2-1/2 years, I read him books, played with him, sang him nursery rhymes.  I loved being a mom!  I had the support of my amazing mother who I lived with, which greatly helped.  I also had the support of my church and extended family.  I took care of my son full time.  I taught him sign language, read and sang to him every day, and loved him unconditionally. 

Now, six years later, I am married to the most wonderful man in the world, who loves my son as if he were his own blood and we are in the process of my husband adopting him.  My son is a truly wonderful, outgoing, sweet, beautiful child.  I see him growing into an amazing man of God who will move mountains.

My beautiful son is why, when I hear about “pro-life” beliefs, “except in the cases of rape,” I do more than cringe:  my heart aches!

“Except of course in the case of”... my son -- my firstborn child, who is a wonderful and amazing person.  They say except in the cases like him, in cases like my son, the baby should never even have had a chance to live.

Regardless of your preconceived notions, please understand every single life has meaning.  Through no circumstance should a child ever not get a chance to live and thrive in this world.  Every child has a right to life. 

According to statistics, less than 1% of abortions performed in the U.S. are the result of rape.  Those 1% matter.  My baby boy, the 1% matters!  It’s insulting and very hurtful to me.  It’s like a stab.  How can you think it was just a   decision and that my child shouldn’t even be here if my rapist had succeeded in pressuring me?  The law should protect my son and children like him. 

We must stop looking at the circumstance, and start looking at the life.  Regardless of conception, developmental impairments, or the circumstances the mother is in, every single child deserves their right to life. 

I truly believe my son will make a difference in the world, and he has most certainly left a positive impact on our family and all our friends.  He is a light and a beautiful soul. 

I am a mother of three, but I only have two on this earth.  After long awaiting, planning and excitement, I unexpectedly lost my sweet daughter, Savannah, at 40 weeks gestation.  After a perfectly healthy pregnancy, she was stillborn with the cord wrapped around her neck several times. It showed me again how precious life is and how fleeting.  You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. 

A few weeks later, we unexpectedly welcomed our foster daughter who was almost two years old, and her life is precious too. 

There are so many who desperately want to be parents, to be a mommy or a daddy.  There are so many people longing for a baby in their life, myself included.  We cannot disregard life, just based on how the life began. 

Despite how a life begins, that child’s life can truly turn into something beautiful.  My son is a testimony of that.  Even in the bleakest moments, there is always hope.  We need to change our mindset of fear to a mindset of hope -- that every baby deserves a chance, even in cases of rape.  Every child is a true blessing from God, and deserves to have a chance for a beautiful life.  It is up to us to save the 1%.

BIO:  Rose Duncan is a wife, a stay-at-home mom and student, and resides in South Carolina where she hopes to make a difference to end the rape exception in her home state.  She’s now a pro-life blogger for Save The 1.

This is something that has annoyed and angered me:  "I'm pro-life except in cases of rape." I can't stand it.  And the same old cliched, "It's still a baby" response either. To get to my point, I'm going to go a little off point.

I like Doctor Who. I watch it completely out of order and rewatch different episodes willy-nilly. One of those is "The Long Game" and in it the "Editor" has effectively kept the entire human population as unwitting slaves, and he says how easy it was by saying "It's just a matter of emphasis. The right word in the right broadcast repeated often enough can destabilize an economy, invent an enemy, change a vote."  And this is what the term "rapist's baby" is.

We all know the many factors of abortion, and those for and against, and this isn't the debate I'm bringing today.  My focus is on the victims of rape.  Now, the argument often said is, "they should be able to choose whether they want to carry a rapist's baby."  Do you hear it though?  The contempt?  The swaying of the mind?  Despite what the words are supposed to mean, the entrant, because of that phrase -- "rapist's baby" -- changes the entire meaning. 

Rape is a horrible act against a person, and when a woman becomes pregnant, a lot of assumptions enter the picture -- a lot of cruel and hurtful assumptions.  First, let's get a full view of what is said about pregnant victims of rape: "A woman shouldn't be forced to carry a child she doesn't want.  She didn't ask to be raped.  She shouldn't be victimized by having to carry a rapist's baby, or having to raise a constant reminder of her rape.  We need to think about the woman, and her mental state.  It would be too difficult for her to raise that child on her own, and have to go through nine months and labor to bring something into the world she can't take care of, that would cause her so much pain is horrible."

This is something I hear all the time, and it sounds plausible.  A lot of people agree and it could be easy to think, "Who wouldn't?"  Why cause a woman immeasurable pain?  Well, let's look at the truth. The entire basis is on that idea that the child is the unholy seed of a rapist.  But we are forgetting something: that child has two genetic parents.  And the raped woman is now a mother.  We are talking about the child of a rape victim, but making it sound okay to kill him or her because he or she is also the child of a rapist -- because of DNA.

At the same time, we are devaluing the rape victim -- that she can't be a mother.  We have made it clear that she is now damaged from the rape, she is mentally unstable and unable to take care of herself or a child -- that she just can't.  And that is a lie straight from Hell.

It isn't a matter of choice, it's a matter of perception.  You are telling a woman that, because someone raped her, she can't be a mother.  Because someone raped her, she can't seek counseling -- she now has to bottle it down and pretend it didn't happen.  Because someone raped her, she has to forget it, or else she can't go on. This isn't healthy at all. 

As a victim of rape, I am telling you the pregnant rape victim needs to be encouraged, she needs to seek help for her depression and anxiety and possible PTSD. Instead of ignoring what happened, she needs to be welcome to accept it, to report it, to understand that she is not defined by it, and that she can live her life without fear.

I say this for one simple reason:  I was raped. I lived a horrible life of abuse and trauma, far too much to explain it all here.  I was a broken little girl, with no way to take care of myself and no desire to do so. I was molested for the first time at the age of 6 and it continued for years by my father, my brother, one of my father's friends, a boyfriend in middle school, and strangers. Additionally, I was in a violent relationship which ended with me needing surgery to put my eye back in the socket, with a new eye socket having to be grafted onto my skull because mine was too shattered to be repaired. 

To make a long story short, after all the many times I had been raped, after all the years of abuse, I sat on a hospital bed and was told I was pregnant. I didn't have a real job, I didn't have a car, I didn't even have a driver's license yet.  I was anorexic, going days without eating or just eating one meal.  I was a recovering cutter, and had suicidal thoughts. I didn't have my own home, or anything. I had tried to apply for college, but I couldn't qualify for financial aid because I was a minor, and they would have to go based on my father's income, despite the fact I didn't live with him, and he didn't support me at all. I couldn't take care of myself, I didn't WANT to take care of myself, I just wanted my pain to stop, and wanted to die but was too much of a coward to kill myself. And now I was pregnant. 

This is when I began hearing two very different stories about myself and my unborn child. The loudest being that I was broken, I was worthless, I couldn't raise this child, it would destroy me.  And that it was my choice, and it would be best for me to kill my baby. 

The other narrative I heard was that I was valuable, that I didn't deserve what happened to me, that I can do what I set my eyes on, and if that included being a mother then, yes, I CAN.  I heard these words from my preacher, from my doctor, from my therapist, and from my few friends and family. While the world screamed that I was a wreck and this baby was going to be a burden, those I trusted most said I can, and that this baby was a blessing.

I saw my child as just that:  MY child. I got into college, for MY child. I began eating right and had a nutritionist help me overcome my anorexia, for MY child. I reported and followed with the District Attorney in the charges filed against the rapist, for MY child. I was in therapy, parenting classes, and worked hard to be a better person, for MY child. I didn't decide to save my son's life from abortion -- my son saved MY life. Because when I was told I was pregnant back in that hospital room, I was told I was carrying MY child.

Words are so powerful, and my son is not a rapist's baby, he is MY baby, the child of a rape victim, and my little hero.  My son showed me what unconditional love is, what family is supposed to be like, and what it feels like to have someone say "I love you" and truly mean it with no strings attached, and even more what it feels like to be the one to say "I love you" and know I would walk on broken glass for him -- for MY son.

I am posting this and encouraging everyone who reads it to stop giving the enemy fuel, stop calling these precious children what they aren't and call them what they are: joint victims of crime, not cases of rape.  Call them the children of rape victims, not the children of rapists. Tell a rape victim she can, she has immeasurable worth, and she can overcome anything. The pain, the guilt, the sleepless nights, may never go away entirely but they will be lessened. Just like me, these women will get through this, they will get better, they can take care of themselves and be a mother. Tell a woman she can raise her own child!