October 24

Wandering Heart

Wandering Heart is Kelly’s story about being lost and finding the gift of home…and stumbling upon God’s plan for The Pelican Project. We invite you to read the below excerpt called “On the Bathroom Floor.”

On the Bathroom Floor

I sat on the bathroom floor of my dorm room with my knees pulled to my chest, a positive pregnancy test in my hands. My nineteen-year-old mind raced with questions, but the loudest that begged an answer was, how did I get here? I attended Catholic high school, was taught by nuns, earned good grades, and a full scholarship from the Air Force to study aerospace engineering. I had checked all the right boxes—this wasn't supposed to happen.

In the weeks that followed, I went to three separate abortion appointments to end the life of my son. Each week I left still pregnant, shaken by the experience. Almost twenty years later, as I write these words, I am humbled with feelings of overwhelming unworthiness to see His steady hand guiding my heart even if I couldn't feel it at the time. At the first appointment, God used my pride to pull me from the abortion facility. At the second appointment, He stirred strangers to action; listening to His command, they said "yes," and He placed His disciples before me. At the third, to break through the last vestiges of stone in my heart, He displayed the actual words "choose life" before my eyes through the simple "yes" of a man willing to pay the extra money for a pro-life message on the back of his vehicle. Over time, the goodness of his life was chosen over the darkness of my despair. My son, Nicholas, was born on Oct 10, 2002.

I wish I could write that from this point forward, my heart was on fire for the Savior who rebuked the sea and the wind and slayed demons to protect me and the life within me, but it wasn't. I struggled. Shame and confusion still flooded me with their deceitful and accusing eyes.

I was broken. Broken pieces don't often make sense.

I had been a slave to the cultural expectations of young women. My wrists had been bound to the lie that my dignity was the equivalent of what I could offer those around me. Since high school, I had been seduced by the idea that shrugging off my clothes and giving myself away was somehow a "freedom" I needed to exercise. The reality was I just wanted to be seen, known, and loved. For a very high price, I had been bought by a culture that tried to strip my body and soul of value.

Deception perverted my femininity and pressed in on my wounds. Then it advocated for the very abortion that choked the air from my lungs, objectified my child, monetized my womb, and left me on the floor nauseous with guilt. Mockingly, accusation hissed in my ear, reminding me of my sin. God pulled me from the slavery of the abortion line, but I stood as Israel with a baby on my hip looking back towards my bondage, murmuring, you have delivered me from a storm and left me in the desert to suffer.