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Wrecked – track marks at a baby shower

I’ll warn you now, this is not one of my crazy posts about my kids.

I’ve been following Jeff Goins the writer for just a bit now, and he’s writing this amazing book, “Wrecked” (check out this link: He asked us how we’ve been wrecked, and if we’d share our story. I thought I’d share mine here as well:

Track marks. I remember watching the new mom, holding twins and smiling amid a sea of presents. I saw scars on her arms, and as my mind processed what could have caused such scars, I realized they were track marks. “I’m looking at track marks at a baby shower,” I thought, with shock. I realized they were old, and my shock subsided a bit. I remembered where I was and why I was here. My friend had started a ministry at her church, to hold baby showers for women that were not having one. Simple premise: if you are pregnant and not having a shower, we’ll throw one for you. This was her second shower. I had not known about the first, but she had talked about it at work, and here I was. What better way to show the love of Jesus than to hold showers for women who weren’t going to have one? It’s a couple of hours on a Saturday, maybe three if I help set up or clean up, and twenty bucks for a present. Easy.

I didn’t expect track marks.

When my friend was recovering from a critical illness, I ran the program for several months and held four showers. By this time, we had partnered with a crisis pregnancy center and a crisis hotline. When the director of the center called, she had a special case for us. Did I think I could help out?

I didn’t expect a rape victim.

Nine years after that first shower, we have hosted dozens more. Some showers are simply for people that didn’t have a place to hold one: they bring their own guests, cake, food, and presents. We just have the space needed. Others are for women who have no one. Sometimes they can’t even get a ride, so we pick them up and take them home. I’d like to say these stories all have happy endings but they don’t. We have a few women who have become great mentors to other mothers, who show up at these showers, like the ones given for them, with presents and snacks, and really connect with these new moms. Some just drift away, and we don’t know what happens. Some end up in the arrest blotter of the paper. Sometimes, these babies die.

Ripped apart. Broken. Wrecked. That’s how I still feel sometimes, after one of these showers or an update on one of the moms. “How can this happen? How can YOU let this happen?” I scream at a God who feels my pain but doesn’t give me the answers I want. I am reminded that I cannot save the world. God can but we must choose to be saved. For those who choose that road, there is still pain until we get there. My anger turns to a deep sorrow and then to some form of acceptance. I can’t say it’s a happy emotion, but this is something I have to do. I turn my thoughts to the next shower.

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