The river is peaceful tonight.
There are no fisherman, boats, or campers. Just me, the stars and the blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I look up to gaze at the stars – so many beautiful stars – and I have but one question.
"God, are you listening?”
The conversation continues.
“I’ve been told my whole life that you’re real. I’ve gone to church a few times and spent time with friends who believed you have power. So here’s what I want you to do. Show me your face.
“How am I supposed to care for this baby when I don’t even know how to deal with my own pain and shame? My hurt is so deep that I don’t care if I live anymore, but what does that mean for this little life inside of me?”
The bugs are my only reply.
Tears begin to stream down my face, and I feel something calling me. Slowly, I slide to my knees, broken and ashamed, lost and afraid, desolate and alone. And finally … I give in.
"God, I’m sorry for all the wrong I’ve done. I’m sorry for the people I’ve hurt, and for putting so many things in this life ahead of knowing who you are. I’m afraid to live this life alone, but I’m terrified of what will happen to this baby if I choose to let go. Jesus, I don’t know what to do next, or where I need to go, but I cannot do this on my own. Please forgive me. I need you. I know I’m broken, pregnant and alone, but I’m begging you to show me how to walk with you.
If you will still have me, I am yours."
Later that night, as I crawled into the backseat of my car, I knew I wasn’t alone. I felt something brand new. It was hope.