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By the time Dominique arrived in April, I knew there could be no escape from the trial before me. This was the last time I would see him before our marriage. If he was willing to accept my terms of participating with me as I practiced my Christian faith, then how could I go into this marriage under circumstances that denied the very level of truth, honesty, and integrity which my faith demanded?

I turned to face him across the room in a moment we had found to be alone together. I steeled myself, my back suddenly becoming rigid, and forced myself to begin the conversation by reminding him of his dream of me calling out his name. I watched him intently as I outlined each detail of my choice, the decision I eventually made, and the horrible sequence of events fulfilling my decision to abort our first child. I remembered asking myself what price I would pay for my selfishness when I first found myself pregnant. Here before me was part of the price. "Will I ever finish paying?" I wondered. Consequences!

As I released the burden I had carried alone, I wanted him to come to me, take me in his arms, and comfort me. He did not. My heart broke again, faced with the ugly destructive power of sin. I watched the effect of my words drag Dominique so visibly and painfully through each step of the awful, hurtful truth I shared. His eyes darted furtively from object to object around me, as I spoke. Anger, grief, sorrow, fury, hurt, pain, disgust, and anguish swept alternately across his face and mounted in impact until he seemed unable to contain any more. He raised his arms to the empty air above him and shook clenched fists, blasting the ceiling with moans of anguish and anger like the Herculean man bellowing against the gods.

"HOW COULD YOU?" he finally screamed, whirling around to face me. "I DON'T SUPPOSE WE CAN CALL OUR FIRST CHILD 'KACHA' NOW, CAN WE? HE'S DEAD!"

I could not answer, but we both fell to the floor and wept. After a very long time of crying, Dominique came to me, took me in his arms, and held me; and we wept together. I was finally comforted by love, though imperfect because human, which remains despite the worst we can do.

We were married July 22, 1972. I carried no bridal bouquet, only a small white Bible. Some may have looked upon such break with tradition as super-spirituality. That would not surprise me. I have been accused of the same, many times since. I shared my reasons with no one. They sprang from the quiet and firm determination of my heart.

I had learned hard lessons about seeking to love another, and ignoring God all the while. I had also learned the foolishness of decisions made without returning first for counsel and direction from the Bible. God chose to cut through time and space, breaking the barriers between divine and mortal, and offer His wisdom for life and living inscribed in printed words.