I almost wasn't. The afternoon my mother was rushed to the hospital was because her water broke, and there was a considerable amount of blood loss.
She was terrified as the hospital staff was preparing the delivery room. She was shaking from head to toe, not knowing what was wrong, but knowing something was terribly wrong. She kept looking at the crucifix over the door of the room where she was laying on a gurney. She told me she never felt the presence of GOD so powerfully as in those moments when she whispered a desperate prayer.
She was brought in to the delivery room and the doctors, after examining her and looking over her vitals understood that she could lose her life as well as her unborn child. She had three other children and a husband to care for. They decided for the sake of her life and her family to abort the child. That was me.
Meanwhile my father was at a funeral home, kneeling beside the casket of his deceased mother. Some men approached him and whispered to him, "You need to get to the hospital. They think you might lose Dorothy and your baby."
They had to physically lift my father to his feet, so despairing he was of his bleak future without mother, wife and son.
The senior physician on staff arrived late and hurried to the delivery room and asked for the status. When he was informed of the decision, he replied with,
"Absolutely not! We are going to deliver this child! He is going to live and so is his mother!" That doctor later became our family physician that saw to my care from birth to adulthood.
It was touch and go - I had an underdeveloped spine and lungs, mastoids that were abnormal, I swallowed a lot of blood and was deprived of oxygen for too long.
The doctors feared that I would be mentally retarded, unable to walk or talk normally and not without assistance. As soon as I was born, they cleaned me up and rushed me to an incubator where I struggled to breath for almost two months. I was told that the amount of blood left on the floor should have meant my mother's demise - but she lived and as of 2021, is still alive at the age of 94.
I had a partial cleft palate, a hare lip, the ear canal of my right ear and outer ear were practically coming out of the back of my head - and I had no inner ear, along with a malformed middle ear.
I had a few surgeries performed to make physiological corrections and some plastic surgery on my ear and lip. My father watched over me in the nursery ward over the following days, while his mother's funeral procession drove by the hospital on the way to burial.
I had to undergo some intensive physical therapy, and speech therapy in the first three years of schooling at Percy Hughes School for Children of Special Needs. Doctors were amazed that I didn't require a back brace.
Several years later I came down with what should have been a fatal case of pneumonia. It came down to the wire and with long faces, the doctors approached my parents and said helplessly, "You might want to go and spend what little time he has left. We don't know how much longer he has."
My mother watched me inside the oxygen tent as my diaphragm worked in rapid rhythm, trying to get as much oxygen as possible into my starving body. I was in and out of consciousness and during one lucid moment I called out to her.
"I'm here honey," she said.
"Where am I?" I asked weakly.
"You're in the hospital sweetie."
"Oh," I said quietly, my eyes trying to see through the white vapor in the air, thick with oxygen. "It's so white, I thought I was in heaven..."
She darted from the room so I couldn't hear her sobs.
Then something happened.
A nurse came in to check my vitals and in a flash she disappeared from the room and she returned with a host of medical technicians, swarming over me and injecting me with something, and readjusting dials on the equipment and turning me over onto my stomach and encouraging me to cough and expel the fluids my lungs were drowning in.
I survived what I shouldn't have. I made a mention in a medical journal as "an unaccountable recovery".
I was released, and sent home. A couple weeks later I remember my mother sitting at the kitchen table and pointing her finger at me, saying,
"Jimmy, GOD has you alive for a reason!" After escaping death miraculously, twice, it seemed that this was true.
Having just celebrated my 59th birthday, I am blessed to say, that I lived and was and am loved by family and friends - and I came to know Jesus Christ as my LORD, my Savior and my Best Friend Forever.
I am left wondering: how many of the nearly 70 million babies who have been legally murdered would have liked to say the same thing?
What would have been their names? What gifts and talents and personalities would they display? What joys would their parents know in experiencing this little life?
Of course, not every story would be a joyful one - some of these souls would know struggle, hardships, and terminal diseases.
But children are resilient and can handle just about anything that life can throw at them - so long as they are assured of their parents love.
These souls never knew such assurance.
My mother visited the parish priest and asked him, "Why would GOD allow this child to be born with such physical problems, so many harsh struggles?"
His reply: "It's the struggles we face in life that make us strong. Who's to say that this child may bring the family together in a special way, a bond of love otherwise unknown?"
I was born the second time, born of GOD's Spirit on June 20th, 1980 and as a result, my immediate family: both parents, a sister, two brothers and their spouses and many of their children, came to know Jesus as their LORD and Savior. GOD used this weak, fragile vessel as a means to touch lives with eternal blessings.
How many of those nearly 70 million babies did GOD intend to use in such a way, but never had the chance because they never saw the light of day?
I know up close and personal the life stories of women, whose days were filled with blackness, haunted by the dreadful decision they made to end their baby's life; scarred physically, emotionally, mentally. While they know the joy of children that they decided to keep, it's a joy tinged with angst and sorrow - seeing an absent space in their home where a child never had the chance to live, to grow and experience the wonders of this life.
The carnage in this country has surmounted to nightmarish proportions; the bodies of these infants, if lined up head to toe could cross this nation of ours four times over.
The blood of Abel cried out from the ground, being slain by Cain; and as that is the case, from all of America a horrible cacophony of cries from the lips of 70 million victims can be heard by those with ears to hear: the land is drenched in a sea of blood, with the guilt of murdered babies from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
No more murdered babies.
This must stop, it simply must. The kingdom of darkness that has glutted itself on the blood of the innocent cannot be allowed another single drop. Satanists have an invested interest in the shedding of innocent blood - and it's been offered up to demons (PSALM 106:37-39).
I call upon the saints of America to choose one day in seven, to pray and fast, and to seek GOD for the ending of abortion. We may not be able to stop the murder mills of Planned Parenthood, but GOD can certainly cause a swell of His Spirit to touch the hearts and minds of pregnant women, and lead them to either keep their baby, or adopt them out.
ADOPTION, not
ABORTION.
THROUGH The BLACK has NOW LAUNCHED the biggest campaign in all the years of its ministry, and I would ask that you read and share their website released as www.nomoredeadbabies.com and join in this righteous cause and stand against the murdering of infants that should have been fought back when Roe V. Wade was current (FIFTY YEARS AGO!)
For more on this, see the following:
JEREMIAH THOMAS' LETTER TO HIS GENERATION
MARCHING ORDERS AGAINST MOLECH
The EMERGENT PROTOCOLS of LUCIFERIANISM – a REAL DARK NEWS/TTUF article
No comments:
Post a Comment