The broadcast that day by Focus on the Family was called “Tilly.” The skillful blend of voices and music and sound effects captivated me, and I was quickly lost in the story. I identified with the character named Kathy, a depressed woman who has a dream populated with lots of children. She discovers something different about these children: they have no names and no parents, and they don’t know where they came from. The ethereal background music clued the listener that these children were actually in heaven. I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I tried to keep my emotions in check.

Children in heaven with no names and no parents. A woman who is depressed and doesn’t know what is wrong. Dear God, I know what’s wrong with her; I’ve been in her shoes.

I knew instantly that God was dealing with me about my abortions. I had not just stumbled across a Christian program for Bobbi’s or Nikki’s or Jason’s sake. It may have been my hand that turned the knob, but it was God who tuned my car radio to the station I needed to hear.

I glanced in the rearview mirror at the kids in the backseat. Five-year-old Nikki was like my own daughter. I had been in the delivery room when she was born, and I had helped Bobbi raise her.  Jason, who was nine, was like my own nephew. His mother, Bobbi’s sister Kathy, was also a lifelong friend. Our relationship was so close that Nikki and Jason called me Auntie Lori.

I loved these two children dearly, but they weren’t my flesh and blood. I had destroyed my own flesh and blood, and now I would never have any children to call me Mommy.

Five children. I was supposed to have five children. The thought hammered into my heart relentlessly as I listened to the radio drama. They were children—my children—and I killed them! Oh, I hadn’t done it by myself. Others helped me and encouraged me. Someone else actually did the killing, and it was all legal. But the bottom line was the same: my children were gone. And I was responsible. It was my choice to take their lives.

What tormenting thoughts. How could I stand them?

A glimmer of hope flickered across my mind. They’re in heaven. Like Tilly.

Someone else had recently told me that, I remembered. One evening at a singles meeting at church, Craig Smith had shared his experience of being on drugs before he committed his life to Christ. Now he was a successful businessman with a beautiful wife and two daughters. If he can come out of that lifestyle, so can I, I thought. Yet I was a brand-new Christian, and I had just begun to struggle with the issues of my past, and I hadn’t faced up to my abortions at all. As Craig spoke that night, it suddenly seemed to be too much for me to handle.

Not wanting anyone to see me cry, I had slipped outside. Melissa, Craig’s wife, followed me. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked me.

“I don’t know if I can.” I had never told any of my new Christian friends about the abortions. Yet in spite of my hesitation at sharing something so personal and so shameful, all at once I started spilling it out to Melissa. I told her I had had five abortions. And she didn’t judge me or condemn me. Instead, she accepted me and comforted me.

“Lori, your babies are in heaven,” she said softly