Pastor finds Jesus Christ up his mom’s vagina

Here’s one way you can fight abortion. You can go back to the womb, back to the time before you were born, or right after you were born but months before you ended up in the hospital, and you can watch Jesus bitch-slap your mother. Then you can recount a harrowing tale of survival and high-five everyone because you just won the all time yuck episode of Fear Factor.

Delivered from Abortion: Healing a Forgotten Memory
July 31, 2012 By Gordon Dalbey

Late in the fall of 1943, as Nazi submarines terrorized Allied shipping, a young Navy officer and his wife faced a terrible dilemma when he deployed to an aircraft carrier in the North Atlantic.

What a dilemma. Should we abort our baby? Or should we let the Nazis do it? The Ubermenschen aren’t going to be too happy about clothing and feeding a roach-eyed whackadoodle.

The doctor, however, had a solution to her problem. Handing her a small, dark red vial and scheduling her for an appointment the following week, he explained that he could “fix everything” quickly and easily after she took the pills.

Days later, before the appointment, the young woman shook the pills out of the vial into her hand and closed her fist. Shaking from both cold and anxiety, she poured a glass of water with her other hand. Uneasily, she hesitated and looked out a frost-covered kitchen window. “What if this is the son my husband wants?” she thought. Turning to her fist, she paused, then opened it and lifted the glass of water.

Remarkable details from the scene supplied by Gordon, considering the vantage point. Maybe his womb was brilliantly lit and appointed with high glass and mirrors? Whether it’s hosting an impromptu Summer gabfest or a ratrace detente with the executive class, Crotch Heights is your glittering destination.

I remembered my recurrent nightmare of swimming frantically underwater and, strangely, breathing while submerged—an amniotic, prenatal “memory”? Once, I told a psychiatrist how I felt “trapped” and panicky in close relationships with women. Fears of death had dogged me, and a pervasive, empty sense of not belonging anywhere.

The buffeting waves. The bad dreams. All of the chaos and noise whenever the janitor dropped by, just to say “Hey there Carol, you look nice today.” Now everything makes sense.

I cried out suddenly, desperately. “Save me, Jesus!” As I lay trapped and trembling, in my mind’s eye I saw a figure come into the kitchen and stand by my mother. With a single gesture, he reached and swept the pills out of her hand and into the trash can.

Amazed, I watched as he then turned to me. “You don’t owe your life to your mother,” he declared. “It was I who stayed her hand. You belong to me.”

I tried to say something. But with a firm gaze and a silent wave, he told me…”No.” That’s when our eyes met, and I just couldn’t tear myself away. BOW-CHIGGA-BWAAAOOOOOWWW.

A cool sensation of release swept over me. Sighing deeply, I lay quiet. Later, I remembered Jesus’ promise to his followers, “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:32NIV).

Indeed, this watershed experience freed me to face many unhealthy dynamics in my life—most notably, feeling overly responsible for my mother’s happiness and guilty for wanting a life of my own.

There’s a little something for the non-fiction fans in the audience.

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