I couldn’t look her in the eye. “Yes, of course his mom will be there,” I said sarcastically. My mom questioned me like this all the time, and I deserved it. But I couldn’t let her know that. I was going to my boyfriend Kevin’s for dinner and a movie.

My Kevin. He played guitar in a band, he wrote poetry and he was incredibly sweet. He said he loved me, so I said I loved him too.

Mom drove me over to Kevin’s, just to make sure his mom was there. She was. But that didn’t really matter. I could make my own decisions. And I did …

What If?

Kevin drove me home that night. After he kissed me goodbye, I stepped inside and went upstairs. I looked at myself in the mirror, and I didn’t like to look into my own eyes. I went into my room, trying not to look at my bookshelf where the words “Teen Study Bible” glared back at me accusingly. I lay in bed for hours, and I couldn’t sleep.
All I could think was, What if? What if I get pregnant?

I cried as I wrote in my journal, mapping out a plan in case I did get pregnant. Who would I tell first? Would I try to have an abortion? Would I stay in school? How would I ever be able to face my parents and brother?

“Oh please, God,” I prayed, “just let me not be pregnant. I’ll stop doing this.”
I didn’t get pregnant. But I didn’t stop, either.

Feeling Betrayed

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or click on: http://kingdomyouthinternational.com/2017/05/13/wish-waited-regret-pains/

Am honey