She’d never felt more alone than she had in that moment, sitting tightly packed between her sisters in a crowded pew, surrounded by a whole congregation of people who talked a whole lot about saving the lost and feeding the hungry and turning the other cheek, but they didn’t ever say anything about unreported rape and unplanned pregnancies.
By the end of April, Phoebe had taken to wearing too-tight sports bras and gimmicky weight loss girdle things under her clothes, not to get in shape, but to mask her fuller breasts and the cantaloupe-sized baby bump pushing against the skirts of her flowing dresses.
Then on the second Sunday in May, Mother’s Day, when Phoebe was exactly seven months along, she sat in church and listened as the pastor spoke about how important mothers and mother-figures were in the lives of everyone, especially young women who were soon-to-be mothers themselves. He told the story of Mary, the mother of Jesus, her pregnancy still hushed, going away to stay with her older cousin, Elizabeth, who mentored and encouraged and stood by Mary. A mother figure in Mary’s life.
Was it possible Phoebe could find an Elizabeth in her own life? Was there someone right there in that church who would be a mother figure to her? She knew in her heart Granny G would find a way to embrace her, but her grandparents already had so much thrust into their hands when Maman and Papa had died, leaving the elderly Gustafsons with four girls to raise.
The next day, Phoebe ditched school and slipped inside the double doors of the church. She stood in the cool shadows for a few minutes while her eyes adjusted, a little surprised to find the building unlocked and unattended. But she was glad. She wasn’t quite ready to explain her presence there; she wasn’t even sure how to word her request, or who to ask in the first place. And now that she was there, she suddenly realized she’d have to tell whoever she spoke to about that night. She’d made every concerted effort to not think about that night ever again, to the point where she could almost convince herself there was no connection between that night and the baby growing inside her.
She only thought of it as that night and nothing more.
Phoebe skirted the back row and moved quietly up the side aisle, keeping as low a profile as possible in the quiet building. It was so peaceful, so unlike the busyness of church on Sunday morning. The silence felt almost reverent, like she was walking on holy ground, and she was loath to make any kind of a disturbance. Still. Quiet. No one else around.
But she didn’t feel alone.
She slipped into a pew about halfway up the aisle and sat down. She automatically propped her huge shoulder bag on her lap to camouflage her baby bump, but then set it aside, realizing she didn’t have to hide it today. She even went so far as to rest a hand around the curve of her belly, smiling when the baby inside bumped against her palm like he or she was acknowledging her touch.
She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there when a door off to the side of the stage opened and two men came in, their conversation loud and cheerful.
“—parent meeting went really well last night. There were lots of questions, but I think most of them are really glad their kids are getting this opportunity.”
“Well, it’s good to have you on board, young man. We need young men who are fired up about discipleship taking charge on programs like this. I know you’re inspiring many of our high school students to think more deeply about going into full time ministry. The harvest is ripe and the workers are few.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes. She hated hearing Christians talk that way. It was so…elitist, as though they spoke in a special Bible code. And what the heck did it all mean? To her, it just sounded like words to appease themselves with. If I say the right thing, use the right words, the right phrasing often enough and loudly enough, maybe no one will notice I don’t actually act any differently than anyone else.
“I’m just grateful for the opportunity to come alongside the high schoolers this way. I think it’s so important that we set Timothy up as an example. Paul discipling him didn’t just change his life, but it continues to change lives generation after generation, because we have so much of his discipleship training in the Word,” the younger guy replied. He looked like a college frat boy in his khaki Dockers and tucked-in green polo shirt…or a pastor in training, she decided, averting her gaze as though he might feel her eyes on him.
“It’s all right there for us to replicate,” he continued, clearly unaware of her presence. “And you know what the Good Book says, ‘Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.’”
“Amen. I hear it all the time. That early foundation of faith is so important. Even the prodigal son knew where to go when everything else had failed him. Why? Because his father had trained him up to understand unconditional love. It took him a while to embrace it and accept it, certainly, but deep in his heart, he knew where home was because he’d been trained up to recognize it.”
Phoebe hunkered down low in the pew and kept her head lowered as the two men made their way down the center aisle toward the back of the church and the double doors she’d come in. Please don’t notice me. Just keep walking. Please, please, please—
No such luck. The conversation broke off and the footsteps stopped.
“Excuse me,” the older man said, his voice friendly, but curious. “Is there anything I—we can do for you?”
Phoebe lifted her head but kept her eyes downcast. “No, that’s all right. I’m just—just praying,” she said, knowing that was the perfect response to give in a church.
The young guy cleared his throat softly, then said, “Would you like us to pray with you? Or send someone else—a woman, maybe?—out to pray with you?”
Phoebe hesitated. Was it that simple? Was it possible some woman would slip into the pew next to her and be Elizabeth to her? “Um, I don’t know. Maybe.” The last word came out on a whisper, but the men seemed to have heard her.
“I’ll go see if Ruthie is available,” The guy in the polo shirt said to the older man. “You go on ahead—I know you’re running late already.” Then he turned back to Phoebe and she forced herself to look directly at him.
He was much younger than she’d expected. In fact, he didn’t look much older than she was—early twenties at the most? He had soft, curly hair that flopped forward over his forehead, and he actually seemed to smile with his eyes. He wasn’t conventionally handsome in a male model way, but he definitely had that boy-next-door vibe that made him come across as surprisingly approachable.
Which made the Bible code jargon he’d just been spouting seem incongruous, almost duplicitous to her. She felt her guard rise, but she wanted to trust that she was in the right place. She needed this to be the right place, and she needed him to be the right person, at least until he could round up this Ruthie person.
Ruthie. Even the name sounded motherly, didn’t it?
“My name is Trevor. I’m a youth pastor intern here. I work with the high school group, but I don’t think we’ve met. You’re a high school student?” He asked the question, but it was clear he assumed she was.
“No. Yes.” She fumbled to find the right words. He had slipped into the pew in front of hers and was close enough to notice her belly, even in the dim lighting. She hunched forward a little and fluffed her skirt so it formed a camouflaging tent over her lap. Let him think she was a fashion freak. Better that then a pregnant teen. “Yes, I’m a high school student, but no, I don’t go to youth group here. We do go to church here, though,” she amended.
“Oh? Have you tried our Tuesday Teen Nights?”
Had he forgotten he was going to go get Ruthie for her?
“No. We do youth group at a different church.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Renata still went to the group at their old church. They’d only started attending this church after Maman and Papa had died because this was where Grandpa and Granny G went. Phoebe hadn’t ever gone to any high school church group. Her parents hadn’t forced her to go, and neither di
d her grandparents.
“Well, that’s good to hear. Okay. I’m going to go see if I can round up Ruthie. She’s in charge of our women’s ministries. Sit tight, okay?” He started to move away, and then paused and turned back to her. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?”
Without premeditation, in a moment of sheer panic, she gave him her middle name. “I’m Jo. Josephine. Call me Jo.”
Trevor leaned over the bench and stuck out his hand. “Good to meet you, Jo. I’ll be right back.”
And he did, just as he said he would. Several minutes passed and the door at the front of the church opened again and Trevor returned, a warm smile on his face. “Ruthie is just wrapping up a meeting, but she promised to join us as soon as she was finished. About fifteen minutes, is that okay? Or do you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”
I’m a high schooler. On a Monday morning in May. Where do you think I’m supposed to be? Phoebe bit back the snarky retort. “That’s fine. I can wait.”
Trevor was silent for a moment, and then said, “Are you all right, Jo? I mean, would you like me to wait with you? You don’t have to tell me why you’re here or what you’re praying about, but I feel bad just leaving you here alone.” He eased into the row ahead of her again. He sat down close enough that he could speak quietly to her and still be heard, but far enough away that she didn’t feel like he was crowding her. He turned sideways in the pew, propping one leg up on the bench beside him and looping an arm over the back so he could look at her. “My schedule is wide open for the next half an hour, so if you need company while you wait for Ruthie, maybe this is where I’m supposed to be.”
Phoebe didn’t mind. He exuded sincerity in spite of the Bible talk, and there didn’t seem to be anything threatening about him. “I don’t really feel alone in here, but I don’t mind the company,” she said.
Trevor smiled and nodded. “Yeah, this place never feels completely empty to me. I come here a lot when I need to clear my head, when I need to sort things out with God.” He turned his head away and faced the front of the sanctuary for a few moments, his expression suddenly distant, like he’d momentarily slipped away to another time and place. She wondered what he was thinking about.
“Sort things out with God, hm?” she repeated, her voice low. “I suppose that’s what I’m trying to do today. I’m not very good at praying, but I thought if I came here and just hung out, maybe God would whisper something to me. Give me some good advice.” She laughed softly. “That sounds so stupid.”
“No, actually,” he said, looking back at her again. She couldn’t meet his eyes but she could feel them on her face. She lowered her gaze to her knees, letting her hair fall forward to hide her features from his open scrutiny. “Sometimes that’s all praying is. In Romans Chapter 8, the Bible says, In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit interceded for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.” Trevor paused and glanced away briefly as though carefully measuring his words. “I think this is the perfect place to be if you don’t know how to pray or exactly what to pray for. The Holy Spirit is accessible anywhere and everywhere, but there’s nothing like physically sitting in a place of worship when you’re desperate to meet with God.”
Everything he said made such perfect sense and she felt tears beginning to form behind her eyes, burning at the bridge of her nose.
“You know how you can smell perfume even after a person has left? Or sometimes a crowded room seems to echo with the sounds of what was going on in it even after it’s cleared out? That’s kind of what it feels like in here to me. It’s almost as though the fragrance or the echo of worship hangs on even after everyone leaves on Sunday.” Trevor’s voice had quieted to the point where he almost seemed to be talking to himself. “Sometimes I think I can actually hear God breathing in here on mornings like this. Like he’s walking the aisles gathering up the burdens people laid down on Sunday, sorting through the prayers that were offered up.”
A tear fell from Phoebe’s eye and landed on her stomach. Without thinking, she spread her fingers wide over her rounded belly and left it there. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “I need—I need help.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
She hadn’t planned to talk to him. She needed a mother figure, not a buddy. Especially not a buddy who was young enough that he might actually know Brad Haley. But the words kept coming.
“My parents died in a car accident almost two years ago and now me and my sisters live with my grandparents. They have so much to worry about with all of us. My littlest sister is only five and my oldest sister is just getting through some major depression over everything. My other sister is dealing with everything her way—she’s a control freak and she makes everyone crazy. And I—I—well, I’m pregnant.”
She gasped at the sound of the words. She’d never said them out loud to anyone before, and the shock of them made her whole body tremble. Her fingertips moved in slow, circular patterns over the rounded shape beneath her skirt. “And I don’t know what to do,” she repeated, her voice shaking. Tiny lights flickered at the back of her eyeballs and she realized she was hunched over and holding her breath. She straightened a little, swiped at the tears spilling down her cheeks, and took some slow, deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
Trevor didn’t speak. In fact, he barely moved in the aftermath of her little rant. Say something, she cried out in her mind. But he seemed completely stumped by her admission, and when he still didn’t say anything, she tried a different approach.
“Yesterday, the pastor talked about Mary and Elizabeth. About how Elizabeth was like a mother to Mary, even though her circumstances—Mary being pregnant and not married—would have been good reason for Elizabeth to turn her back on her. The older woman was there for Mary when she needed that mother-daughter relationship. Well, my mom is de—dead, and my grandmother has her hands full.” She paused, hating how childish her request now sounded. “I was kind of hoping I might find someone here who could be Elizabeth to me,” she finished lamely.
“Ah. I see. Well, that makes sense.” His voice remained low and gentle, but she heard the condescension in it anyway. Her head was still down, and she peered surreptitiously over at him through the waterfall of her hair that still hid most of her face from him. His eyes were narrowed, downcast, and he wasn’t looking at her. In fact, the longer she watched, the clearer it became that he was making a concerted effort to look everywhere except at her.
Phoebe’s heart sank. She straightened, pushed her hair back from her face, and made a show of glancing around the shadowy room. “Is there a clock in here? I may not be able to wait for Ruthie. I have a class starting soon and I don’t think I should miss it.”
He did look at her then, but the expression on his face only disheartened her more. He seemed closed off. Like he’d pulled back, separated himself from her on some level. He hadn’t moved in his seat, he still smiled, but the warmth was gone. He pointed to the wall at the back of the church. “There’s a big clock there. So the pastor can keep track of how long his sermon goes.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks.” In the blink of an eye, her tears had dried up, and she now felt awkward and uncomfortable, her skin prickling with anxiety. “Yeah, it’s almost ten.” Was it only ten o’clock? “I have a class. I need to go.” Phoebe stood up and slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Tell Ruthie I’m sorry I couldn’t meet with her. But thanks for sitting with me.” She started to shuffle down the pew, feeling clumsy and foolish.
“Wait. Please wait. I—I’m sorry.” Trevor stood, too, and stopped her with a hand on her arm. “You just kind of surprised me, that’s all. I—well, this is the first time I’ve had to deal with something like this, and I’m admittedly kind of at a loss. I honestly don’t really know what to sa
y to you. Or the best way to help you.”
Phoebe tried not to be offended, but she couldn’t bite back the words in time. “The first time you’ve had to deal with this? Deal with this?” She waved a hand at her stomach. “Sorry, Mr. Youth Pastor Intern, but you’re not the one dealing with this. I am.” She tugged her arm free of his and pushed past him and out into the aisle.
“Please, Jo. I’m sorry. Really, I am.” He, too, had scrambled out into the aisle and was now walking backwards in front of her. He didn’t touch her, but he was clearly hoping to prevent her from leaving. “Please wait for Ruthie. She’ll know what to do. What to say.”
Phoebe stopped and crossed her arms, glaring at him. “You’re a youth pastor intern, right?” The question was redundant—he’d proudly introduced himself as such, and she’d already thrown it in his face once. She waited for an answer anyway.
“I am. Yes.”
“Well, a word of advice if you’re going to turn this internship into a career. You might want to come up with something other than silence to say to the next high schooler who comes to you with an unplanned pregnancy. Or does that not happen in your Tuesday Teen Nights?” She waved a hand in a wide motion indicating the expanse of the room. “Is your congregation full of perfect people who don’t have bad things happen to them, who never make mistakes?”
Trevor cocked his head at her and she could tell she’d stung his ego a little. He spoke quietly, but firmly, and with great conviction. “There’s no such thing as an unplanned pregnancy, Jo. If you don’t want to get pregnant, you shouldn’t be having sex.”
Phoebe felt her jaw drop and her eyes widen in stunned amazement. For a moment, she couldn’t even speak. Trevor filled the silence. The kindness in his eyes and in the timbre of his voice belied the condemnation he pronounced with his words.
“God designed sex to be between a husband and wife for a reason, you know. Because other than the virgin birth, pregnancy is a result of only one thing. Sex. So if you’re having sex, you’re planning—even if only in theory—a pregnancy.”
Phoebe and the Rock of Ages Page 12