The Me You See (23 page)

“I have many pictures of members of the congregation in my
office.”

Her eyes drifted across the many photographs, souvenirs of
my twenty years as a pastor at First Light Lutheran. Arms around the shoulders
of members of my congregation made up the bulk of them. So many photos at so
many functions. The Santa Lucia Festival. Lenten soup suppers. The outdoor
bluegrass concert to raise money for the church addition.

“But this one,” she said, pointing to the picture of her,
“is different. My picture isn’t from anything that happened at church.”

“You’re right,” I said, rising. “Stefia, you must realize
that I don’t spend my entire life in church.”

“I know, but this picture is of…”

“Your first play,” I finished, with a reminiscing smile.
“Yes. We were all so proud of you…our little Stefia, shining like the brightest
star up there on that big stage.”

She squinted at the picture like she didn’t know what it
was, and then shook her head ever so slightly.

“But why not a picture of me teaching Sunday school?” she
argued. “Or singing with the choir? Or serving a soup supper?”

“Oh, I have pictures of you doing all those wonderful
things, too. I guess I’ve just grown accustomed to looking at this one from my
desk.”

I expected even a half smile, but nothing came.

 “Stefia, is something troubling you?”

She walked from picture to picture, running her fingers
over the multicolored frames. Then she opened her mouth to speak, but was so
quiet it almost seemed as though she was whispering to the people staring back
at her from the wall.

“I need to know that I matter.”

“What?”

“That’s all I need,” she said, turning around to look at me
squarely. “I need to know that I matter. Stefia Lenae Krist. I need to know
that she matters to the world.”

“Oh, dear Stefia.” I walked around the front of my desk and
put my hand on her shoulder. “You, of all people, should know that you matter.”

“Why?” She turned and my hand dropped from where it had
rested. “What does that even mean
? You of all people should know…
”

Her eyes showed she was irked, bothered by something I’d
insinuated. She deflated back into her chair, frustration seeming to weigh her
down.

“Stefia, let’s be serious,” I said. I moved back to the
desk, sat down in my chair, and sighed. I felt we were destined for a game of
cat and mouse. Hide and seek. I would chase her around the room, hoping for
answers she would only give in riddles. “How in the world could you believe that
you don’t matter?”

“Give me a reason that I should assume I do.”

Riddles and side steps. Impossibilities to decode.
Questions with responses that meant something entirely different.

I reached across the desk and took Stefia’s hands in mine.

“Stefia, listen to me. You are a valuable person. You are a
beautiful and talented young woman who…”

“I’m pregnant.”

Her fleshy words slopped ungraciously over the edge of her
lips, like muck over a beautiful waterfall. They filled up my ears until they
rang with disbelief.

 “Did you hear me, Pastor? Pregnant. I’m
pregnant
.”

“Stefia, I…”

“You don’t know what to say, right?”

Autopilot helped me to squeeze Stefia’s hands with a polite
smile. Then I let go and leaned back in my chair. I sighed. It was a sigh that
seemed to take forever, and the time it took did not help me to come up with
the right response to her news.

“Stefia…

My inept attempt at words of comfort spilled out in a
string of stutters.

“I get it,” she said. “Shocking, I know. Knocks me right
down off that pedestal the whole town has me on.”

“No,” I said, emphatically. “It doesn’t. This isn’t about
judgment, Stefia. I just…it’s not what I was expecting you to come in here and
talk to me about.”

“Trust me,” she said. “This wasn’t something I planned. I
should be worrying about lines on stage rather than how to break this news in
real life.”

The longer I stumbled over my response, the more the bubble
of discomfort grew. It ballooned and threatened to pop.

Why won’t the words come?

“So…the father,” I began. “Is he in the picture?”

She nodded.

“Have you told him?”

She bit on her lip.

“I haven’t told anyone yet. Well, except for you.”

Did she see the look of surprise wash over my face? Why me?
Stefia, with her multitude of friends, who got along with everyone…chose to
give me first dibs on her news?

She looked down in her lap.

Why not her girl friends? Why not her sisters?

I swallowed hard.

 “The first thing you asked me when you came here today,” I
said finally, “was about whether or not you matter. How can you think you don’t
matter, Stefia? Especially now, when you tell me you’re going to have a baby…”

“I didn’t say I was having a baby,” she said, a solid stop
on the last word. “I said I was pregnant.”

Her words mashed through my head, swirling into the ugliest
of messes.

“You’re planning to have an abortion?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

Oh, god. The riddles. Why didn’t she come out and say what
she wanted?

“You’re…here to get advice on what to do,” I said.

“No, I’m here to find out if anyone can tell me if I really
matter.”

“I’ve already told you that you matter, Stefia. The whole
town knows you matter. They don’t generally place people who don’t matter up on
a pedestal.”

“I didn’t ask to be put on that pedestal.”

She wanted me to drag it out of her.

I was determined to see inside her head.

“See, Stefia, that doesn’t make sense to me. You want to
know if you matter…but, if I’m reading you correctly, you’re almost acting
annoyed for the attention. I’m confused.” Then I stopped. “I think you really
came here to get advice on what to do.”

I got up from my chair and walked over to my Keurig. I
started another cup, Dark Jungle Blend. The sound of the machine spitting extra
strong coffee into my mug sounded louder than it should have in the room fat
with silence.

“Stefia, you know I’m going to tell you not to have an
abortion,” I said, taking the mug, and raising it to my lips. “You know that’s
my job, right?”

“Maybe you could try stepping away from your job. Maybe you
could try saying something other than what people expect you to say.”

“You almost sound like you want me to tell you that you
should
abort the baby…” I sipped carefully at the edge of the mug.

“No. That’s not what I want. I just want someone to be
honest with me and say what they really think. That’s why I came here, Pastor.
I want the truth, not some scripted answer. I figured I could trust you for the
truth…”

“I am telling you the truth!” I said, passion filling my
mouth as I set the mug down on my desk. “Stefia, abortion is wrong. That baby
is God’s creation…”

“That baby was put there by a man, not God,” Stefia shot
back. “Why in the world would God want me to have a baby?”

“Why are you playing devil’s advocate?”

“It’s how I know what the right decision is.”

“God sees something for you that you can’t possibly see
yet. I believe that God chooses the best parents for each child…”

“Pastor, really?” She stood up from her chair, raising her
voice. “You’re going to use that line?”

“Stefia, it’s the truth that I believe…”

“Seriously? I mean…seriously, Pastor Walt? My mother left
when I was thirteen. You
know
that. And you’ve seen that now my father
is completely hollow and unattached. My sisters and I were baggage to them. So
don’t tell me God chooses the right parents. Don’t give me some line about how
we get the parents we were supposed to have…”

“Stefia, you have a choice! We can all make choices. Your
mother chose to leave. You can choose to not be like your mother! Stay with
what God has given you!”

She shook her head, in frustration or disbelief, I wasn’t sure.
She leaned back in her chair and her eyes fell in line with the inspirational
poster I’d thumb tacked to the ceiling two months earlier.

Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of
value. –Albert Einstein

She closed her eyes.

“Have you ever thought that maybe God makes mistakes?” she
asked.

“No. I have never thought that. I think that God challenges
us. I think God stretches us. But I don’t think He ever makes mistakes.”

She still hadn’t opened her eyes. With her head settled on
the back of the chair, she jutted out her chin and tipped her head to one side
and then the other.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

I shuddered. I hated it when people cracked their neck.

“You said you haven’t told the father yet, right?” I asked,
taking a seat.

“Yeah,” she answered.

“How do you think he’s going to react?”

“He will be angry.”

“Why do you say that? How do you know?”

“I just know.”

She opened her eyes and they scanned the room. She focused
on the jade plant that sat on my window ledge, a malachite gem against the vast
chalky whiteness of the snow outside.

“Was this relationship…?” I stopped, carefully choosing the
words for what I wanted to know. “I mean, have you been together long?”

“It wasn’t a one night stand,” she said, with a razor sharp
edge to her voice.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just
that…well, to be honest, I didn’t think you had a boyfriend. I mean, I’ve never
seen you with anyone.”

“Surely you must realize, Pastor, that I don’t live my
entire
life on stage.”

“Touché.”

I tried not to wonder, but couldn’t stop my vagrant mind
from land loping to who the father might be. Was it someone in our church?
Someone outside the community? A fellow actor?

 “Regardless of who this guy is that you’ve been with
for…how long have you been together?”

“Long enough,” she answered.

“Okay, regardless of who it is…”

“I’m not telling you who it is.”

“I’m not
asking
you to. What I’m saying is that
people have a way of surprising us, Stefia. Human beings are unpredictable and
oftentimes react differently than we expect. Honestly, I’ve counseled so many
people in the church who have gone through this same thing.”

“This same thing?”

“Yes, Stefia. The same exact thing. The reality is that
unexpected pregnancies happen all the time…”

“This
same
thing?”

It was like she was stuck on the phrase.

“Stefia, whether we like to admit it, we’re all the same.
We try to make our situations different, for whatever reason, but really…we’re
all the same.”

“I guarantee you, this situation is different.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Is this a game, Stefia?”

There was so much being said. Her unwillingness to speak
was saying more than the thing she wasn’t saying.

Too bad I couldn’t figure out what it was.

 “Babies are a gift from God,” I said. “And I would be
willing to bet my reputation that this boyfriend of yours will step up and be
the man God wants him to be. He may be surprised, Stefia, but if he loves you…”

“It’s not love, pastor,” she said. “I don’t mean to be
philosophical but I wouldn’t describe it as love. And I wouldn’t necessarily
call him my boyfriend.”

“So it’s not a good relationship, then?”

“It’s a complicated relationship. I don’t know if it is
good or bad.”

“Stefia, I’m feeling like maybe I need to be worried about
you. Is there something else that we should be talking about?”

“I assure you, there is no need to worry. This man and I…we
have a history together. And he is, quite literally, why I have all that I
have.”

“Including,” I said, derailing her philosophical tirade,
“the baby in your belly.” I couldn’t handle anymore teasing or enigmatic
answers. If she couldn’t answer, I would stop asking.

She ran her fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.
I tried not to drive myself crazy wondering who else it was that had done that
for her.

“I’ll pray for you,” I finally said. Because I would. I
would pray for her.

But something sour churned in my gut because I knew I’d
said it simply because I didn’t know what else to say.