The Beginning of the End - Part 3

I got up that Tuesday, July 28th, with a heaviness in my heart that just wouldn’t seem to lift. I rolled over, pulling the covers over my head knowing that I would eventually have to get up and make my way to the church like every other Tuesday before this particularly dismal one. It wasn’t a dismal Tuesday because of the condition of the weather; it was a dismal Tuesday because of the condition of my heart. I knew that today I would have to face people. The people I didn’t want to face were my Pastors, any of them. I hoped as I got up and got ready that I could drag myself through the day with minimal human contact and just make it through. This prayer would go unanswered.
I arrived at the church, expecting to find, like I had on almost every other Tuesday with minimal crew. Instead I was surprised and dejected to see that my Pastors were there waiting for me. I barely had time to unlock my office door before I heard a call from the Pastor’s office bidding me to join them for a meeting. Dread gripped my heart like a vice as I placed my purse within my office and made my way to the “Principal’s office”.
Tears were already running down my cheeks as I entered the office. I knew that they were all there to discuss me. They had only been waiting for me to arrive. My hope was that they were there to be a comfort to me as I desperately needed some comfort. I sat down on the cool, brown leather couch next to the Pastor’s wife and curled into her waiting arms as I openly wept now. I could barely form a reply as the Pastor began by asking, “You knew that we’d have to discuss what happened, didn’t you?” He asked that as if I had somehow done something wrong. I nodded my acknowledgement as my tears continued to soak the Pastor’s wife’s shirt. He then began the meeting.
“In times past the Holy Spirit has taught me to nip things in the bud before they become large issues and the Holy Spirit has directed me to nip this in the bud” (I’m paraphrasing of course. It’s almost impossible to remember word for word of what he said) “The issue that I see before me is that if you choose to become pregnant again that I will have no choice but to look for your replacement.”
As he said that it was like an electric shock jolted through my mind, two words pierced through the fog of my grief; “that’s illegal”. I didn’t speak the shocking words that had just forced their way to the forefront of my mind and I have wished a thousand times that I had. It was like the numbness of my grief had just been magnified 1000 times and I was too numb to comprehend what was going on.
He went on to explain how he just couldn’t see how it would work with me being pregnant and working at the church. As he explained at how impossible it was, he was painting the picture of a barefoot pregnant woman, incapable of leading worship because of the image that she presented to the congregation. He kept speaking of all the hardships of pregnancy, morning sickness, frequent potty breaks and possible complications and how all those would keep me from being dependable and able to perform the duties of my job. He kept explaining how the “barefoot and pregnant” image would just distract the people instead of lead them into worship.
His wife soon chimed in with concerns about how Chris and I would care for a child on only one income. How would we pay for daycare once the baby was born because I wasn’t going to be able to bring that baby to the church like I had with my other two children? (Aliya was 3 and Brendan was 5 when I had started working at the church and had accompanied me every day to work) Reason after reason was placed before my mind as they tried to convince me that to have another child was foolishness.
After all the reasons were so logically placed before me then the attacks began. It started with questions like “I thought you didn’t want to have any more kids?” “Just a few months ago I heard you say that you were done having children and didn’t want to do the baby thing again.” I tried desperately to explain that I had always wanted to have a third child but at the time Chris had been on the fence about it. I tried to tell them that I always thought God meant us to have three children. I felt like it was a promise from God to me. That explanation was followed by a shocking statement from the Pastor’s wife.
“I don’t think that it’s God’s will for you to have another child.”
The Pastor followed that statement with, “It was probably your statements of doubt and unbelief of whether or not you wanted another child, which I’ve heard come from your mouth, which caused this miscarriage in the first place.”
That statement just sent me into another bout of tears. The guilt and condemnation of that statement washed over me as I began to comprehend that maybe my lack of faith, like my Pastor was telling me, had killed my child. My mind was reeling with guilt, but I knew in my heart that statement couldn’t be true. I knew enough of my Heavenly Father’s love to know that my lack of faith was not the cause. My faith, or lack thereof, did not murder my baby. Lies are powerful but the truth is much more.
As my mind was spinning from the comments of condemnation consoling statements started pouring forth from my Pastor. (I want to include that the Associate Pastor sat through this entire meeting saying almost nothing the whole time. He was there as a witness yet never spoke up to defend me.)The Pastor sighed as he began to speak, almost as if to deal with all of my tears was exhausting to him somehow. He began by telling me how valued and talented I was and that “they just couldn’t bear to lose me as a worship leader.” Compliment after compliment was laid at my feet to try and persuade me against having another child. He even told a story about how his sister had been such an intricate part of his business, years past, and how she had managed the office for him and his dad. But then she left for her own selfish reasons (to have her son which was born mentally handicapped) and because of it their business had seriously suffered. His implication was that my selfishness in wanting another child could cause harm to the church (or mentally handicapped, depending on how you took his implicating words). He ended the meeting with this:
With a look of utter exhaustion on his face he said, “Malinda, I’m giving you a choice. You can choose to have another baby and we’ll support you in that decision and we’ll find a replacement for you. We will of course love you no matter what decision you make and if you have a baby we’ll love that baby like our own grandchild. But the moment that I suspect and find out you’re pregnant, I’ll start looking and interviewing your replacement.”
I was astonished that he wouldn’t wait to search for my replacement until I was in my third trimester since I wouldn’t be allowed to work after I had had the baby and I expressed that to him. His response was, “it is unfair of you to hold me and the church hostage, in hopes that your pregnancy is an easy one.”
“Malinda, I’m giving you the choice and I’ll support you in whatever you do.”
I rushed to him at this point, hugging his neck, thanking him for allowing me the choice.
The sick part of it all was I actually felt grateful that he allowed me the right to choose my life for myself. At the time I felt overwhelmed and grateful to be given the opportunity to make a choice for myself when it was already a “right” that I had in my possession, which was the power to choose. I hadn’t realized it at the time but slowly every choice that I had made over the last few years was actually being made for me by my Pastors. Since most of my “rights” to choose had been stripped away, why not the power to choose whether I had another child and continued to work. If they could get away with pregnancy and gender discrimination, take away my choices and keep me in subjugation to them, why not?