A God Who Loves

Sitting in my office, which was something I hardly ever did, a young woman knocked on the door. She asked if I was the pastor and could she talk with me for a minute.

This “minute” turned out to be life-changing for both of us.

“I’m a … Catholic … is it okay?”

I assured her it was fine.

“I can’t … I can’t talk to my pastor … he’s a guy. I mean, he’s a man and he’s never been married.”

There was a long silence, yet I knew the silence was a welcome friend for both of us. She sat there and I sat beside her. I looked at my desk up against the wall. I put it there so it would never be a barrier between me and a person who needed help. Now I was wondering if that was so wise.

Soft sobs broke the silence. I felt the need to reach out to her, but she took my hand first.

“I’m going to hell,” she whispered.

It has been 15 years since this young woman and I met. It was on October 22, 2009. She was pregnant. She had just found out that her baby, the baby she and her husband wanted so desperately, would die as soon as it was born. She was alone. Her husband was a soldier in Afghanistan. Both sets of grandparents were ready to disown her because her doctor talked to her about an abortion. Listening to her story, I wasn’t sure what to do.

“Could you talk to my doctor? See if there is anything she can do to save our baby?”

It may not have been the most wise thing I ever did, but I agreed to meet her at her doctor’s office in the hospital. Her doctor was a compassionate woman understanding the dilemma we both faced: me stepping into an unknown, unfolding story and the young woman facing enormous decisions. She talked with us, laying out the medical situation clearly. It was serious. There would have to be a decision very soon.

We stood up to thank the doctor, agreeing that a shelter I found might give the young woman time and some calm. I barely noticed that she had slid to the floor. In a dream-like sequence, there was a call, a gurney, the woman wheeled out and a pool of blood left behind.

I often am brought to tears when I think how terrified she was of God.

“I’m going to hell,” she whispered.

Since that time, my prayer is she experience a God who loves, a God who smiles, a God who can cry, a God who will dance when happy, a God who likes puppies and picnics and mudpies … a God who colors outside the lines we have made.

Pat Pickett, OblSB

Photo: Crucifixion statue in the monastery cemetery. Taken by Jane Knott.