My Baby’s Baby

Dennis looked at the others as he spoke. “The sad thing is that the Bible is often used as a weapon against LGBTQ people. Whose Bible tells gay people that Jesus loves them?” Debra nodded. “I totally agree with this and how the Bible is used as a weapon against so many marginalized groups. It's a weapon against the love ethic that we are called to. There is pressure in the Christian tradition for pastors and congregants to be clear about what is right and wrong. There is an expectation to pick what you believe and reject the other, that judging what is wrong is a faithful thing. Who defines what's to be judged? Usually, it's those in power, those who don't want their reality disrupted, who define what is wrong.” Theodora smiled. “I wanted to be that radical, hospitable nonjudging person, but, because of my theological training and church expectations, I had to reject my own deep belief about who God is and what God calls us to be.”

Theodora’s story had moved the group so much. After their discussion, they sat quietly for a while, then shared some coffee and doughnuts. When they were settled again, Angela asked if she could share her story. It had changed her life and her family's life in so many ways.

The call came when I was at work at the Baptist hospital, where I had been working for 22 years. I was in the clinic when I received a page asking that I call my daughter’s school. When I called, the school nurse asked me to come to the school immediately. My daughter was in middle school. “Sierra is okay.” she said, when I asked. She was on the cheerleading team and so I thought she may have been hurt. “No, she’s not hurt, but it would be best if you came to school. I need to talk to you. We just thought it would be best for me to talk to you here at the school….” The nurse said quickly, her voice trailing off into a murmur.

Immediately this extremely scared feeling came over me. “She’s going to tell me something that I don't want to hear.” I thought nervously, but I said, “Okay, I'll be there.” I called my husband to pick me up. In the car I was really quiet. My husband sensed my anxiety. “We’ll face this together. She’s my baby too.” Even though Sierra was not his biological child, he loved her like his own. “The sad thing is that the Bible is often used as a weapon against LGBTQ people. ...”

How could I minister to youth at church or someone's child when my 12-year-old was pregnant? The moment when everything changed

We saw Sierra sitting quietly on the hard chair when we walked into the nurse's room. She looked so different, scared. The nurse came in. “Well, as you know, Sierra is a good student, and she’s come to me. There’s something she needs to say.” Sierra looked at me and burst out in tears, “Mommy, I'm pregnant!” That’s all I can remember her saying because as her words fell, I just cried and screamed. Then I fainted. I fainted several times to the point where my husband said, “Hey, you need to stop fainting. You are scaring Sierra. We have to listen to what they have to say.” The nurse told us that she was far along. While she was talking, I was thinking we need to abort this baby. Sierra is just twelve! She's in the sixth grade. She's twelve! I have a four-year-old son, and she's twelve! While the nurse explained the situation, these thoughts were all whirling around in my head. When I told our young son, Kristopher, that he couldn’t play rough and tumble with his sister anymore, because she was going to have a baby, he shouted, “I'm going to have a baby brother or a baby sister!” “No, no, no, no. Mommy's not pregnant. It’s your sister. We can't tell anyone. It's a secret.” I said. “Well,” he said, “Well, can I tell my sister? Does she know?” That brought such a sweet, bitter smile to my face. Here was such innocence, acceptance, a little touch of joy in the midst of it all. I had to tell my family, but I feared their response. On top of everything, I was a minister and I felt so inadequate. How could I minister to youth at church or someone's child when my 12-year-old was pregnant? I felt so embarrassed and ashamed.

Angela paused. She remembered that feeling of shame and looked around at her colleagues. What were they thinking? Theodora looked at her. She understood. “Angela, I know how you felt. Your feelings of shame speak to the extra pressures pastors feel to be superhuman or some image of perfection. These high selfexpectations are similar to what I went through, and many pastors still do.”

Debra looked at her inquiringly. “How did you tell your family and the church?”

Finding support

I first told my mother. She was calm and supportive. You see, she had had my sister in her teenage years, so she knew what it felt like to be a teenager and pregnant. She had been only 14 when she fell pregnant with my sister and maybe 16 when she had me, so she knew what my child was experiencing. My mom stepped in while I had to work, taking Sierra to appointments at the local health department and going out to the stores with her. I had seen this kind of thing on television, but now it was happening to us. I was living it. People would look at us and stare. I realized I had to get myself together because I was not a good mother then. I wanted to be a good mother, but I was humiliated. I didn't know what to say to her, but deep down, I knew that I had to love her, that what she was experiencing was much more traumatic. I knew that she felt like her life was over. She could tell that I was totally disappointed. And the way that I was responding made her feel even more shame. She told me she wanted her life to end. She just wanted her life over. She wished she was dead.

I had sleepless nights. I was afraid she would run away from the house and never return or try to hurt or kill herself. I was working and not sleeping and trying to figure all this out. My husband saw my distress and tried to calm me to sleep. He started to watch over her to ensure she was okay. He was watching her for me. And he was watching over me too. When I called my insurance company to activate prenatal services for my twelve-year-old daughter, I had to keep repeating that the appointment was for her and not me. I could hear the judgmental tone in their voices. There were many other moments where we were made to feel shame, stared at, pointed at and ridiculed.

A turning point

But a turning point came for me when my mother stood up for my daughter and confronted people who were looking and whispering. Her courage and fearlessness turned something in me. I realized that, like her, I had to be there for my daughter. I knew I was losing Sierra, yet she was always on my mind. I was making myself sick when she needed me to be well.

I finally told my pastor that her local minister had a twelve-yearold daughter who was pregnant. But instead of being ashamed or shocked or admonishing, she embraced us. She spoke with the congregation, asking for their support and love. “When I share this with you, I do not want you all to go to Angela. And I don't want you to go to Sierra. I don't want you to ask them anything. I don't want you to ask them what happened. We are going to be here for them. I didn't know what to say to her, but deep down, I knew that I had to love her ...

That church loved us, and no one from there ever disrespected or made us feel belittled or ashamed.

Sierra's pregnant. We all have done or said something we regret, and many of us have done what Sierra's done. We're going to embrace them; we're going to support them, and we're going to love them. And we're going to be here for them. That's what we're here for as a church.” That church loved us, and no one from there ever disrespected or made us feel belittled or ashamed.

I don't know what I would have done without that pastor in my life at that time. She was there. I believe that God played a part in this and placed this pastor in my path. On October the 10th baby Jordan was born at about 1 am. She was about three weeks early. When I called the pastor later that morning, she came. She kissed Jordan on the forehead and prayed for this little baby. She just held her, stayed with us and shared time with us.

About two weeks after Jordan was born, I went back to church that Sunday and my pastor suffered a severe stroke at church after preaching. She called for me, and I was there. We called 911, and I rode in the ambulance with her. Three weeks after that stroke, she passed away in the hospital. Her daughter was there with her. I was devastated. Immediately, when she had the stroke, I became the interim pastor. It was just such a monumental time for all of us. I was devastated by the loss; I had a newborn and her 12-yearold mother to care for. On our communion Sunday, the first time that I would do communion, the news came of our pastor’s death. I felt utterly overwhelmed and shattered, but I had to take it all in, preach and give communion. I was sad that Jordan had only met this wonderful pastor in those brief hours after she was born and would never know her.

It was hard for my larger family to accept that Sierra was now a mother, and many could not support us. But I found the support we needed in the larger church. When we went to the conference, the young adults, who were leaders like me, embraced my family and me, saying they would be there for us. And they were. All this brought Sierra and I closer together. I had to raise my daughter as a teenager and teach her how to be a mother. I sat beside her on the bed as she held and fed her baby and learned how to care for her.

For three months, I stayed in the room with her, to make sure that she got up for the baby feeds, to do her homework, so that she could be ready to go back to school. Now my daughter is 26 years old. She was so focused on her studies that she graduated from high school in the morning, and then started college in the afternoon on the same day. She is currently pursuing her bachelor’s degree. When we went to the conference, the young adults, who were leaders like me, embraced my family and me, saying they would be there for us. And they were.

“What a beautiful story!” Debra said, smiling. “Such a wonderful example of intergenerational love and support. You received this from your mother and your daughter from you. Now her daughter can be blessed through all the courage of the strong women in her life.” Krista nodded. “Yes, this really demonstrates the power of support and the concept of the supremacy of God's plans for us. It makes me think of Jeremiah 29:11. ‘....plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” Theodora smiled. “I also think that another powerful concept to lift here is the power of community support or agape love. Your pastor showed such generosity of spirit and love. She was able to fold you into the embrace of the church, support you and place you at the center of their love. “This ability to accompany, connect, give sanctuary and bless, is shown as part of the congregational strengths that my friend Gary Gunderson speaks about in his book ‘Deeply Woven Roots’. I think it is so fitting to consider it here.”

Congregational strengths in nature

Debra nodded. “Yes, I agree. Gary described how he came to the idea of congregational strengths. He saw the daughter trees growing around the space where the mother tree had stood. Again, that theme of intergenerational connection. We are sustained by the connections we weave together, with each other–just like you, Angela, your mother, daughter and pastor.”

One day I went for a walk in a redwood forest. The trees were amazing. Every single one of them is a miracle in and of itself, rising up into the air. The only way I could see the top was to lay down. So I lay down on the ground looking at them, reaching up to the sky, with the clouds playing between the top leaves. The ground felt rough beneath me, and I realized I was lying in the space where a massive tree had been. The mother tree. It must have stretched hundreds of feet in the air, but it had fallen, leaving behind a ring of daughter trees to grow up in the space. The daughter trees didn't live because their roots went down straight. They thrived as a forest because their roots were woven deeply into each other. The whole forest was holding itself up through its deep connections. In that moment, it created a picture in my mind of how a congregation works. It doesn't just create individuals with a deep taproot that sustains one individual. Instead, we are all sustained and find our life by how we are woven together.

Gary Gunderson The daughter trees didn't live because their roots went down straight. They thrived as a forest because their roots were woven deeply into each other.

The strengths that live in congregations

We create congregations because we need spaces where we can come together as humans to grow together. But we don’t always get it right. Sometimes we get it really wrong and actually hurt and alienate each other. And yet we come together, earnestly creating spaces for our children to be encouraged, seen and heard by adults, valued. We sing and clap and sway to music, we pray and quiet our spirits, we are taught that God loves us and we experience that love through those in the church community. And then, in so many ways, we let go of our troubles and we work together to meet the needs of people in our communities.

This concern for human well-being is why faithful people come together in community. We worship God and touch the wholeness of the sacred and the Source, and we seek to build God’s kin-dom.

If we can do this with as much intention as possible, we can lead in offering restorative justice, peace, hospitality and safety and be a healing light for each other and for our neighbors. We can lead in reducing inequities in birth outcomes, chronic disease rates, and mental health. We can bring the deep connection that people are yearning for.