Faith Wish (10 page)

“No one has to go through this alone. The counselor we talked to at Planned Parenthood can be a big help. You can trust her.”

“I know,” Anne-Marie agreed. “I'll talk to her again.”

“And you can always call me. I gave you my new number, did you write it down?”

“I wrote it on the back of my library card.”

“You have to promise,” her sister persisted.

“I said I would, Eleanor, okay?” The conversation itself was out of earshot of their parents, who were standing near a vending machine. Eleanor's advice was right on target of course, but at the moment, she and Anne-Marie weren't on the same page. Anne-Marie was preoccupied with Brother Jackson and how she might be able to see him again, at least one more time. In Indiana.

Anne-Marie's appeal to her father came on the drive home. She rode in the front passenger seat, while her mother sat in the back. They were driving the Jaguar. Her father commented on the rich smell of the leather seats. Anne-Marie never knew if he loved cars for their looks or for driving.

With very little hope, she couldn't help asking her father if she could go to Indiana to attend one of Brother Jackson's tabernacle meetings.

“You're asking if you can skip a class?” her father questioned.

“No, not even. I just want to drive down there for the weekend. It wouldn't have to be the whole weekend, maybe just for the day.”

“To Crawfordsville, Indiana? That's a long way.” He rolled up his sleeves a turn or two and loosened his necktie.

“It's only two hours, or three at the most,” Anne-Marie said. “I looked it up on the map.”

Her father asked her mother if she knew anything about the situation.

“Anne-Marie and I discussed some Bible study at Sara's house the other day,” she replied. “Crawfordsville is something new. I guess it's your turn now.”

He didn't spend much time pondering this information. “Do you remember signing your contract?” he asked Anne-Marie.

“Of course I do.” It was something she could never forget, no matter how hard she might try. The contract was a symbol of the old Anne-Marie, the girl she used to be. It was failure. “But this is on the weekend. It's not part of the contract.”

Her father replied, “It's
our
part of the contract. Your mother's and mine. You're grounded, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“Unless I'm mistaken, the contract stipulates that you won't miss any classes at all if you want to graduate or use your car on weekends.”

Her father wasn't likely to be mistaken about details of this nature; he wasn't a successful attorney for no reason. She felt like telling him he was speeding, which was another form of breaking a contract. “I know what it says,” she replied. “I don't even care about using the car.”

“Then how would you get there?”

“I'm sure Sara Curtis would take me. Pretty sure, anyway.”

“That would just be sanding off the edges, Anne-Marie. Maybe you don't understand what a contract is. A contract is binding. That means it's not something you sign, then decide later on you'll disregard the parts that may be inconvenient.”

“I know what a contract is,” she answered quietly.

“Maybe when we get home, you and I need to get it out and have another look at it.”

“No thank you.” She was glad it would never be her job to face him in court. Almost in spite of herself she said, “I was just hoping we could make an exception. Not for fun and games, but for spiritual reasons.”

“Why is this weekend so important?” her father said. “Why not simply wait until summer school is over?”

“Because Brother Jackson might not be there after this weekend. There's no telling how long these crusades will stay in one place.”

“Are you telling me he's leaving for some other part of the country?”

“It's possible. That's what I'm telling you.” She regretted her equivocal language almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Her father seized the opportunity like a treasure: “Then you don't know for certain if it's his final weekend or not.”

She couldn't lie, so she admitted she couldn't be sure.

“It's possible, but not certain,” her father persisted. “Is that fair to say?”

“It's fair.” She sighed, wishing now that the conversation had never begun.

He seemed satisfied with that part of the agenda, so he changed the subject. “I wish I could tell you that your mother and I have been able to find some enthusiasm for this Brother Jackson character and his type of religion.”

Anne-Marie didn't want a confrontation. She bit her tongue before she replied, “He's not a
character
. He's a man of God.”

“He seems to be presiding over a cult of some kind.”

“And what's a cult?”

Her mother leaned forward to say, “It seems like the kind of religion that doesn't have much balance.”

“Balance,” Anne-Marie repeated with contempt. She felt her nostrils flaring in spite of her best intentions. “Balanced religion is armchair religion.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means religion without a soul. It means religion without any real commitment.”

“Is that what Brother Jackson teaches?”

“It's what we learn when we become Christians.”

“But we've always been Christians, Anne-Marie,” said her mother. “You know that. You were baptized in the Presbyterian Church.”

Anne-Marie knew there was no use in continuing this. The really significant issues of her new life with the Lord and the new life growing inside her were beyond the range of her parents' comprehension. Or her own. Besides, she had another headache.

She understood now that surrendering in this situation was good. It was simply another dimension—even if a painful one—of the pattern of submission Jesus wanted from her. It was taught in the Word; it meant losing herself to find herself. Arguing wouldn't work.

June 8

Friday morning, her mother helped her with an English essay. From her desk, Anne-Marie could see her father using rubbing compound on the left front fender of the Beamer. And he was dressed for an appearance in court.
If he could only understand as much about the Lord as he does about restoring cars
, she thought.

“Pay attention,” her mother urged. “Your mind is wandering.”

It was true. She was bad enough at concentration under normal conditions, but conditions in her life right now were in turmoil. Her mother looking over her shoulder at this point didn't help. “I can do this, Mother, okay?”

“Okay, so show me. Show me you know how to cut that paragraph and paste it on page two.”

Anne-Marie could feel her shoulders slump. She didn't know. “You know I have problems with stuff on the Edit bar.”

“Okay, then, let me help you.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I want to help. Do you think your father and I want you to fail?”

“Mother, I'm on a contract. It's like being behind bars. It's like totally humiliating.”

“It's more like being on probation, but the point is that the contract is something we worked out with the school to help you succeed. Now pay attention.” Anne-Marie watched somewhat numbly as her mother dropped the Edit bar on the monitor and showed her the procedure for cutting and pasting. “Now you try it.”

Anne-Marie manipulated the process successfully a time or two before her mother said, “I have to go to work. If you have any other questions about it, you can ask me this evening. I'll try to help.”

“You know, this is ironic,” said Anne-Marie. “In most houses it's the teenagers who have to teach their parents about computers.”

“Ironic is a good word for it,” said her mother before leaving the room. “And you need to start eating more. You're getting too thin.”

“I know. I will.”

As soon as her mother was gone, Anne-Marie set to work on editing her essay. Her topic was a local drug program called Project Oz and the services it provided for teenagers. She could call Richard and quiz him, if she wanted; he had been in the program once or twice during sophomore year. But that wouldn't work, because any call from her would only encourage him to try to start up their relationship again.

The topic of drugs reminded her of the consultation with Nurse Howard, which reminded her she was pregnant without an option. This reminded her how queasy her stomach was, too much so for eating, and before she knew it there were tears running down her face while she found herself staring at the stars and bars on the screen saver.

Anne-Marie stood up so she could pace. Looking out her window, she could see that her mother's car was gone, as well as her father's. The Planned Parenthood pamphlet
Am I Parent Material
? was in her desk drawer, hidden beneath some of Eleanor's academic awards and certificates. She took it out and laid it right next to her keyboard. The pamphlet seemed like it was a living entity, with eyes that could track her movement in any part of the room. She didn't know what to do and Eleanor was gone. She took the library card from her wallet and stared at Eleanor's phone number on the back.

If she went back to that clinic, she'd have to go alone. Anne-Marie suddenly felt a level of anxiety and desperation far more acute than any she'd ever known. She felt tears coming again, and she wished like anything she had a cigarette. It would fit perfectly with this restless pattern of nervous pacing.

At that moment the doorbell rang. She wiped her eyes quickly with tissue before she went downstairs to see who was there.

It was a young man with short hair dressed in a dark suit and tie. A young woman was with him; she wore a print dress which reached to midcalf. The young man introduced himself as Jacob, the young woman as Gloria; they were both holding Bibles.

As she shook their hands, Anne-Marie recognized their faces from Brother Jackson's tabernacle meeting. “What d'you want?” she asked.

Jacob came right to the point. “We saw you make a visit to the Planned Parenthood clinic.”

“You saw that?”

“We monitor there sometimes. Please don't be offended, but we feel it's a part of what the Lord is calling us to do.”

Anne-Marie's first thought was,
Someone's been watching me
. “I only went there because my sister thought it might be a good idea. How did you find my house?”

Gloria smiled and said, “We try to maintain a networking system to help the convicted. We hope and pray you would never consider having an abortion,” she added.

It never occurred to Anne-Marie that these two people might be invading her privacy. “I could never have an abortion. God could never forgive a thing like that.”

“Praise Him for that,” said Gloria.

“Praise Him,” echoed Jacob.

Gloria continued, “Remember, if you're pregnant, what's growing inside you is a living child with an eternal soul. It isn't just tissue, to be scraped away, like they try to tell you.”

Anne-Marie suddenly felt embarrassed she'd ever gone there, or did the embarrassment result from the fact she'd been caught? “I could never have an abortion,” she repeated. “We just talked to a counselor who gave us literature and told us about eating right and health habits and things like that.”

“That's the pattern their seduction usually takes,” said Jacob.

“Did this counselor ask you to return another time?” Gloria asked her.

“Well, yes, she said I could come back later and talk about all my options. She said I could have a prenatal exam in their clinic.”

“That's their usual pattern of deception,” Jacob said. “They soften you up as if all they want to do is give you parenting advice, and then when they get you back they lead you in the direction of the abortion option.”

“They can make it seem like it's your choice, and not theirs,” said Gloria. “They do it again and again to confused young women. They're very good at it.”

Anne-Marie was scared. Her visit with Nurse Howard hadn't seemed like this kind of prelude, but she did know from fellowshipping with enough believers that the abortion people were very clever.

Gloria took Anne-Marie's hand. “Would you like to pray about this, dear?”

“Yes, I would,” Anne-Marie found herself answering quickly.

The three of them went to their knees right there in the entryway. Gloria kept a tight grip on her hand. “Lord Jesus,” she began, with her eyes squeezed tightly shut, “we just give you all the praise and glory.”

“All the honor,” added Jacob.

Gloria continued her prayer, “Father, we just ask your blessing on our sister Anne-Marie right now, at this very moment.”

“We ask you to be right by her side, Jesus,” added Jacob, “in the days ahead and fill her heart with your loving presence. We ask you, lead her in the direction of all right and true decisions, and bless her with your guidance every step of the way.”

“Dear Jesus, don't let her be seduced by the Evil One,” prayed Gloria, “whatever clever form he might take. We pray you just spread your whole armor to protect her every step of the way from those who would lead her astray and into sin.”

Anne-Marie felt a sudden loosening of the fearful knot in her stomach.
I didn't put enough trust in the Lord to begin with
, she thought.
What made me think there could be answers in contracts with a high school or visits to a counselor at Planned Parenthood? Why wasn't my faith stronger, why did it take two strangers to seek me out and lead me to the Lord's exclusive guidance
? The tears which rolled down her cheeks were new ones, different ones, tears of joy and relief.

As the three of them got slowly to their feet, Anne-Marie brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. “I want to thank you for coming,” she said truthfully. “Praise Him.”