Stacie. Good going, Johnson , I chastised myself.
Then I heard Stacie say, “Jonica, I have to tell you something I couldn’t say to your face and I need to tell you right away.”
My hopes sank. I’d disappointed her and jeopardized our friendship. Then her words tilted my world slightly off center again.
“Please try to understand. This is hard for me to say. I don’t want to make life any harder on you.”
My spirits continued to sink even lower. “You can tell me anything,” I said, trying to sound strong.
“I want a baby.”
“Oh,” was all I could muster for a second. The pause left her free to talk about her desire and her fear of judgment from her mother—and from me.
She started to cry and said, “I woke up feeling so empty today, and for the first time Mother’s Day meant more to me than a day to make sure I did my duty and called Eve. Is it wrong for me to want this after what I did?”
Only one word came to mind. “No.”
“I need this to be okay with you.”
“I’m fine. Just because I can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
When we said goodbye, I was exhausted. This emptying myself out to her left me feeling vulnerable to the point of naked. I’d have preferred keeping my mask on a little longer—like until after she’d become a believer. I knew it had taken a lot of courage to admit her desire for another baby.
While I respected her for that, when I hung up I still had one question for God. Why today?
Stacie
I didn’t intend to trip Jonica up with a trick question.
When she slammed her glass down on the table, it was like seeing a volcano erupt from a long sleep without warning.
“I despise the day,” she blurted out as she squeezed more lemon into her iced tea, then stirred it, the spoon clanking on the glass and the ice cubes swirling as if trying to get out of the way. My silent shock allowed her to continue. The words came out sharp and staccato.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love honoring my mom and Ben’s, and we do. In our own way—at home. Not in church. We don’t go to church on the ‘parent’ holidays. I don’t want to stand up to be honored as a ‘spiritual parent’ although I might well be. It shines a spotlight on those of us struggling without children—or parents. There are a lot of grieving people in the pews on these two days of the year.
“Parents fit the normal profile. When invited to stand with them or stop in at the welcome center in the foyer and get a flower, I feel like a glitch in the system. Standing with the parents is not my place. I am Jonica, childless woman. Aunt to a few, mother to none. The day is all about women who have kids—not women who don’t. If I join the moms, I stand as an imposter. I can’t—I won’t do that anymore. I will not pretend it isn’t uncomfortable or that I am honored.”
Sheesh. Who knew?
Then she told me about the ladies at church. They didn’t surprise me—this was the kind of behavior I expected from Christians.
“Finally,” I whispered with pride. Thankfully, she missed it. The old bats!
A new emotion caught me off guard as she let the truth rip. I wanted to protect her from any more harm. Of course, not having any other close friends, I had no idea how to go about doing such a thing. No one can protect her friends from mean people, but I was suddenly capable of wanting to punch out the two old biddies who seemed to think they could say anything they wanted to Jonica in the name of Jesus.
She tapped the tea off her spoon and slammed it on the table. “Anymore questions?” she demanded.
There was no way I wanted to probe any further. Her anger made me realize I’d never asked her how she was feeling. Other than Ben and her mom, I knew it was possible no one else had either.
For the first time, Jonica was uncomfortable and unsure of herself with me. In every other conversation we had, she said all the right things at the right times, always soothing and encouraging
Then I heard Stacie say, “Jonica, I have to tell you something I couldn’t say to your face and I need to tell you right away.”
My hopes sank. I’d disappointed her and jeopardized our friendship. Then her words tilted my world slightly off center again.
“Please try to understand. This is hard for me to say. I don’t want to make life any harder on you.”
My spirits continued to sink even lower. “You can tell me anything,” I said, trying to sound strong.
“I want a baby.”
“Oh,” was all I could muster for a second. The pause left her free to talk about her desire and her fear of judgment from her mother—and from me.
She started to cry and said, “I woke up feeling so empty today, and for the first time Mother’s Day meant more to me than a day to make sure I did my duty and called Eve. Is it wrong for me to want this after what I did?”
Only one word came to mind. “No.”
“I need this to be okay with you.”
“I’m fine. Just because I can’t get pregnant doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
When we said goodbye, I was exhausted. This emptying myself out to her left me feeling vulnerable to the point of naked. I’d have preferred keeping my mask on a little longer—like until after she’d become a believer. I knew it had taken a lot of courage to admit her desire for another baby.
While I respected her for that, when I hung up I still had one question for God. Why today?
Stacie
I didn’t intend to trip Jonica up with a trick question.
When she slammed her glass down on the table, it was like seeing a volcano erupt from a long sleep without warning.
“I despise the day,” she blurted out as she squeezed more lemon into her iced tea, then stirred it, the spoon clanking on the glass and the ice cubes swirling as if trying to get out of the way. My silent shock allowed her to continue. The words came out sharp and staccato.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love honoring my mom and Ben’s, and we do. In our own way—at home. Not in church. We don’t go to church on the ‘parent’ holidays. I don’t want to stand up to be honored as a ‘spiritual parent’ although I might well be. It shines a spotlight on those of us struggling without children—or parents. There are a lot of grieving people in the pews on these two days of the year.
“Parents fit the normal profile. When invited to stand with them or stop in at the welcome center in the foyer and get a flower, I feel like a glitch in the system. Standing with the parents is not my place. I am Jonica, childless woman. Aunt to a few, mother to none. The day is all about women who have kids—not women who don’t. If I join the moms, I stand as an imposter. I can’t—I won’t do that anymore. I will not pretend it isn’t uncomfortable or that I am honored.”
Sheesh. Who knew?
Then she told me about the ladies at church. They didn’t surprise me—this was the kind of behavior I expected from Christians.
“Finally,” I whispered with pride. Thankfully, she missed it. The old bats!
A new emotion caught me off guard as she let the truth rip. I wanted to protect her from any more harm. Of course, not having any other close friends, I had no idea how to go about doing such a thing. No one can protect her friends from mean people, but I was suddenly capable of wanting to punch out the two old biddies who seemed to think they could say anything they wanted to Jonica in the name of Jesus.
She tapped the tea off her spoon and slammed it on the table. “Anymore questions?” she demanded.
There was no way I wanted to probe any further. Her anger made me realize I’d never asked her how she was feeling. Other than Ben and her mom, I knew it was possible no one else had either.
For the first time, Jonica was uncomfortable and unsure of herself with me. In every other conversation we had, she said all the right things at the right times, always soothing and encouraging
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