Michele and Allan drove out of the church parking lot and turned right toward River Oaks. “Do you need to go home first,” Allan asked, “or can we go straight to your folks’?”
“I’m okay, let’s just go straight there.” Michele was doing a little better since that awful experience with the children’s ministry teacher. Hearing Julie’s strong reaction definitely helped. That wasn’t how God felt about her, and it didn’t have anything to do with why he hadn’t allowed her to get pregnant yet.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m okay,” Michele said.
“Did your meeting with Julie go well? You seem a little upset.”
“The Julie part of the meeting was fine. It’s what happened before that.”
Allan stopped at the light. “You mean during the service?”
“No. When I first got to the classroom, before Julie got there.”
Allan looked confused.
She didn’t really want to tell him; it was so upsetting. But she knew their relationship wouldn’t get back on track if she didn’t start communicating more, right when things happened. So she told him everything: what the teacher said, the way she said it, and Julie’s reaction.
His eyes became angrier than she’d ever seen them. “What’s this lady’s name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because . . . that is the most ridiculous, horrible, thoughtless thing I’ve ever heard anyone say. I want to know who this lady is.”
“Julie said it, but I don’t remember. Mrs. Hardy, I think. Or Harding. But Allan, I don’t want you to confront her.”
“Why not? Someone has to. Someone that heartless needs to be confronted.” He glared straight ahead, but he obviously wasn’t seeing the road.
“The light turned green,” she said. “Julie’s going to talk to her, or else Ray will.”
“Did she say she would?”
“Pretty much. Please tell me you’ll talk with Ray before you say anything to the teacher. If they’re willing to handle it, I think you should let them.”
Allan took a deep breath. His eyes softened a little. He looked at Michele. “I’m so sorry she said that to you. You know that’s completely not true, right? There’s no way that’s why you haven’t gotten pregnant yet.”
“I know.”
“It’s like she was born without a tact gene,” Allan said. “I know a guy like that at work. He just says whatever he thinks, regardless of how ignorant it sounds or who might be hurt by it. You can tell by the look on his face, he’s clueless. He has absolutely no idea how inappropriate and offensive his comments are.”
They turned into the entrance of River Oaks. “Well,” Michele said, “what that teacher said may be an extreme example of insensitivity, but I think a lot of people, even people in our church, don’t really understand how painful this thing is. The whole reason this incident happened illustrates the point.”
“What do you mean?”
“This lady apparently overheard something I said a few weeks ago at a prayer meeting. That’s why she knew I was struggling with infertility. The thing is, I wasn’t asking for prayer about our infertility problem. I was asking for prayer for your trip to Africa, that God would keep you safe and bring you home safe.”
“How did the conversation get from there to infertility?” Allan asked.
“Insensitivity,” she said. “A lack of discernment. Take your pick. Do you realize how many times I’ve asked for prayer for something, and someone in the group inevitably starts praying for me to get pregnant? Half the time, I’m not even thinking about it until they bring it up. Then for the next several minutes, everyone’s focusing on me and my inability to get pregnant. Some of the women will come up after we stop praying and ask me how I’m doing, or tell me some story about someone they know that has the same problem.”
Allan smiled. “I think they’re just trying to be caring when that happens.”
“I’m sure they are,” she said. “But that doesn’t help me at the time. It makes me not want to pray in a group anymore. I mean, if I was struggling with this specifically and I asked for prayer, that would be different. But I’ve had people praying for me to get pregnant when I had that bronchial infection a few months ago and couldn’t shake it.”
Allan laughed. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny.”
Michele sighed. “It just seems like Christians don’t know what to do with this, or how to treat people dealing with this problem.” They were driving through the cute downtown area of River Oaks now. Elderberry Lane was just a few blocks away. “I got another one of these today.” She pulled a small white envelope out of her purse.
“What is it?” he asked.
“An invitation . . . to a baby shower. It’s like torture, going to those. Pretending to be so happy as they open all the gifts. Listening to all the moms talk about their delivery stories. All the while I just sit there, smiling, nodding.”
“I’m sorry, Michele. Who’s the shower for?”
She opened the invitation and read aloud. “The friends and family of Mrs. Samantha Durbin are happy to announce . . . I’m not even sure I know who that is.”
“I think I know the Durbins,” Allan said. “Not very well. But you don’t have to go to that one, Michele. It’s their first baby. I think the church has a policy to invite all the women when it’s the first baby. But they know not everyone’s going to go.”
Michele looked out the window. They were in her parents’ neighborhood now. “I don’t think I will. Maybe I’ll send a small gift along.”
They drove in silence a few moments. Michele spoke first. “Jean said something interesting the other day.”
“What’s that?”
“She read that one in eight couples struggle with infertility. She wanted me to know I’m not alone.”
“We’re not alone,” he said.
She wanted to believe him, that they were going through this together. She’d felt all alone in this for so many months now. At least he was trying. He reached his hand toward her. She took it and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“If that statistic is for the country as a whole,” Allan said, “I’d say it’s much higher than one in eight within the church. I think church people are trying to have kids more aggressively than the culture at large. It might be more like one in five.”
“Either way,” Michele said, “seems like a lot more people struggle with this than you would think. For some reason, we tend to suffer alone. I can think of two other women I know in the church who can’t seem to get pregnant. Both have been trying longer than me. We don’t even talk to each other. Not very often, anyway.”
They turned onto Elderberry Lane. “Maybe you should.”
“Should what?”
“Talk to these other women. There’s probably a bunch of other women in the church who are dealing with this. We’re up to about three hundred people now. Based on that statistic, even with the one in eight number, that’s almost twenty women in a church our size. If it’s one in five, you’re talking almost thirty.”
Could that be possible? “I don’t know. I’m not sure I want to do something like that.”
“Like what?”
“Start some kind of women’s ministry or support group. I don’t even like to think about it.” Talking about it openly would make it feel more real, or like she was giving in to defeat or giving up hope.
“I was just thinking of you talking with those two.” Allan pulled up to the curb near her parents’ house. “Looks like everyone’s here. Wow, even Doug. Three weekends in a row. Wonder what’s going on.”
Michele recognized all the cars. All except one.