Faith and Adoption: Unwed Pregnancy Woes

Being pregnant while trying to muddle my way back through the muck of my faith was, at the very least, somewhat frustrating. Most of the time it was downright hard. I was tested. I was provoked. I was judged. I was ignored and shunned. I was all but beaten with a wet noodle.

And why?

Yes, I sure as heck was pregnant out of wedlock. Yes, I acknowlege those decisions that brought me to that place in my life. It is true that had I been living by God’s commandments I wouldn’t have ended up in such a dire situation. And yet, would we have the Munchkin? Dilemma, it seems.

I wasn’t treated very Christian-like in the church that I attempted to attend before I was put on bed rest. In fact, not one lone soul in that very, very large church took the time to talk to me. Mothers ushering small children to the bathroom avoided eye contact. Older generations had no qualms with giving me dirty looks. No one came to ask if I needed any help, in my daily life or spiritually.

And why?

Having been pregnant a second time, within the bond of marriage, I can tell you that I got to a point where I could no longer wear my wedding rings. My fingers were the size of large sausages, swollen and chubby. Why did the folks at that church automatically assume, just because there was a missing ring on my finger, that I was unmarried?

And what made it so much worse than what they were doing to me?

Oh, perhaps if I wouldn’t have been confined to bed shortly after that experience I could have found another church that would have been spiritually and emotionally supportive. Perhaps they would have offered to bake me pies and sit with me during the long hours stuck watching repeats of daytime television.

Instead, I turned to my own Bible on my own. Bed rest brough about some quiet times with God in which I was able to continue to ask my questions, work through some doubts and thus find some light in an otherwise perilously dark time. Maybe their shunning was so I could find my own way back to my faith. (Or maybe they were just mean spirited people!) Either way, I started to walk with the Lord again even if he was carrying me at the time. (I mean, I was on bed rest. No walking allowed!)

The experience in itself is why I feel lead to talk to my own pastor about their ministry, or lack thereof, to young mothers. No, I’m not talking about me telling pregnant women to place. Goodness no! I’m talking about telling expectant mothers that they are welcome in the doors of our church. I am talking about telling these new mothers that if they need resources, we can help them figure it out. I am talking about telling these newly formed families that if they need a day off for sanity’s sake, we can provide a caring individual to watch their newborn while they take a freaking nap!

I don’t know how it will be received or how to lift the idea off the ground. I do know that I still have some hurt feeling regarding how I was treated within the walls of the church during my pregnancy. And I do know that makes me determined to make a difference in our new hometown. I can use my experience to help support other Mothers so that they don’t have to feel the way that I was made to feel. I don’t want it happening in our church. It shouldn’t have to be this way in this millenium. For any mother!

Next Sunday I’ll take the time to talk about how my faith figured into placement. Or if it did at all. And other related issues. (A note: that might be a topic for a few weeks. We’ll see!)

//

Part One – Faith and Adoption: A New Series.

You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.