A glance into the eyes of a teenager
Her eyes drop slowly to the table, and then quickly back up to search my face for any hidden thoughts. Leaning her head back, she shuts her eyes tight against the anguish. You can feel the myriad of questions filling her head by the intermixed looks of anguish and relief. She answers my questions with reserve, offering only mechanical responses that are cold and insincere. Her eyes open, and a small tear escapes from the carefully guarded wells. The timer pierces the air much like a chef with his carefully sharpened knife. She jerks her head up, but rather than looking at the table, where her eyes have so often dropped in the past four minutes, she looks at me. I read pain, abandonment, and fear on her face. She is relieved to soon receive an answer. This is one of the hardest parts of the entire session. Will I give her hope, or change, like she's never known?
Only ten minutes earlier, I asked her easy questions: address, occupation, and permission to contact. She is an out of town student at the university. Her father is a preacher, but she hasn't attended church or read the Bible since the move to college. A common situation, but one that always ends in its own unique way. She explained that she's only been going out with Jake for five weeks. Before that, her boyfriend was a guy two years younger and a "real drip." Jake is older and works locally for his dad. She knows that her parents haven't approved of her many relationships since attending college, but it's her life. Right?
I show her the sheet of interpretation signs.one line means negative, two lines is positive. She must decide the result of the test and sign stating that she has interpreted the test. She nods her head and lowers her head. I've tried not to look during the waiting period, attempting to engage her in conversation so as to make the time pass. After a glance at the table, it's obvious she is not happy with what she sees. Angry words flow from her quivering lips. I hand her the clipboard with a request to circle what she read her test to be and then to sign the sheet. Reaching for the gestation wheel, I show her how to measure her due date and decide how far along she is in her pregnancy. Her eyes slowly change as understanding dawns. According to the wheel she's already seven weeks pregnant. Tears mingle with gasps of air, as she sobs that Jake won't want a baby that's not his. He doesn't even want kids. In this situation, counselors pray for the right words to speak. One false move and her trust is broken.
Opening up a brochure, I explain her child's heart has been beating since day 21. The brain and nervous system have been developing three weeks. I show her a picture of this baby at seven weeks. Her breath slows as shock sets into her face. Her baby, so often described as a fetus or just a "blob of tissue," has hands, eyes, and even little toes?
The excuses come inevitably. No job, she still has two years left of school, a hostile response from parents... I carefully explain the services we offer at the crisis pregnancy center, such as parenting classes, baby clothes and furniture, maternity clothes, and medical services. Most girls that come in don't realize all that we do. The free pregnancy test and someone to talk to are usually incentive enough. Like so many of the others, the surety that this could never happen to her has been smashed. She needs time, but also needs to know that God is always there for her and the center is always open.
She accepts the brochures without looking up. I ask if we can pray, and her back straightens stiffly as she nods. I incorporate the salvation message in my prayer, knowing she's heard it before, but hearts are never as open as they are in a moment of crisis. I finish, and she looks up with tears again filling her eyes. She moves toward the door and looks back. "Thanks for listening. If I decide to keep my baby, can I come back to see you next week?" My job isn't over when she leaves our center. I can follow-up with cards and phone calls, but the real work is done on my knees.
About the Author
Tenille is currently a freelance writer and editor. She is a former professional ballet dancer and actress.