The Pastor

By Asche

Copyright 2015

Chapter 4 -- Second Advent Sunday

The conversation with the psychologist stuck in the back of the pastor's mind for the rest of the week, but faded into the background as he worked on Sunday's sermons. The adult sermon was to be about advent as a time of anticipation of the Lord's gift of His only son. The children's sermon would be on a similar theme, but using the children's anticipation of gifts from Santa to make it clearer to them.

On Sunday, as he started telling his sermon to the children, once again he noticed Jesse on his mother's lap and his bleak, haunted look. The part of the his mind that was not occupied with his performance jumped back to the conversation with the psychologist, especially the part where she said, "most of them die." He suddenly had a vision of that bleak face staring out of the corpse of a child. He'd had to see dead children on occasion, especially when he worked as a hospital chaplain, and the sight had always given him an un-Christian sense of despair. He knew that this was simply the Lord bringing His Own home, but he couldn't help feeling like each dead child was a precious gift of God destroyed before it had even been opened. The idea that his position on Jesse's belief that he was a girl, however Biblically and doctrinally correct, might be even partly responsible for Jesse becoming another one of them disturbed him.

After church, he asked Mrs. Taylor if she could come in at her convenience. She said she'd have to check her schedule for work at the WalMart. The next day, she called and said that she was free Wednesday afternoon.

"Miz Taylor," said the pastor after Marisa was seated in the overstuffed chair in his office, "you and your son have been very much in my thoughts and my prayers. I'd much appreciate it if you could tell me how you all are doing. Only what you feel comfortable telling me, of course. It's perhaps selfish of me, but I'd like to settle my mind a little."

Marisa sighed. "It's not much different from what I told you two weeks ago. Jesse is a very obedient little boy, always has been, but he looks so sad and, like I said, haunted. Except when he gets to be Jessica, like he says."

"You haven't gotten rid of his dresses?"

Marisa looked a little guilty. "No, I haven't. I haven't had the heart to. You see, Reverend, it's like this. I grew up on a farm, and we had barn cats. Now, the way it is when they have kittens, if their eyes don't open after a day or so, you figure they'll be blind and it's a kindness not to make them live.

"Well one day, I think I was about Jesse's age, one of the momma cats had had kittens, and my Pa said that three of them hadn't opened their eyes, and he told me to drown them. Now I wasn't keen on drowning helpless little kittens, but what Pa said, you did. He told me to get a barrel and half fill it with water and drop them in, and if they didn't sink fast enough, to hold them down. Well, I did like he told me and filled up the barrel and fetched the kittens. I saw them roll around with their eyes closed and looking so helpless and I couldn't help it, I knew they were just animals, but I said a little prayer for each of them. Then I dropped them in. Two drowned right away, but the third somehow kept his head up and I had to push him down and hold him under. I could feel his heart beating and his thrashing around and I could just imagine being him and him wondering, why? why? When I was done, I went to my Pa crying and told him I didn't care what he did, I wasn't never going to drown a kitten again. I thought he'd get mad, but he just looked kind of sad at me and told me he wouldn't."

Marisa's eyes were wet, and she began crying as she continued. "This is all to say, when I think of taking those dresses and girl clothes away from him, and taking those hours of being Jessica away, I feel like I'd be drowning my own kittens. I just can't do it. The Lord may send me to Hell, He may send us both to Hell, but I just can't do it."

The pastor couldn't speak for the longest time. Marisa's sobs had ceased by the time he had an idea of what to say. "The Lord knows best what burdens we bear and how well we can bear them. You and I know what the Lord wants you to do --" Saying this last sentence was somehow like swallowing razor blades. "But He also knows you can only do what you can do. I'd say, do what you can, don't do what you can't, and pray to the Lord for strength and forgiveness."

"Well, Reverend, we both pray. I pray for strength and for the Lord to ease Jesse's load. And Jesse? Well, he's started praying for the Lord to call him home and send him back as a girl next time, so he won't feel torn apart all the time. I tell you, it's like a knife in my heart every time he says things like that. But I can't say as I blame him. His nature and his body being at war against one another like that."

The pastor knew he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything. The psychologist's comment about how "most of them die" was ringing in his ears again. Finally he said, "Miz Taylor, I much appreciate your coming in. I'm sorry I don't have -- I don't yet have -- anything to comfort you with. But you've given me a lot to think about. I'll be praying for both of you." With that, they both stood up and the pastor escorted Marisa to the door.