My Mother Kicked Me Out of the Church for Getting Pregnant Out of Wedlock

The first time he kissed me, it was on the porch swing outside my mother’s house, and I swear I saw stars. When I told Mama about Glenn, though, she only pressed her lips together and said, “That’s nice, sugar. Don’t forget that big exam coming up.”

That’s my mama, Claudia. Since Daddy passed, she’s devoted herself entirely to raising me and her love of nature. She never dated, never seemed interested in love again. She’d glance at Daddy’s photo with a look so wistful it broke my heart. Once, I tried asking, “Mama, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“I’ve got you,” she replied, smoothing her skirt. “That’s all the company I need.”

Everything was smooth until one morning when I woke up feeling too sick to move. The thought of food turned my stomach, and I realized, with growing panic, what those symptoms could mean. My hands shook as I opened the drawer where I’d hidden a pregnancy test. But when two pink lines appeared, I could only stare in shock.

Nineteen, still in college, and pregnant. My heart pounded as I paced, imagining every way this news would go over with Mama—and none of it looked good. I was sure she’d never accept a child born out of wedlock.

For days, I hid in my room, dodging Mama’s meals and finding excuses to avoid her. “Faith, baby girl,” she called out one evening, “I made your favorite pancakes.”

“Thanks, Mama, but I already grabbed a granola bar,” I lied.

This charade went on until Thursday when she finally confronted me. She stood in my doorway, her arms crossed, and that mom-stare fixed on me.

“Since when do you skip my pancakes? And don’t think I haven’t noticed you running to the bathroom every morning,” she said.

“Just stressed about exams,” I muttered.

“Uh-huh,” she replied. “And that’s why you haven’t touched your coffee in days?”

Desperate to dodge her questions, I grabbed my backpack and left for the library, avoiding her worried gaze. But by Sunday, she wasn’t buying it. “Faith, honey, we’re going to be late for service!” she called.

At church, everything was normal until the nausea hit again, and Mama noticed immediately. She leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “Faith, what’s going on?”

Unable to keep the secret any longer, I whispered, “Mom, I need to tell you something. I’m pregnant.”

The silence was unbearable as Mama’s expression shifted from shock to betrayal. She stood up, voice trembling, and hissed, “Get out of this church and pack your things. How could you do this? You’ve shamed our family!” My tears blurred the pews as I stumbled toward the door, but a familiar voice stopped me.

It was Pastor James, walking toward us. “Claudia,” he said gently, “would you abandon your daughter now? Isn’t this the time for grace and love?”

“She’s having a child out of wedlock!” she protested.

“That shouldn’t matter, Claudia,” he replied. “Remember when your husband passed? This congregation held you and Faith in love. Shouldn’t we do the same now?”

Mama’s face softened, and moments later, we were hugging in the middle of the church, both crying as the congregation looked on in quiet understanding.

Days later, Mama insisted on meeting Glenn and his family. “No more secrets,” she said, straightening my collar like I was still her little girl. Glenn drove us to his house, looking nervous but ready. When we arrived, the door opened, and there stood Pastor James.

I laughed when Glenn called him “Dad,” and the pastor looked between us in surprise before breaking into a grin. “The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways.”

Looking back now, I can see that blessings often come in the scariest packages. And Mama? She’s already picking out baby names and knitting tiny booties. Just yesterday, she even mentioned, “You know, maybe it’s time I got out more. Mrs. Jones’ brother just moved to town…”