“You’re the daughter I’ve always wanted.”
Those words warmed me like they always did, though their placement in this conversation confused me a bit. I looked into those familiar hazel eyes and smiled back.
“I’m so thankful for that.” I coughed and shifted position in my usual spot on the black leather couch in Pastor Craig’s office. “Anyway, I reviewed the communication between Pastor Tim and Daniel and saw some controlling aspects in how he communicated. I felt I needed to bring it to you.”
His smile stayed on his face, but it seemed tighter, frozen. The silence stretched before he closed his eyes and placed his hand on his heart. “Mm, yes. Thank you, Holy Spirit.” He leaned forward to face me. “Matthew 18 says we’re to go to the person we have an offense against, so you need to take this directly to Pastor Tim.”
“This really isn’t a Matthew 18 situation. I’m not offended by him. More concerned that he needs oversight and feedback from his direct—”
“Leslie, I’m not going to go against the Bible. Or against what the Holy Spirit has directed me.” His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it, his eyes trained on me.
The interruption cut. I clutched the leather between my fingers, my mind suddenly feeling like a tangled ball of yarn I couldn’t find the beginning of. The Holy Spirit wouldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t make me, a volunteer, confront a pastor over a leadership issue above me. Would He?
It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it. It just didn’t seem … right.
I tried again. “I noticed Daniel hasn’t been himself at church lately, and then I talked to his mom, and she was worried too, so I asked Daniel—”
“You haven’t been a youth volunteer for very long, and there’s a reason for that.”
I leaned onto the arm of the couch for extra support. Only a month ago, I’d told them I could finally volunteer as a youth leader. They’d been thrilled, saying they’d been waiting for this. If I was remembering correctly…
“I saw some immaturity in you. I know things have been hard with your parents since you became a Christian eight years ago. I didn’t want you to project your issues with authority onto your leaders.”
His words hit like a punch in the stomach, and every muscle in my body tensed, waiting for the next attack.
Next attack? What was I thinking? This was Pastor Craig. My stand-in dad. Encourager. Confidant. He wasn’t attacking me.
So why did my body feel like he was?
He grabbed his phone and typed while the second hand of the clock pounded. I glanced at it. Around four. I normally longed for more time in this office, but this time I couldn’t wait to escape.
“Talk with Pastor Tim. I know you’ll do a good job. You’ve always been so good at honoring boundaries before.” He stood up, and I mirrored him thoughtlessly, wondering what boundaries he was referring to. “I have to finish prepping my message tonight. Why don’t you spend some time in the prayer room?” he said, wrapping me in a hug that usually felt so safe.
“Uh, sure,” I said, my voice muffled by his shoulder.
“I’m so happy to have a daughter like you.” He ushered me out of his office before I could say anything else.
I didn’t go to the prayer room. With my heart racing, I didn’t think I could settle in one spot. Instead, I wandered around the campus and managed to get quite a few laps in before I settled on restocking waters in all the mini fridges.
An hour later, my best friend, Becca, found me sitting on the hospitality room floor, sprawled out next to a half-empty carton of waters, my gaze fixed on the TV replaying a service six months ago. She gingerly knelt next to me. We sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the musicians explode with praise and the congregation worship at the altar.
“Do you notice anything about this video?” I finally asked her.
“That was a good worship set,” she said.
“Mhmm.” I pointed. “Look at that group on the right. Not a single one of them attends here anymore. And that couple in front of the podium? Going to Christian Life Center now.” I held up a thermos. “Do you know whose this is?”
“No.”
“Monique Carraway’s. What happened to her and her family?”
She took the thermos from me. “Her husband had an orphan spirit.”
I laughed. “An orphan spirit? That doesn’t answer what happened.”
She shrugged. “He didn’t want to be fathered.”
I scraped my nails against the label of one of the water bottles. When did we start talking like this? “You’re okay with that explanation?”
She shrugged again. “You were when Nicole left.”
Oh, God. I was part of it. I looked again at the screen. “This sermon is called ‘The Holiness of Honor.’ The McCulloughs started attending the church down the road a couple weeks before this.”
“That church doesn’t even know how to worship.”
I kept talking, pretending like her comment didn’t send prickles down my skin—because hadn’t I just said that a week ago? “Isn’t it weird that when someone leaves, we suddenly hear a sermon about honor, warning us about gossiping and encouraging us to honor the spiritual leadership God places over us?”
“That’s biblical,” Becca said.
Instead of rolling my eyes, I stood up and started pacing. “So, even though we’re never explicitly told not to talk to anyone who leaves, we feel like we’re not supposed to.”
“Leslie…” Becca had to stand up—otherwise, I was going to run her over.
“And why would we talk to them? They’re rebellious. They have spirits. They were offended, triggered.” I halted directly in front of Becca. “So have you ever talked to anyone who’s left?”
“Of course not! That would be gossip.”
“Why is someone telling their own story gossip, but a pastor telling it not?”
She stepped back, tripping over the carton and sending water bottles rolling. “You’re scaring me.”
“Because I’m asking questions we’ve never asked before?”
She pressed her back against the door now. As if what? I was some kind of monster?
“All this because you won’t have a difficult conversation with Pastor Tim? It won’t be that bad.”
“This is not even about Pastor Tim anymore!” I kicked one of the water bottles around. “That’s what I don’t understand. My concerns should have been easily addressed, but suddenly, the conversation completely turned around, and I couldn’t think straight—”
I froze. Turned slowly to face her again. “How do you know about my conversation with Pastor Craig?”
“Um…” She groped for the door handle behind her. “It’s no big deal. He was worried. He asked me to check on you.”
“He asked you?”
“A simple text. No big deal.”
I took a step towards her. “What time did he text you?”
“Why does that—”
“What time?”
“Around four.”
We were so close I could see the deep blue of her eyes. I could feel our history. Our laughter. Our tears. Our prayers. We had never fought before. But this was bigger than us.
Around four.
“I gotta go.” I yanked open the door and rushed down the hall.
“Don’t leave. Talk to Pastor Craig again!” Her words trailed off, mingling with the strains of worship practice. I ran outside into the fading light of day, the image of her texting burned inside my brain.
Pastor Craig met me at my car. “I know you’re scared, sweet girl. It can be hard when our spiritual fathers call us up higher.”
I stared at him in a daze, his words sounding like gibberish. Maybe they were. Maybe they always were.
I pulled at the handle, but he stopped the door from opening. “It’ll be okay. We’ll work through your triggers. I know a wonderful therapist I can refer you to.”
I shook my head. “I need some space.”
He put his other hand on my shoulder. “This is my fault,” he said. “I knew you weren’t ready for a leadership position.”
I gripped the door handle tighter now. Was there anything I could say that wouldn’t get twisted on me? “I gotta go.”
“Leslie, it’s me. Pastor Craig. You know me.”
I took in those hazel eyes, that smile, but nothing looked the same. “Maybe I don’t.”
In an instant, a hardening. The lines were no longer laugh lines but war lines. His eyes didn’t sparkle. They glinted. His hand slid off the door.
And then, I was in the car, door slammed shut and locked. I didn’t even buckle myself in before peeling out. Exiting the parking lot, I dared one last glance in the mirror, seeing the face of a man I wondered if I ever really knew.