you ain't got to lie, em

this sunday, a girl slunk in quietly through the backdoor of the church while worship was going on. she stood just out of sight listening to the music. she was pale and waifish, and she looked like she didn't think she belonged where she was. i wasn't sure if she was a transient off the street or someone's invited guest, but she looked lost. so i walked over and welcomed her saying "you don't have to stand here in the back. you can go grab a seat if you want!"

she asked me to repeat what i said before she motioned me to come outside because she couldn't hear me over the music. i repeated, and she just kinda smiled and laughed it off or said thanks. i don't remember which. but apparently, she was more interested in getting some attention because as soon as a quiet opportunity presented itself, she began telling me her life story. i kinda did want to go back inside and worship with the rest of the family, but i had to check myself on a writ of that mary-and-martha principle where Jesus deemed it more important for mary to spend time with him than for her to help martha with the housework (luke 10:38-42).

so i sat and i listened. fortunately, she didn't take too terribly long getting down to the dirt. she had squeezed through the bars to escape the church next door because she didn't like them and they didn't understand her. she was from phoenix, but had to come to live here in los angeles with her grandparents. her home in phoenix was overrun with drug addicts (many of which she said she'd invited into the home). {ok, i'm still listening.}

i asked how old she was. she said she was 14. i told her it was quite alright for her to visit the church, but she really should let her grandparents know where she was. she said, "oh, oh, i have that completely under control. i have a whole plan worked out." {story somewhat checks out... that sounds like the type of dumb thing a barely-teenager would say when faced with a question of accountability}

we were outside at the back corner of the church, but fortunately there were plenty cars coming into the church parking lot. just in case she was runnin' some kind of game, or intended to wild out on me, i wanted to have plenty of witnesses close by. so i continued to listen as she told me she had done a lot of bad things, and began to tear up. {ok, no judgment here... keep going} and then she says "i've had nine children and i'm working on number ten right now." {brakes screech and the cars in my train of thought sequentially slam into each other's back}

ok, whoa. uh-uhn. i can count dagnabit. i was like "ok, but that's impossible." she counters, "but i started having sex really early and i had a whole buncha one-night-stands. they all got me pregnant." all of 'em? really? that's gotta be some pretty mathematically precise planning. sounding dubious without my face betraying the contempt rising with me, i maintained "that's still impossible. you know, you kinda need nine months between each one." or at least some extremely fertile equipment to work with. {my expression begs her to level with me}

"ok, i'm actually 20. i don't know why i lie so much, i lie to all my friends. i don't know why." {i just smile and give her the don't-know-what-to-tell-ya look.} "well, that works a little better for me." she adds, "ok, really. my real age is 18. honest." {a little less smile... still don't know what to tell her} at this point, i'm more than put off. at the start of the conversation she told me her name was emily. normally i try not to reveal people's names on the internet, but the odds are, her name probably isn't emily.

so i'm thinking to myself i'm a complete stranger. you don't know me, you've never seen me, i've never seen you, and we may never see each other again. what do you have to lose by telling the truth? why do you feel you have to lie? i really needed an answer to the question, so i decided to come up with a placeholder one in my mind until God reveals otherwise. one thing's for sure, that i wouldn't bank on the truth of anything this girl just said. that may have been just want she wanted. she may or may not be pregnant. she may or may not have had up to nine or more children. she could feasibly be anywhere from 12-years-old to 21-years-old. she may or may not have been a victim of child abuse. but one thing was definitely real... the criss-crossed obviously self-inflicted cuts all up and down the inside of her legs and thighs which she gladly hiked up her capri pants to show.

i asked her if she'd be comfortable with me getting someone to pray with her. but then i thought better of it, visualized her bolting before i got the chance to return with the assistant pastor, and decided to just man up and rock the intercessory myself. i prayed a plain english prayer with my eyes open.

"aren't you supposed to close your eyes when you pray?" she warned. "no, not really. God hears everything sweetie," i informed and proceeded to pray saying with tongue-in-cheek, "Father, you know her name and how old she really is. i can't do all the things for her that i wish i could, so i call on You. i ask You to speak to her in a way that only she can understand and then let her know that it's You..."

i can't depend on the verity of any of what i allowed to glaze my ears, but one thing is positive. this girl needs help. i think she just wanted someone to vent to, and then in an attempt to have her remarks stricken from the record, she quickly kicks dirt over her droppings with a smoke screen of factors that don't quite add up. i think she may have gotten exactly what she wanted. she got somebody to open up to, and then she got to close them back again when she was done. i'm actually quite fine with it. i probably wouldn't have someone like that as a close friend, but i believe that God can do something amazing in her life.