When I met Glenn last fall, I’m a sophomore in college studying psychology. We started out as study buddies in our Intro to Research Methods class, but there was something special about him from day one.

He had this smart way of explaining complex topics that made everything click, and his smile?

We went from sharing coffee after class to spending hours at the campus diner. Glenn shared about his family and how he enjoyed playing in the fields as a kid. Meanwhile, I opened up about losing my dad when I was five. That’s when things started shifting from friendship to something more.

“Your dad would be so proud of you,” Glenn said one evening, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Following your dreams, helping people through psychology…”

Sometimes I catch her looking at Daddy’s photo on the mantle with such longing that it breaks my heart. I wish she’d give herself permission to be happy again, but we don’t have the kind of relationship where I can say that.

“Mama,” I tried once, “don’t you ever get lonely?”

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

Everything happended smoothly until that morning I woke up feeling too sick.

That was the first thing that came to my mind because Glenn and I got intimate a few weeks earlier.

I was super scared, and my hands were trembling so bad I could barely open the drawer where I’d hidden the pregnancy tests.

“Please, please, please,” I whispered, watching that little window. “Please tell me I’m wrong!”

But two pink lines appeared clear as day, and my world tilted sideways.

I was certain she’d never accept my baby.

I spent the next few days hiding in my room, coming up with every excuse I could think of to avoid facing Mama.

“Faith, honey! Dinner’s ready!” she called out one evening.

“Sorry, Mama, got this huge psychology paper due tomorrow,” I shouted back. “I’ll grab something later!”

By Thursday, Mama wasn’t having it anymore. She marched right up to my room and stood in the doorway.

“Now hold on just a minute,” she said, fixing me with that mom-stare that could melt steel. “Since when do you skip my pancake breakfasts? And don’t think I haven’t noticed you running to the bathroom every morning.”

But before she could press further, I grabbed my backpack. “Sorry, Mama, I’m late for the library. Group project!”

I practically ran down the stairs, leaving her standing there with that worried look I’d been trying so hard to avoid.

The following Sunday, Mama called up to my room, “Faith, honey! We’re gonna be late for service!”

“Coming!” I called back, fighting another wave of nausea. “Maybe I should skip today…”

“Skip church? Are you feeling poorly?” Mama appeared in my doorway.

“Just a little tired,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Been studying real hard.”

“You’ve been ‘tired’ all week,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Something you want to tell me?”

“No ma’am,” I said quickly. Too quickly. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

The church was packed that morning, all our neighbors dressed in their Sunday best.

I must’ve turned green because Mama grabbed my hand.

“Baby girl, what’s wrong?” she whispered, her eyes narrowing. “Come to think of it, you’ve been actin’ strange all week…”

“Mom, I have something to tell you,” I whispered back, tears welling up. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” she gasped, loud enough for several heads to turn. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, I’m not joking,” I managed, my voice trembling. “I’m pregnant, and it’s Glenn’s.”

“Stop right there, young lady.”

It was Pastor James, and he was looking at my mother with the kind of stern expression I’d seen him use during particularly passionate sermons.

“But she’s having a child out of wedlock!” Mama protested. “I never—”

The next thing I knew, we were hugging right there in the middle of the church, both of us crying while the congregation pretended not to watch.

“I’m so sorry, baby girl,” she whispered into my hair. “I was just scared for you. I know how hard it is raising a child alone…”

“I’m not alone, Mama,” I said. “I have Glenn, and I have you… if you’ll still have me?”

But the story doesn’t end here.

You won’t believe what happened next. We pulled up to this beautiful house, and who opened the door? Pastor James.

The look on his face when Glenn called him “Dad” was priceless.

“Faith?” Pastor James said, looking between me and his son. “Glenn, son, is this your young lady?”

“Yes sir,” Glenn said, taking my hand. “Surprised?”

“Well, I’ll be…” Pastor James shook his head, then started laughing. “The Lord sure does work in mysterious ways.”

Looking back now, I can’t help but laugh at how everything unfolded. Sometimes the best blessings come wrapped in the scariest packages, and sometimes the people you think you barely know turn out to be your biggest supporters.

And Mama? Well, she’s already picking out baby names and knitting tiny booties.

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