The profession I have been following for all these years certainly has its ups and downs, its bright spots and its less than bright spots. No day is exactly like the one before, every one brings new challenges and new experiences. And yet, after forty-five years of being a pastor there are seldom occurrences that have not been encountered in some form before. Seldom, that is. 

These days people have become accustomed to seeking counseling when they experience personal challenges. Perhaps it’s the mass media that portrays the benefits of seeking help, of discussing problems, of not being overly dependent on one’s own devices. And so, I’m not at all surprised when someone comes to me seeking pastoral counseling. Not until last week.

I’ve known her for her entire life. I was the pastor that baptized her. To say she’s a “looker” would be an understatement. Drop dead gorgeous would be a more accurate description. She has those deep dark eyes that seem to hold your gaze when you look at her. And that face without blemish is encircled with hair that looks as if it belongs on one of the women’s hair shampoo commercials.

She is extremely intelligent. Bright would be an understatement. She probably exceeds the bar on the genius scale. Her interpersonal skills are exceptional. Her very being demands one’s attention. She’s an exceptional individual, the last one I would have expected to seek out counseling, especially counseling involving the opposite sex. But she did.

She told me of her latest excursion into the world of committed relationships. The object of her affection, according to her, a male of inordinate abilities. His physical prowess upon the fields of athletic endeavor are well above average which makes him a target for most of the females who bump into his presence. Like she, he is possessed of an exceptional mind which is demonstrated by his academic achievement. In addition he is blessed, she told me, with a magnetic personality, with a smile that comes easy.  

There was a discomfort in her demeanor as she related the things to me. As a pastoral counselor I am always tuned to body language. With her it could not be missed. Her body would squirm in a failing attempt to get comfortable on the sofa as she described the object of her affections. Her eyes moved away from me and stared at the ceiling as she related her attempts to derive some satisfaction from a relationship that obviously was far short of reaching maturity. Her constant attempts to straighten a wrinkle in her dress, to remove a flake of lint, to find something to do with her hands betrayed an uncomfortableness with herself when discussing the issue.

It was a easy session from my side of the discussion. Indeed, she readily talked of her difficulties without prompting or questioning from me. And, while experiencing some unease, definitely wanted to resolve the issues that were churning within her, to bring definition and closure to a relationship that just, frankly, was not happening. I felt for her. It was a painful story.

“So last Thursday,” she told me, “I dressed really nice. It was a cute skirt with a flowered blouse and amazing shoes. He hardly even noticed me. I just don’t think I’m ready for this boy stuff.”

With that the session was over. Her mother called and I watched the eight-year-old dart from my office.