As pastor’s wives, we all have a unique story of how we came to be married to a pastor. I recall asking the Lord back in Junior High to spare me from a life of boredom; adventure is what I wanted as I followed Him! A church-planting pastor’s wife in an isolated context wasn’t on my radar, but it was surely on the Lord’s. I reflect on the goodness (and humor) of God’s sure calling.
My story begins when the nurse stepped into the labor room, promptly dropping her sterile tray with the epidural shot as she took in the scene of a woman deep in labor panting out the words, “baby is coming NOW!” The parents had arrived at the hospital several hours earlier in the charming New England town of North Kingstown, Rhode Island. Their second child was on the way.
The frightened nurse fled. The dad stuck his head into the hallway and hollered for help. A doctor still in his residency was walking by and answered his plea. Together, they caught the newborn. It was a girl . . . and she was blue. The doctor quickly uncoiled the birth cord from around her neck, deftly turning her over in his hand to hit her little back several times. Oxygen flowed in; God is the giver of life.
Mom arrived home two days later on her 30th birthday; she says I was her best birthday present. It was May of 1978 and we shared more than just the same birthday month. I was in womb when two of her toughest tragedies hit. The growing baby inside kept her eating and breathing when she was blue over the death of her younger brother, a suicidal motorcycle death. She had identified his shoes on the side of the road. Several months later, her father-in-law was on his “black-lung” deathbed when she and Dad visited in the small coal-mining town of Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania. He had softened after years of alcoholism and abuse coming to a place of grace. God’s grace.
My parents each found God’s grace while in their 20s. Both had others who helped disciple them and both were encouraged to attend the same Bible College in North Carolina. They met in Greek class and the rest is history. They married on Graduation Day and journeyed many miles to Rhode Island. My parents still fondly recall the small but mighty church they attended and the faithful Pastor and his wife who poured into them. Money was tight. Mom prayed for everything including diapers and shoes for my older brother and me. They opened their cracker box home to others, often serving popcorn and bologna sandwiches. One time, there wasn’t enough money for their monthly rent. Mom had lent her wedding dress out to a friend who then sent it to the dry cleaners before returning. The machine shredded the dress and the cleaners sent a check to my parents . . . just the amount they needed for that month’s rent! I grew up being sure of God’s provision.
My parents moved to Virginia where Dad served at a Christian camp. Mom loved being at home with my three brothers and me. Dad raised missionary support for our family of six. My brothers and I grew up climbing trees and running barefoot outside our home with the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. Mom was a great teacher for our homeschool years. The small country church we attended was led by another faithful pastor and his wife who I observed when I was invited to their home to play with their girls. This pastor baptized me in a river with our church family looking on. It was a great childhood jolted only by the news that we were moving. I grew up being sure of change.
Leaving everything and everyone familiar at a young age had a profound effect on me. I attended a (large) public school and climbed the monkey bars, grappling with the difference of climbing trees. I learned that new friends are surely one of God’s greatest gifts.
Unfortunately, someone would prey upon my innocence. My story of God’s healing from sexual harassment in middle school is shared in my WaterFALL blog. (click here)
My family attended a mega-church in Akron, Ohio where five Sunday morning services were regularly held. I didn’t know what my Pastor looked like until I got glasses as my family sat in the balcony. His wife faithfully and cheerfully sat through five sermons then walked out with him and greeted people. I marveled at her tenacity and servant’s heart. They had a tradition of inviting new members into their home for a home-cooked meal after fulfilled membership class requirements. Their home was cozy and ordinary. The pastor’s wife put us all at ease and I learned that humility and simplicity surely make a home and ministry effective and beautiful.
My sure calling into ministry came about during this time of attending a mega-church as they budgeted generously for missions. The youth programs were missions-focused and I went on a missions trip every year from 8th-12th grade. God surely called me into full-time ministry when I was a high school senior, spending my spring break on an overseas missions trip. Surely He would show me the details . . . and surely He would answer my prayer, “Lord, I will go anywhere- but please remember I like adventure.”
