How Lent Went

an accidental picture while coloring easter eggs

Some years,  I let the Lenten season slip by without a strong involvement. It seems to me that last year, with a small baby and a church building project, I already felt like I had given up enough things and didn't have it in me to wrestle with anything else.  But this year, the family joined together to experiment with something we had been curious about for a while: we went vegetarian.  We broke our fasts on Sundays as some traditions allow, but for the rest of the time, we explored a new identity for ourselves as non-meat eaters.

Growing up in a rural place where many of the people I knew raised their own meat and gardens as our family did, being vegetarian seems a little nuts.  But living in a suburban place as an adult, and recognizing the problems that unchecked demand for meat presents to the environment and to our own health, it is not such a crazy lifestyle.  We never really got to the point of trying many meat replacements like tofu or veggie burgers as it seemed like there were plenty of combinations of regular food items to try out.  Like many new practices, about a couple of weeks into it, we were sick of it and were counting the days until it was over...which seemed like a long time!  But then, we got used to it and found ourselves just finishing the days without much fuss.  It was cheaper and easier in so many ways.  Trips to the grocery store seemed faster.  I used more convenience foods, to be honest, like bagged salads, and pre-cut veggies, but they were no where near as expensive as meat is.

promising wisteria buds got frozen this year

Growing up as an evangelical fundamentalist Christian, I did not practice Lent. That was something that just Catholics did.  My relationship with "spiritual practice" consisted mainly of "discipline."  That meant trying to "have devotions" every day, squash down any ugly emotions, and use time wisely.  It was almost as if being less human, more machine equalled being more holy.  To be fair, I don't think that anyone really intended to send that message, but it was the one I got, LOUD AND CLEAR.  I think of spiritual practice much differently now.  I'm not trying to become more holy.  I think I am trying to be more human and more alive.

Ironically, the last 40 (plus) days have been disappointing and frustrating. My daily work is changing after many years of being fun and fulfilling.  More than one of our plans fell apart along with the dishwasher....again.  It seemed like the kids were constantly sick, especially Whimsy.  Lent is a season that allows for sadness and mourning.  It's an admission that we go without sometimes. We go without our deepest longings being fulfilled. We go without success or reward even after giving our best.  We go without a plan to get where we would like to be.  With all this going without, what's a little meat?  It's just a tangible thing that we miss, we think about, we look forward to.

We had no big plan for what we would learn from being vegetarian.  But the practice did teach us.

morning snuggle time is one of the best and worst times of the day

1. I learned that I could think of myself differently.... at an identity level, I could be a vegetarian. I wonder how many things we don't do because we think we are "not that person."   Acting our way into an identity is kind of great.... it's how I've become a runner, a mosaic artist, a person with our finances under control, an adoptive parent.   
2. I learned that I could go without and still really enjoy things.  Several times we had meals with friends or dates that normally would have meant indulging in a big meat-centered meal.  Vegetarian fajitas didn't take away from laughing with friends one bit.  Family time was still family time with a mushroom pizza instead of bacon and pepperoni.    
3. I learned that there is no magic wand.  I will never be perfect. So even though we were doing this great experiment with being vegetarian, we still were in a boring slump when all we wanted to do was watch Netflix and be kind of grumpy.  I struggled with hormones and insomnia and total frustration on more than one day.  Triumph with a really good quiche didn't take away the other failures. 

As we reached Holy Week, I both anticipated the end of the Lent and dreaded it.  I have a love-hate relationship with the services at Vintage, starting with Maundy Thursday, where we wash each other's feet. Then Good Friday when we re-hash the story of Jesus dying.  Holy Saturday is the worst.  At home, I am prepping for Easter by cleaning, doing yard work, planning Easter dinner and Easter clothes and Easter baskets and Easter eggs and then I have to stop at my most productive hour and go sit Shiva for Jesus.  It is dark and uncomfortable and annoying ...and it is intimate, precious, and engaging.  It brings our whole selves to Easter. We celebrate our brains out that day because we have actually gone without something. We have lost things. We have sat quietly with our own grief.  

Ironically, Holy Week and spring break were the same.  Poor liturgical pastor's kids.  

"Sorry, gang, we can't go away this week. We have to offer awkward services that are sparsely attended and make people a little uncomfortable! "  (Brushes with the Divine are rarely easy.) 

To make up for it, I asked my friends to show my kids some extra love and attention.  And they did because they are awesome like that.   And even though I was internally tortured (which I usually am) about how much I needed to accomplish, I took some time to spend alone with each of my four amazing children.  I don't know if meant anything to them, but I know that it meant something to me to be able to focus on them, listen to them, find out things about them, and just enjoy them.  I truly loved my time with them, which is something parents always attempt and rarely attain.

So that's how Lent went.  I will post some of my favorite recipes from this soon.  We have already decided to incorporate more vegetarian meals into our ongoing menus, so while I did enjoy a breakfast of ham and eggs wholeheartedly, I am equally looking forward to making another pot of lentil stew very soon.

No More Hiding Behind My Uterus

I've made the joke plenty of times, but never without squirming over the inaccuracy of it: 

"I went to Bible college to marry a pastor."

You see, it's true, but it is also not true. 

I don't exactly know how to explain this. 

One group of my friends can't imagine that somebody can't do a job based solely on the fact that she is a woman. They find the idea shocking and archaic and also rather sad.  

The other group of my friends believe that it doesn't matter what the culture may say, women are limited in what they are allowed to do because of what the Bible says.  They don't have anything against women, they just think that God wants women to take a back seat to the leadership of men.  

For all of my formative years, I absorbed the idea that the Bible "clearly" teaches that women cannot lead men. They cannot pastor, shepherd or teach.  They should not take leadership in their own homes, but rather should do whatever is necessary to make their husband the leader of their home. They must be submissive to their husband's authority over them. I never questioned this teaching.  My spunky attitude was always present, but I was fenced in by the idea that my gender was limited as my punishment for being a daughter of Eve. 

So I grew up, always receptive to the Bible. Always interested in theology. Always a student of Biblical history. Always a participant in church and its ministries. My reasons for involvement were many, but one of them was that it came naturally to me. 

So after 13 years of Biblical training, I went on to Bible college for four more years. And I met a pastor. And I married him. 

Our marriage is an equal place. I spent more than 18 years of my life believing I had to limit myself because I was a girl. It has taken nearly that many years of living with someone who believes in equality to errode those mental limitations.  Years of Saturdays that found him folding laundry and me wielding power tools. Years of putting our heads together and coming up with parenting strategies. Years of throwing the budget back and forth like a grenade before finally coming up with a way of spending money that works equally for both of us.   Our marriage doesn't much resemble the notion I had early on of shoving him forward and telling him it was God's plan for him to "be the spiritual leader" (i.e. make all the decisions and then take all the blame if they went wrong.) Thankfully, he pushed back on that idea and helped us create something that more closely resembles the loving MUTUAL submission that the Bible actually describes.  

But I maintained my position of standing behind him instead of beside him when it came to church.  At our first church, we were a team. It was a survival thing. And it was a good instinct. We did everything together.  But at our second church, we were kindly told "Oh, we don't want a two-for-one deal. We are only hiring Robb for this position. We don't expect Vanessa to do anything."   They meant to be kind and respectful.  But those were some of the loneliest years of my life.   I had a newborn, I was in a different regional culture of the country, and I was shut out of the only thing I knew how to do or cared about doing. So I did it anyway, as best as I could.   Then came another baby and another ministry and I put on an apron and became everything I envisioned the perfect pastor's wife to be. Keep the children quiet in church, do the work of the deaconess board, be the perfect hostess, play the piano.  I should have been in my element. I should have been perfectly happy. I thought I was. I thought I was doing what I was meant to do. 

Fast forward 8 years and find us sitting in our bed at 12:30 a.m. having an enormous fight: because one of us has been struggling along, feeling alone and unsupported. And one of us is utterly exhausted by trying to make her business successful so she can support him. Like two magnets turned the wrong direction, we are repelling one another. He is trying to be so supportive of her business and she is trying to be so supportive of his ministry. And they are failing to connect. Hours of arguing have them weary and worn down, and the tension finds a weak spot and something comes crashing down. 

It is a glass ceiling. 

When all the pieces come crashing down, you see them so clearly for what they are. You have the part where he so strongly believes in equality. The part where he has a "day job" that he has excelled in. The part where he needs help meeting the needs he clearly sees at church. The part where she loves the work of ministry and has the time, training and heart to do it. The part where she is wired to help, support and make things happen. 

You see, I went to Bible college to marry a pastor because that was the closest way I could get to being a pastor within the confines of fundamentalism. 

That's why it's never quite described me to say I am "The Preacher's Wife."  It's never quite been accurate to say I'm not defined by his job.  My friends have always tried to liberate me from the false confines of what other people think a pastor's wife should be.  Maybe what I needed was for them to liberate me from the false confines of what I thought a pastor had to be....

namely...

a man.  

Missionaries have it so easy. In Fundamentalist churches, a married couple that goes to a foreign country are both missionaries, not just the husband. Or a single woman can be a missionary.  That's acceptable terminolgy.  Church planters get a pass too. But eight years in, you have more of a church than a church plant.  And that church doesn't need a planter anymore. It needs pastors. 

So I said it out loud to Robb. "What about us being co-pastors?"  He wrinkled his nose...

"Eww. I've always thought couples that co-pastor are a little weird." 

I laughed and countered "Why not? We co-parent."

To which he replied, "You are absolutely right."

I'm not settled on the terminology. If somebody called me Pastor Vanessa, I'd probably freak out. Or cringe. Like my husband does when someone calls him Pastor Robb. Because it's not about having a title or a position.  

I can no longer hide behind my gender as an excuse to NOT do things I know how to do, want to do, and in fact, am created to do.

Meeting with people. 

Giving announcements.  

Writing and giving the Ash Wednesday homily.  

Listening to people's needs. 

Studying passages of scripture and sharing what I'm learning from it.

Praying for people.  

Getting the building ready for people to worship and meet together. 

Reading and learning.

These the the things that have filled my time in the last month. These are the things that I think about the most. This is the kind of work that I am "wired" to do.  Does that make me a pastor? If a man made this list about himself, it would be an easy question to answer.  

Does the Bible really teach that I cannot do these things?  

Homecoming

It was a harried and anxious woman who flew out of XNA airport on Thursday morning. No fewer than 18 lists filled sticky notes on my MacBook's desktop. With the show happening this week, going away for a weekend was poor timing, but Robb was class president of his college class and a 15 year reunion just seemed like something he ought to attend.  It had been 10 years since we were on campus, but I suspect all the ways we have changed in the last 6 years really made it seem like longer.  We kept trying to find a word to describe how we were feeling about going back, but nervous wasn't quite right.


Some of my readers knew me then. Some of my readers know what it was like to attend a Bible college. It would take a book to fully describe it. I suggest Kevin Roose's Unlikely Disciple (which left me howling in helpless laughter). Ours were even stricter rules than those wild students at Liberty University. Curfew at 10 on school nights, midnight on the weekend. Lights out for freshman at 11:30.  Freshman couldn't go on single dates. I wore a skirt or dress to class, guys wore dress pants and collared shirts. Upperclassman had to wear a jacket and tie.  We attended chapel every day and church on Sunday morning and evening and prayer meetings on Wednesday night. We were required to be active in some form of ministry service and to share our faith for a certain number of hours.  We were required three one credit classes in sharing our faith, in fact, which is money I would really like to have back, please and thank you.  You had to have your room clean by chapel time (10 am) and your bathroom clean by the end of the day. You could not hold your boyfriend's hand on campus or kiss or any other form of public display of affection.  Guys hair had to be short, above the ears, and thy could not wear facial hair. We couldn't attend movies and smoking or alcohol was a clear no-no. Some offenses resulted in fines. Some of the biggies would have meant expulsion.  Most of the rules I kept faithfully.  Several, I broke egregiously.

What I know now, these 15 years later is that the breaking and the keeping of those rules was equally sacred.    The slow, plodding discipline of cleaning the bathroom and the wild free-falls into God's grace, tasting forbidden fruits gave me a gift that not everyone experienced.  I was not the student who couldn't understand the value of the rules and spent their whole time chafing against them and lost the opportunity to focus on anything other than getting out of there.  And equally important, I was not the student who believed that my standing in heaven was bonded to my spotless record in the Office for Student Development.  Knowing that I was a sinner, having the five dollar fine for kissing my boyfriend on campus (or rather, getting caught) kept me from the worst kind of pride...the insufferably self-righteous students (usually girls) who were shooting for perfection and thought they could hit it. (The guys, on the other hand, thought their standing in heaven was bonded to if they believed the right things about the Bible and it's teachings, thus resulting in the nearly constant rounds of theological ping-pong)  I arrived on campus as a freshman one of those girls.  I left as a married student, a true follower of God, with my sense of humor fully intact.

I suspect that going back was odd because Robb wears an earring and a tattoo. He is outwardly branded with a different kind of Christianity than we were taught there.  We are no longer subscribers to our denominational teaching.  No longer "in the fold."  We went beyond what we were taught.  Planted a church that values much different things than we were taught to value.  In short, we break a lot of the rules.

But things change. Even when they stay the same.  The rules at BBC are no longer the same. The students wear jeans to class. They boys have facial hair. The girls are allowed to be security guards. And most of the students don't come from The Denomination anymore. You think, driving on campus, that you will be going back in time. But you aren't.  Kids are standing around with cell phones, and even if the dorm smells the same, now the lounge has an actual television in it. 

I don't exactly know what I'm trying to say with this post, only maybe, that we thought we might be going back to visit as prodigals, and discovered instead, that we were products of our school.  That we felt at home there with people we loved then and still love now.  That without our time on that beautiful old campus...(which used to be a monastery) we would not be who we are now. It was a precious gift to go back, to remember.  To think again on all the ways that God guided us.  It deepened our faith and our confidence in what we are doing with our lives, and why we get up in the morning.  It was good for our souls.  It was sweet to go home.

A Good Mix

We had an Vintage Fellowship oversight team meeting last night.  And unlike the deacons and trustee meetings of our not so distant past, these times are nothing but a joy.  Such a mix of people and backgrounds...wisdom and perspective, caring and uproarious sarcasm.  Corn on the cob and homemade ice-cream.

Eat, pray, love, indeed.

It's like I've forgotten how to blog

Every day, my little browser opens up to this blog as my homepage and I think about trying to write something on it.  The last few days ....I got nothing.  I was starting to be a bit alarmed until I realized what was happening.

One of the many hats I wear is wife of the Right Reverend Robb.  I don't write about it a lot because it's a hat I wear lightly most of the time.  But last week, I was all out in the open...doing pastoral work even preaching the sermon.....a first for me.  There are few Sundays that go by that Robb doesn't tell me that the aftermath of preaching a sermon feels exactly like getting up in front of a group of people and getting completely naked.  I laugh and believe him about 68 percent.  Because he's a great teacher and very confident and easy to listen to.   But now, with my first (last) sermon under my belt, I believe him 102 percent.

My inability to blog is about self preservation.  About hiding.  About invisibility.  I stared down the barrel of some very real life stuff last week, and was none-too-powerful at changing it.  I much prefer to make the coffee and let Robb try to really help people.  At my heart, I am a very shy person who much prefers relative anonymity  and lots of alone time to recharge my batteries.

So while I'm hiding out, think about slipping a dollar bill in your pastors'  waistband after a sermon this week.   

Tizzy

It's been an interesting couple of days here in Ryerland. (I just made that place up, don't try to google-map it). We looked at house yesterday. A house I LOVED. A house just...JUST outside of the realm of possibility and it has been messing with my head ever since. I slept badly, dreaming about it, scheming about it, and awoke to get ready for church. Discontent.

I stepped on the scale, once again. Stuffed Fresh Eggplant for dinner with a lovely green salad....Good. Oreo Ice Cream and left over cake...BAD. Discontent.

God is Green has been kicking my bum. It's this whole other realm of my spiritual existence that my mind grasps much quicker than my habits can seem to catch up to. There is a considerable noise in my head about all I could- should?- change as a result of very spiritual reasons. It's like trying to swallow an elephant and I am not now, nor have I ever been, good at a long-term project. It's like when you are on a road trip, and you suddenly get a glimpse of the long, long road ahead of you. Robb and I, on long, long car trips, used to facetiously attempt to wiggle our noses, click our heels together, and somehow be past it all and to our destination. It never worked. It probably won't work now, will it? Discontent.

Hey Vintage regulars....where were you all today???? We had 10 visitors. 5 new couples! Some had kids. I showed them to our nursery, and tried not to die of embarrassment as my kids had been playing busily and messily while I did other things. Our building is wretched, but we do the best we can. I find myself trying to find the poised "it's just a building, Vintage Fellowship is more than this place" stance over the panicking "Please don't hate us because our kid's rooms are only this much....we're doing the best we can." The whole service, I felt like I was taking emotional temperatures, looking at the back of people's heads, unusually sensitive to how it was going for them. One ear was tuned to Robb's beautifully woven tapestry of ideas, and one ear was tuned to the level of the children's voices. I am not alone in my discontent over this building.

In all of it though, I kept hearing this verse in my head:

You want something but don't get it. You kill and covet, but you cannot have what you want. You quarrel and fight. You do not have, because you do not ask God. When you ask, you do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, that you may spend what you get on your pleasures.


There is such a thing as holy discontent. But all of my discontent is tainted with wrong motives, scheming, bad theology, selfishness, laziness, rudely expecting God to only give me easy, comfortable environs. My lust for more and better is nothing short of shocking, trumped only by my desires to be admired and doted on. Being sick of myself might be the most holy part of my discontent.

God help me. Give me the grace to be something else. I ache to be different.

a Hoot.

51 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test!

would have scored higher except my darn profanity and red nail polish.

Keepin' it real....

That's right, folks, you need to know that priorities sometimes mean that my house is dirty, disorganized and chaotic. Having spent considerable time away from home this week, working at the music hall, having lunch with my son, and doing some restocking of my ebay troves...well...it's bad. And you should know that my house is just not clean and picture perfect most of the time. So here you go...a disturbing look at real life in a small house with creative people...

Make it fun and play a little "I spy." Can you find the Atari console? Beaded party dress destined for the UK? Italian designer shoes? Yeah, shoot...I can't find them either, but they are in there...

And yes, you are right...I'm blogging it instead of cleaning it.

 
 

 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 

My Treatise on Being a Pastor's Wife-Part 2

Okay, so everyone was apparently pretty bored by yesterday's post, and like I said, I know I was weird. But that's my story and I sticking with it.

I would like to clarify for the record that I do in fact have chemistry with my husband. (eyerolling). I think anyone who knew us back then witnessed that it wasn't the pastoral thing that had me all over him, but that wasn't the point of this particular story (ok, honey?)


So here's the next part of it all...

It's not his ministry, it's our ministry....
aka....Two for One

So I mentioned to Hannah that I noticed that I don't identify myself as a pastor's wife here on my blog. I know a lot of people have wondered about how I identify myself in relationship to Robb's job and a lot of other ministry wives wonder about their identity too.

When Robb and I were engaged, our mentor Dr. Carter asked his wife to formally mentor me as a pastors wife. It's a little surprising that a Bible college never takes any opportunity to cover this, but it would be too much of a joke, I guess, to offer a class for a bunch of hopefuls, huh? She told me that the seminary used to provide this through a group called "Sheperdess" but it had grown into a "social time" instead, (she said with disdain). Anyway, she and I met for a four week session where I read some books on the topic and she shared her recommendations. This was a great thing for me...I read a very antiquated book by Carolyn Blackburn on the role of pastors wife as well as one by Lorna Dobson (wife of Ed Dobson, Rob Bell's mentor)...which was my favorite one, by the way. She also had loads of article clippings from magazines, typed handouts on topics like hospitality and what kinds of things to keep on hand in the pantry for entertaining on the fly. I believe Mrs. Carter kept a notebook, too, that detailed the preferences of her guests (which were many...including myself, my parents, and grandparents!) That's why my favorite cran-raspberry drink was always on hand when I visited. Of course, I still have all of this info in a file.

The biggest lesson I took from this teaching time was "it's not his ministry, it is our ministry." I am a co-owner of this life. Robb and I took this to heart and have never looked back. My life is completely entwined in the life of our church....for example, today I'll be watching a little boy who's family just started coming a few months ago...tonight I'll go and paint at the music hall and maybe practice with the band...tomorrow I'll go to coffee with the girls from bookclub... This is my life. Like caulk, I fill in the cracks, do what I am able to do, and even start new opportunities. I am fully invested in the philosophy and personality of our church (past and present...which means I have changed quite a bit over the years).

This of course raises a little question...Isn't that like a two for one deal for the church? Well, yes, it is. So shouldn't you get paid too? My answer to this is...for me...no. As long as the church doesn't take advantage of me, I don't have a problem being the support staff. And whether or not they take advantage of me depends mostly on... me. I really believe in Dr. Phil's lesson that you teach people how to treat you by the way you act. So I take full responsibility for setting expectations. For the most part, if Robb is being treated well and paid fairly and adequately for his work, my contribution is whole-hearted and freely given. If they are opposing my husband's leadership and/or using money as a weapon at church, my contributions become bigger sacrifices. It is at these times that I look to God and recall who I really work for...and it's not cranky church people.

We did actually serve at a church where they said at our interview, (and candidating will be my next topic) "We want you to know we don't expect a two for one deal. We don't expect Vanessa to be a part of all you do, Robb." They were trying to be nice, I suppose. But that was the stupidest thing I've heard in a long time. Far better to have said, "We are gonna work your husband like a dog and question him on everything he does. If you choose to work with him just so you can see him, that's your business..but again...we aren't gonna pay you for that." I won't say which church that was, but uh...we were doing youth ministry. Yeah, I'm gonna have my husband work with hot, cute teenage girls while I sit at home fat and pregnant, poor and doudy. Great plan. But I'm not bitter (much).

Every pastor's wife's contribution is going to be different...we have different skill sets and interests, and congregations need to be understanding that pastor's wives, like First Ladies, have no set job description. So be thankful for her for whoever she is.

Trying to decide on priorities between the life of family and church is a little like trying to take all the O's out of your alphabet soup. It can be done, but it's really tedious. Far better to have a blanket philosophy that can sometimes be moved based on individual circumstances...my blanket philosophy is that our church activities better be good for our family. If they pull us apart, make our kids resentful, exhaust us for relating to one another...there is something really wrong. But on the other hand, Robb and I were a family before they ever joined us. The kids are not the center of our life together. Jesus is. So they are part of the team, and we all revolve around Him. If my kids ever voiced resentment for this, I would really listen to them and take their feelings into account, much the same as I would listen to another adult who was burnt out on ministry stuff. I know that this water will get muddier when they are teens, but I'll post on that when I know what that is like. For now, if my babies are sick, I stay home with them...no matter what I'm supposed to do that morning.

I recall from Carolyn Blackburn's antiquated tome just one idea: The congregation wants to be proud of their pastor's wife. I don't know if this true or not, but I act like it is. So I work in a way that makes me respectable, even if they don't like me. I get the fact that people will be observing me as wife and mother and I encourage them at every opportunity to have a realistic view of our life. I recall a ladies meeting which I was called upon to lead, consisting of about 45 gray-haired women. They expected me to give a teaching devotional, but I found teaching these older women anything new pretty ridiculous. I turned the tables and made it a discussion of the greatest books they had read to aid their Christian walk, favorite passages of scripture and their hardest spiritual lessons. Keep it real. That's my mantra.

Of course our current situation couldn't be more different in many of these considerations...here at Vintage, I am just one of the many people who are whole-heartedly committed to the mission and leadership of this church. I have friends in the congregation (which you can't always do in older, established churches) and we all retain our commitment to forswear church politics. The only way I am different (well, me and Jaye T) is that I have sex with one of the pastors.

Okay, so maybe there is a little more to it. So why don't I automatically identify myself as pastor's wife here on my blog? I guess it's just such a pervasive thing in my life, like being human or female, I don't even think about needing to identify myself that way. It's a mantle I wear pretty lightly for the most part. I know that my philosophy is pretty different from many pastor's wives, but this is what works for me, for us, and for our church.

My Treatise on Being a Pastor's Wife-Part 1

I made a mental note of the stir my post about marriage caused; most of the fuss seemed to be related to the context of ministry. So I've been mulling it over, and here is my take on ministry...at least here is part one...

Why I married a pastor:

I decided I wanted to marry a pastor when I was about 15. Note that that was about 4 years before I became a Christian. The reasons at the time were probably because I felt like it would make my parents happy (and I'm pretty sure that ultimately hasn't been the case), and because I really liked my youth pastor and his wife. But even then, I wanted my life to have some thick purpose, and to not just marry some regular guy and have a regular job and a regular life. I wanted to be "about something" that was much bigger than me, and I was cognitively convinced by my surroundings and upbringing that thing was church. At that point, I was still a consumer of programs the church offered me and I guess I pictured attaining some kind of status by becoming the pastors wife (a little painful to admit but certainly true of an angst ridden teen looking for her place in this world.) I also wanted a guy who was "about something." The last guy I dated before Robb was just fun and we had a great chemistry since I was too serious...but he was never about anything...except maybe chasing a new adrenaline rush.

(Please note that there is nothing wrong with a regular job and a regular life. I in no way think of myself as superior or on some higher plane than everyone else.I just felt differently about things, and believe me, I was aware how "weird" I was for feeling that way.)

All of this led me to attend Bible college where I met Robb (and parenthetically, fell madly in love) and became an actual follower of Christ, in that order. By human standards, this progression seems to be the exact opposite order of "normal."

It was exactly at that point too, that my life began to unravel a bit...I broke up with Robb, went back to the "Fun Guy" (aka shallow) and contemplated the life of a traveling business-man's wife. I thought maybe having the actual relationship with Christ was enough to center my life around, but ultimately, I was still passionate about the work of a church. Fun Guy wasn't too into that himself, though he didn't mind what I did. And even though he broke up with me, I was still wildly in love with Robb and all that he was about.

I know this isn't the same for everyone, but for us, who Robb is at the core of his very being is a pastor. The two can't really be separated. Some people might think that is unhealthy, but that is how we view things. And that is why we made some of the decisions we made right from the very start....

Because Robb is a pastor, we took a tiny pastorate on Staten Island the summer we were married. It paid nothing, and was a heck of a lot of work. We traveled there every weekend while I was finishing college in Scranton, Pa and moved there when I finished. It would have made more sense, looking back, to get a job in the same town as the Seminary he was attending and focus ourselves to that...but no...he just drove down there once a week after we moved to NY and worked on his Masters on the side.
We made lots of decisions in our marriage based on that premise: Robb is a pastor so that's what we do. Whether it pays or not. Whether or not it "works for us."

That's why this whole church planting thing has been a trip. For about a year, he was still a pastor...still thinking like a pastor..still planning like a pastor...but with no church....just a dream and some other piecemeal jobs that took up his time while he went on orienting his life to a church that didn't yet exist.

Our tenacious view of Robb at this point in our lives was a huge positive. At a time when it felt like we were being de-constructed, the presupposition that Robb's identity iis a pastor was a foundation that we could remain supported by. The same way that it supported us before we were married (Robb is a pastor, so no matter how horny we get, we can't have premarital sex...chemistry indeed), I feel supported by it now (our marriage might have struggled, but he is a pastor and won't stand up in front of his people on a weekly basis and still allow himself to ignore our issues). I know some pastors do cheat on their wives, fall into various sins, etc. but maybe it is because they don't view themselves this way...I don't know. I'm just saying that for us it is both protective and causative.

So just to sum up...it wasn't a vitamin deficiency or the need for a challenge that led me to desire a life in ministry. I think it was God. I think he channeled me into the choices I made and the man that I found attractive. I deeply respect the complete nature of who Robb is...a wonderful, loving man who at the core of his being, is a pastor.

It does raise the interesting question that I know you are asking...Would I still have fallen for him if he wasn't a pastor? Well, we believe in God's sovereignty (even if we can't spell it) so all of our lives and choices have happened for a reason...I see an order in it, and that's enough for me. The question does not bother me, but it is rather, kind of silly. So I don't feel any need to explore it.

Honesty is the Best Policy

I cannot tell you how many people have commented to me lately about my honesty...especially in connection with our life in ministry. It got me thinking about the way leadership has changed in my mind over the years.

Our pastor's wife, growing up, was a remarkably complex person, but was nearly invisible. She was a smiling, soft-spoken, undercurrent...fully capable of making things happen, but not in a way you could see on the surface. She was internal...with enormous amounts of pain under an always perfectly coiffed head of hair. I knew her as my pastor's wife for 15 years, and have no idea how she really felt about anything. If she or her husband spoke of a struggle they had, it was always past tense..."We had this problem years ago, but we have conquered that and are fine now."

Being a pastor's wife is a weird job. I could write for hours about it. I'd like to someday chronicle my adventures in 5 states and 4 churches...if I could figure out a way to write it without getting sued for libel (or is it slander that is printed?).


Anyway, that being said, I guess I just came to a place where I began to believe that the best way for me to be a pastors' wife and a Christian and a human being, was to just be honest....honest about my fears and failures and hangups and quirks and loves and hates and mostly, honest about the changes that take place around and in me.

I didn't really put it together until just a few days ago, but that is pretty different from a lot of our backgrounds, which tell us that we cannot lead unless we are better than the ones we lead. We must be higher on the spiritual ladder, have conquered our character flaws, and must live a life that is unattainable to most other mortals. Thus the tiered church membership plans that have one set of standards for the pleebs (liked that word, Heidi) and another set of standards for the Leadership. We had "Platform" rules at our church, growing up...if you were on the platform, you had to live and dress a certain way. It has this way of seeping like sewage into everything...You can't be the nursery director because you're divorced. You can't be a musician because you knocked up your girfriend. You can't be an usher because you threatened to shoot your neighbor...oh, wait, no...that was one that should have happened but didn't...because after all, he wore a suit every week.

I wonder if this is how we get really screwed up sometimes. I mean, certainly, it would be good if your Pastor and pastor's wife didn't meet in therapy and she claimed to have multiple personality disorder ...oh shoot...that libel thing... anyway, yes, it would be good if the leadership was stable. But perfect? Really?

What if the leadership was just a bunch of screwballs who were learning and growing too? What if they weren't as disciplined as they could be? What if they are in fact, some kind of 80s Breakfast Club? We are as Switchfoot put it so very well, a beautiful let-down. But we are deeply committed to the church, are striving to know Christ better, and happen to be good at teaching, leading, administrating and just making church happen?

I guess that is how I feel we are different. We aren't great people. I'm not great anyway. I'm just on this journey. I'm only this far on it. I don't have all the answers. I don't live it the best way possible...I do try. And I love Jesus. I'm committed to following Him for the rest of my life...to orienting everything we do to Him. But I'm a crank. I get PMS and really take it to a whole new level of ugly sometimes. I yell at my kids. I eat for comfort sake. I forget to pray. My house is a wreck. I'm a workaholic. I don't spend enough time with people. I'm shy. I'm sarcastic. My neighbors annoy me. I'm self-absorbed. I think about money too much. I'm...human.

Wanna follow Jesus with me? He's pretty much my only hope.