Book Excerpt #2

Chapter Two
THE CONCEPTION OF A BREAKABLE MOLD


Dan started as an associate pastor. That means he did a heck of a lot of work, didn’t preach quite as much as the senior pastor, and got paid, well, something. Now in all fairness to the church he worked for, they were a small congregation, about one hundred and twenty, and took a step of faith in hiring two full-time positions. But it’s a well- known fact (well, at least in the circles I spend time in), that a good number of pastors of every level aren’t compensated to the degree they should be. How’s that for a plug? (Smile and a wink.) But we loved that little church, and being an associate was a vital and irreplaceable period of growth for Dan. And yes, for me too.


So anyway, he’s an associate. And one of the first things I learned, being in a new town, in a new province and now being introduced as “...and this is our Associate Pastor’s wife,” is that I needed my own identity. And quick. Finding my place in the community was essential. So I started a full-time job in a stationery store. Soon people downtown came to know me as Marilyn-the-shipper-receiver or Marilyn-the- stationery-photocopy-girl. It felt good. Really good. I could actually spend time with people who didn’t talk church all day and could actually focus on something that would keep the corporate world turning, like—oh—paperclips. It wasn’t long before Dan saw that I could walk downtown and wave to any number of people, and he actually didn’t know them. See, an unwritten truth about “pastordom” is that he will know so many people, either by face or by name, that his wife will start to wonder why she doesn’t get out more. So to have my own little universe, my universe, was lifesaving. I wasn’t just playing church. I worked with people I grew to love, who needed to know Jesus loved them, and I was the one He put in their lives, knowing they’d probably see Him through me way before they met Him in a church’s building.

Those first few years were key in my personal development. I had, by trial and error, tried to figure out my role as a pastor’s wife. I don’t know what possessed me, but in the first couple of months I joined one of the music teams. For a dozen Sundays I was up front, lending my sorry voice to the mixture of more blessed vocals. It fizzled pretty soon. I dabbled in substitute-teaching the little tots. Didn’t know how to say no at the time I guess. Bless their hearts that they loved Jesus despite me. Slowly I figured out there were things I didn’t mind doing. Putting the dishes out for potlucks was, believe it or not, fulfilling. Washing them afterwards kept me from having to sit politely and visit. I found it wasn’t so bad chatting when your hands were forearm-deep in mucky suds. Before the morning service I could get the coffeepot on. Then I could fold the bulletins. Eventually some spark of genius ignited and I started Klipnotes for Kids: puzzles on clipboards for the little ones during the service, and sermon-inspired questions and crosswords for the older kids. Maybe there were some perks to having the preacher living with me, like knowing his sermon idea ahead of time. The pattern was taking shape—I enjoyed serving in a behind-the-scenes capacity. I didn’t mind getting up in front of people for the odd announcement (thank you grade-four speech club!), but hanging out under the radar suited me fine. The Lord bestowed on me the gift of serving, and I was beginning to see how I could use that in His church, not to mention at my secular job.
But the title of Pastor’s Wife still loomed at times. 


The first year, seventeen babies were born. These were first babies, the ones that warranted having a baby shower. The second year there were fourteen! And if I understand correctly, things haven’t slowed down very much. Part of my understood duty as a PW was to attend most, if not all of these showers. And of course, showing up without a gift was unthinkable. Keep in mind there were wedding showers, weddings and funerals too, which made the sum of these events quite expensive. We also had Wednesday night Bible-study and one or two youth group nights every week. At the peak of my busyness I worked five full-time days and was out five nights a week. The pace was wearing on my spirit and body. Resentment towards the church began growing in my heart. Soon it was festering. I’m only now learning that it was the Enemy skewing my vision—the Liar whispered blurry images of people demanding I be involved here and there. Walking towards the church-building door sent a sour rush through my emotions. If I hadn’t been so good at wearing the good- pastor’s-wife face, people might have seen my top lip curling and my eyes glaring at the folks who caused my weariness.

Ah, but my husband noticed. It had been a long day at work. Dan picked me up and we drove home to grab a quick supper, with only a couple hours until the next meeting. But Fatigue beat me home. I walked to the back of our deck, sat down, and wept. I hadn’t the strength to even go inside the house. He listened while I sobbed it all out. I reiterated the Liar’s messages, looking for pity and justification. Dan gave me neither. Instead he asked me one simple question: “Who’s telling you that you have to do all these things?” He further inquired, “Who’s saying you have to come to youth group? Who’s saying you have to be involved every time someone asks you? Who says you have to come with me to every event?” I thought about it. Then the truth, the very thing Satan didn’t want me to realize, revealed itself to my mind and heart. I said it. I told myself I had to go to youth group. I said yes to nearly every request for help. I decided to go to every event with Dan, and griped about it in my spirit. I had been trying to live up to the expectations that I perceived everyone had for me. The very things that I feared having to do because I was a pastor’s wife, I now did. What I had feared, I had created. Wow! And with that realization, came sorrow for having blamed everyone around me: church-folks, co-workers, Dan. I blamed everyone but myself. 

And so with a spirit of repentance, we discussed what to do, right here, right now. The burden was lifted. I didn’t go to youth group that night, and I didn’t have to send my regrets with Dan. I just wasn’t going. The next day I approached my boss and worked out a schedule for a four-day week. Half a year later, God led clearly to indicate I should quit my job altogether. With Dan’s full support, I could now revel in being a full-time homemaker. I pursued an entrepreneurial dream and Dan noticed the immediate change in my attitude. I was doing what God wanted—not what I thought others wanted.