By, Becky J Miller
Over thirty years ago when James & I said, “I do,” he most definitely was NOT a preacher. Frankly, he was barely even a churchgoer, a new convert as it were. While I certainly desired a Godly mate, being married to a preacher was not something that had crossed my mind. EVER!
Jesus and church have been part of my life for always, but being in ministry has not. When he decided to become a credentialed minister, I naively assumed that decision would not affect me. Boy, was I mistaken! Years down the road, and I am still navigating through the consequences of that choice; good, bad and sometimes just ugly.
Almost a year ago we took over the pastorate of a healthy church in a small town. It was one of those “suddenly” type moments; the circumstance one never sees coming, and can never truly prepare for. Although this was where I found myself, it definitely was not a place of my choosing. I had no desire to be a pastor’s wife.
Pastors are expected to deal with people, and people are often messy, needy and shallow; present company included. Keeping myself in check is a FULL-TIME job, so why would I want to take on someone else’s idiosyncrasies?
This place looks nothing like what I would have chosen. My desires are selfish; I long to live closer to my family. I wish for financial security, you know, a healthy income, with company-sponsored benefits, and a retirement plan. It’s no secret my dream job = “Trophy Wife.” Sadly, pastor’s wife and trophy wife are not synonyms.
This habitation is filled with irony, the type defined by failure and rejection. It is a location I have visited before, was excommunicated from, and spent many years recovering, like an abuse victim, and definitely a place I never anticipated returning. Yet, here I find myself, once again.
Please do not misunderstand me; this decision was made jointly, and I am at peace with it. I believe God has us in this place for a purpose. What that purpose is, has yet to be determined; it is still unfolding. I will secretly admit, though, it is kind of fun to watch. Shhh…don’t tell anyone.
I am still trying to ascertain exactly what my role in all of this is supposed to be. Why Jesus would choose us, especially me, remains a mystery that I doubt even Sherlock Holmes could solve. Like I told the congregation one Sunday; I’m a hot mess, and definitely not cut from a traditional mold. Who knows, maybe that’s why he put us here?
If anyone can do this job, it is James, but unfortunately, he comes with baggage; a green-eyed, curly-headed, tattooed, nose-pierced, shoe addicted, potty-mouthed, margarita loving, little bit of a rebel…BAGGAGE!
But, if God can speak through a jack@$$, then I suppose all hope is not lost when it comes to me being the wife of a preacher, even if that was not exactly the choice I made all those years ago.
So, “for better or worse” here is where you will find me.
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller