Within the walls of quarantine, whether self-imposed or mandated… we dig through the treasure boxes of our past. We unearth the tender moments, the tranquil and the turbulent. This relic was penned over 4 years ago, never published… perhaps a bit raw at the time. Yet now, the edges softened and the aches relieved… may it encourage and inspire.
I’m just gonna take a dive right off the deep end…
Have you ever given so much, that it physically hurts? I mean, your insides heave with the pressures of the day and the weighty amount of responsibility you’ve shouldered… you feel as if your heart would burst. There’s this precise moment in each day, yes each day, where I feel as if I could collapse. A moment where I recite, 2 Corinthians 12:9, in some jumbled up paraphrased expression of “your Grace, God, is sufficient for me”… feeling more like a cry for help instead of an actual declaration. With an air of questioning I may loudly recite the Fruit of the Spirit while gathering up children’s toys that seem to have exploded out of their bedrooms, down the hall and into the living room.
Again, I make up my own translation… So it goes, “Oh Lord! Thank you that I am full of LOVE today. Thank you that the JOY of the Lord is my strength. You ARE my PEACE, my Prince of Peace. I thank you that I have bucket loads of Patience today. Kindness, always kindness. Goodness, because you are a GOOD God. You are so Faithful and I thank you for Faithfulness. Oh and I am so glad that I have self-control…” I may go about my day, blurting aloud at random the aforementioned fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23).
Mostly, it’s at the end of the day when the children are surprised that it is once again bedtime. Oh the ghastly looks of shock I receive when I announce its arrival. The moans and groans of defiance. The sloppy teeth brushing, face washing and toilet using. Once I have tucked and kissed and hugged until I fear my limbs will fall off, I slip into my secret hiding place…
Not really, there are no hiding places when you’re a Mom. Even trips to the bathroom are no longer a solitary event. Perhaps I flop my listless body onto the sofa, or crumple up on my bed… it’s then I feel a physical ache inside, and I dig deep. I reach for Love. You see, there are times in my life where my husband is gone more than he’s home.
Maybe you have just stumbled across my blog and are unsure of why. He’s a Preacher. More specifically an Itinerant Minister, which is one who travels and preaches. So no, I’m not a traditional Pastor’s Wife and I do not have a congregation gathered around me in support while he is gone. Yet I have a lovely team of intercessors who pray faithfully for me. With all his travel comes unwanted and sometimes unwarranted sacrifices in the name of ministry. So often there are times when I am ten days into a fifteen day exploit and I feel an ache in my heart for the love of my life to be near.
It’s a pain I am sure very few could understand. Or perhaps you all can totally relate and I have misjudged you. But whatever this emotion, it moves me to pray. I dialogue and review my case before God… feeling like a selfish child at times. Day and night counting the cost. I weep over souls, praying for miracles and searching for wisdom.
It’s a balancing act, on a tight rope of sorts. When people ask, “How do you do it all?” or the polar opposite by saying “Well, I know what your husband does but what do you do?” I take another step out… I never said I was the perfect example of a Mother or a Wife. I never labeled myself a “do-it-all” with the utmost of grace and beauty. I am not trying to be a cookie-cutter Minister’s wife. I refuse to be the fake shell of a human existence that glides in and out of green rooms. A stepford-esque pageant queen who simply smiles and waves as she greets the people.
Someone once said when speaking to Charlie, “You’re wife was built for ministry… she doesn’t get in the way of you traveling.” At first I thought it was a compliment in it’s own demented way and simply smiled at the thought of me being “built” for this sort of lifestyle. Then I mulled it over and was repulsed. First of all, I am built for ministry because God placed a call on my life at the age of 12 which led me to 4 overseas ministry trips before I even turned 18. Second, I am built for ministry because of encounters I have had with God that set my life on a destiny course which will not be de-railed. Last, I don’t “get in the way” of my husband traveling because I “am the way” my husband travels. Not, only do I run my Home but I run the Administrative Office of our 501(c)3 Ministry. I work alongside my husband, his counter-part as a co-laborer in Christ. We are a team. Though both are not always visible, we are two parts that make up a whole unit. We operate out of a spirit of Unity.
So join me on this journey, I promise it will be imperfectly glorious. Remember, this is the Diary of a Preacher’s Wife and these are the Chronicles of Grace and Glory.