Thank you to everyone who read my blogs in October about Isaiah. We are doing well and appreciate the comments, notes and prayers.
This month I am switching gears and will be blogging about Preacher’s Kids (missionary kids included). I hope you enjoy them. Please comment your experiences.
I was the youngest of 3 siblings – 2 older sisters that were perfect (except my oldest sister who wanted to be a hippy for a short time). They were (are) pretty. They got straight A’s in school. Musical. You get the picture. And then there’s me. The only boy in the family and the youngest who had to follow 2 perfect sisters. OK – get your Kleenex out. I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I just wanted to paint my picture. My dad was a Mennonite pastor (please see my blogs on Mennonites). This only made me more glaring as a boy following perfect sisters. I couldn’t sit still in church. I could be a brat in Sunday School. I ran around the church property like it was mine. Unlike my sister’s attraction to sacred music, I played “Jesus Christ Superstar” on the church organ and played an electric guitar. I smarted off to a policeman one time because he stopped me from riding my mini-bike on the parking lot. He asked if I had permission to ride here. I said “go inside and ask my Dad, he’s the pastor.”
My mom’s idea of crowd control during church was to pinch my arm with her long finger nails. She would threaten to make me sit up at the pulpit with my dad if I didn’t behave. When I went to my dad for help I heard the famous line “Everyone is watching you because I am the pastor. If I can’t manage my family then I can’t manage the church.” I heard that quote 1,235,416 times in my life. “You can’t go to dances “quote”. “You can’t go to movies “quote”. “You can’t have long hair “quote”.
Don’t get me wrong – I loved my dad and mom. I love God. I love church (sometimes). Overall I had a great childhood and I appreciate what I learned being a preacher’s kid. It had a lot of benefits. I received gifts from people. I had a huge play yard and when it rained I could play in the whole church building. I had special privileges (I’ll get to those in another blog). I was a happy kid.
I just grew up knowing that I was in the spot light and I had to be careful not to shame my dad. I had to be at every service. I had to meet old people that came to visit at our house. I had to hear about conferences, congregations, bishops, elders, budgets, doctrine. You name it, the preacher’s kids heard about it. We were always told “You can’t repeat this to anyone.” Yeah, like I cared about Mrs. Ripper going into early menopause! Who was I going to tell that to?
So sit back. You will read some blogs that are sad and some that are funny. If you are a preacher’s kid, you will get it!