Growing up as a preacher's kid I understand the ups and downs of that lifestyle. I have served churches where preacher's kids were my best members and some where they were my worst. Some of them remember the bad times of living in a parsonage more than they do the good times and it reflects in they way they treat their pastors today. They remember the way supposed Christians talked about their parents or mistreated them, they remember getting laughed at because of the importance God and church was in their lives, and in turn use that as fuel against the men of faith today and their families. Their mentality is, "It happened to my folks, so it ought to happen to you!"Sadly, there seems to be more of that behavior than what I am going to report today.
Tomorrow I will be having a Memorial Service for a preacher's kid who was quite the opposite. She was a valuable to my church, congregation, and to me. She served her church well and it's ministries. She was a teacher, a leader, and very outspoken in a good way for her Pastor. She remembered the hard times growing up in a parsonage, but gained strength from them. She remembered the stigma put on preachers kids and did the best she could to honor God, the church, and her heritage rather than be a negative during my administration. She was a preacher's kid that brought honor to be being a preacher's kid and many lives are the better for having known her.
Did she think she was perfect? Nope, she knew she was as flawed as the rest of us. Did she not make mistakes? Nope, she would confess to you the areas that she was weak in. Did she love her husband? Yes, with all of her heart. Did she love her daughter? You better believe that she did. These are simple questions that bring forth simple answers if you knew her. It was easy to tell the things she cared about by the way she presented herself even in a time when most people would find an excuse to stay away from church.
She loved her church and served it to the best of her ability. She loved each and every child, good and bad, that walked through the doors of our kindergarten program. She cared about the image of our church and how to remold it after it had been tarnished so many times in the past. She cared about her pastor and defended me, stood against my opposition, made her opinion known to my detractors, and prayed for me daily. She worked tirelessly to help keep the area she was in charge of in the building be ready for the next day or service on the weekend. She did much more than her share.
Why would she do that? Was she worried about her job? Was she trying to make a good impression? No. I believe it was because growing up in a glass house known as a pastor's home prepares you for the best and worst in people and challenges you to find a place within the church and do the best you can with it. She was a preacher's kid that remembered why you do what you do because you love God and you honor your heritage.
Aretta, the city of God is brighter today because you are there. I pray that God will give us more preacher's kids who are willing to fill your shoes. It was a honor to be your pastor.
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