A Pastor’s Wife

Cookies in the oven, a bathroom cleaned, warm, cheesy casserole just bubbling. I work not just to tend my hearth and home, not just to tend my man, but to serve my pastor, tangibly, daily.

I am a pastor’s wife.

Each day I work and labor, my dishes washed, my laundry done, my floors swept, a glass of wine and a long conversation, not just for my home and us, but also for you.

I am a pastor’s wife.

A pastor tended to the best of my ability, prayed for, praised, and encouraged, fed and warm, is my gift unto the Lord, and my gift to you, my church, my dear church.

I am a pastor’s wife.

Every burden shared, every tear shed, every fervent prayer raised up to the Lord for him, for you, is because you are my beloved church.

I am a pastor’s wife.

I may be weak and shy, passionate about war stories and true crime, but every plant watered, every trip to the grocery store, each task I carry to keep him free, each secret harbored unshared, though heavy in my heart, is for you dearest Lord, and you dearest church.

I am a pastor’s wife.

I bear the scars of my husband’s work, each unkind word, harsh judgment, unfair standard, and hurt feeling. I give the man I love to you and watch him be injured and burdened, and yet I love you.

I am a pastor’s wife.

I have put this article under Personal because it’s not really about homemaking, or it’s more a personal testimony about homemaking. This article isn’t a pity-party or praise-seeking. I process through writing, think through things by writing, and exorcise my demons through writing. If anything, this is a request for prayer. Too long have the pastors’ wives been treated as someone with a leadership position, as Mrs. Perfection, as the First Lady, or as the person who does all the serving. Being a pastor’s wife requires much that no one ever sees. I can’t deeply speak to motherhood or all the different ways our husbands' various careers impact us, but I can deeply talk about being a pastor’s wife. This is a request for prayer.

Being a pastor’s wife is a unique calling more akin to being a military wife or a law enforcement wife. I read this the other day:

“Though my wife Sharon didn’t serve in the military, she served the military, as noted by my eldest son, who recently retired from the Marines at Camp Lejeune.” – By What Standard?: Mature Manhood by Mark Coppenger.

Be still my heroic heart. I’m not a warrior but I have a heart, albeit a shy one, for warriors. And I love this quote. She didn’t serve in the military, she served the military. This is being a pastor’s wife. I’m not serving as the pastor, I’m serving the pastor.

My mom, also a pastor’s wife, told me two things when my husband was called as a pastor:

1) You must love the church as much or more than he does.

2) You are his first deacon.

Love the Church: Having a husband who is a pastor is a wearying job. I watch him agonize over every word he speaks, struggle with crippling self-doubt, face unjust standards and criticism, bear the weight of other’s sins and mistakes, worry over his flock, pour himself out in his pulpit, and get up and do it again the next day.

There are days, weeks, and months when my home is overwhelmed with people. Not necessarily physically, but with their issues, struggles, and criticism.

It’s painful to watch your husband expend his life, health, sanity, and soul for people. It’s tempting—when your heart is breaking—to quit. Maybe he could just go back to computer programming and we could live a simple, quiet life. Maybe we wouldn’t have conversations that take all of breakfast, all of the afternoon, and all of the evening. Conversations that require wisdom, self-control, love, and often include tears. Maybe we could just laugh and discuss books and movies or budgets and projects. That sounds nice. Being a pastor’s wife requires me to loosen my grip on my husband and let him die for others instead of for me.

And 99% of what I do is never seen by anyone but him. The agony of watching my husband shoulder this job, of being his confidant, encourager, the swift-kick-in-the-seat-of-his-pants, his comforter, and theological checker is a challenging, unseen job. It is weeks where it might appear that I got nothing done and am not much more than a bump on a log. But in reality, I sat and listened while internally weeping and begging God for wisdom so that I can encourage my husband to stay in the fight. It is a prayer for wisdom that I will say the right words and give good advice and be a good sounding board for him. It’s exhausting, overwhelming, terrifying, painful, and largely hidden.

Being a pastor’s wife is the most difficult, most agonizing thing I’ve ever done, along with being the loneliest. I must love the church as much or more than he does. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done because it is relentless. It doesn’t stop. There has been almost no moment since my man stepped into the pulpit that hasn’t been a muddy, bloody, painful battle. We’ve been betrayed by people we trusted, watched homes and families fall apart due to sin, lost close friends, struggled with the long dark watches of the night crying, “Why Lord?” We’ve looked sin in the face and carried the wounds it inflicts without anyone but a few knowing what we’ve endured.

There are times I smile, hug, laugh, when inside I’m weeping in pain and heartache. Why do I not share that? I can’t. I can’t open the door to you about what others are dealing with. It’s not your business and I don’t want you to be exposed to it. Yes, I have to find the narrow path between protecting and lying, between truth and gossip, but sometimes there are burdens just too big to share. How would I even go about sharing them in a public setting?

Being a pastor’s wife is one of constantly being on guard. I can’t share 90% of what I carry. And I’m a share-er. I’m only private about the deepest things. It’s hard for me to bottle up the pain. “Well, you share it with Price, right?” I do, but it isn’t helpful for warriors to have their wives constantly sobbing when they go off to war. He has things he needs to focus all his being on. So I do talk with him about the hard parts, but I also try not to add to his general discouragement by making him feel like he’s making my life difficult and burdensome.

This is why I watch war movies. They are my life and my reminder to stay in the fight.

As a pastor’s wife, I must love the church as much or more than he does or I will not endure.

First Deacon: I am my husband’s helper. I manage our home and tend the hearthlight. I love my work. And now, as a pastor’s wife, my work has taken on another level of importance. It is helping and tending my husband and it is also how I serve my church. I serve my church, my beloved church, and my beloved brothers, fellow heirs of Christ, by cleaning the pastor’s bathroom, paying his bills, doing his taxes, taking care of his car, planning his vacations, decorating his house, cooking his meals, washing his clothes, ironing his shirts, polishing his boots, managing his calendar, etc., etc., etc.

I’m not necessarily doing things I wouldn’t be doing anyway, but now they’ve taken on the added nuance of each step being done for my church. I serve my church by being the first responder to one of our pastors.

I both love this, the oh so tangible expression I get to engage in every moment of every day to serve my church, but it’s also a lot. Sometimes it feels like more than I can do. Trying to take every mundane task that I can off his shoulders is taking on a lot. It’s being a Sam to his Frodo. He carries many heavy emotional, mental, spiritual burdens, so I try to carry as many physical burdens as possible so he doesn’t have to. I do the grunt work.

The struggle, because I’m a sinner, is with wanting the praise of man, of holding onto the fact that service isn’t about me and that God sees all that I’ve done, good and bad, mixed-motive and out of love. It can be hard to remember that God sees the baked cookies, the long conversation, the support I seek to offer to my husband every day. It’s easy to want to be seen by everyone else. It’s easy to want everyone to see what a burden the week has been. But on the other hand, I also don’t want my church to see. It’s like with children: you want them to grow and prosper even if they never know the burdens you bore to protect and care for them.

This is why I watch war movies. There are times I feel so filled with love, with a sense of brotherhood that I willingly lay down my life for my church. There are other times when I have to fight tooth and nail to stay in the fight.

Being a pastor’s wife is a beautiful gift. I have the privilege of serving one of Christ’s ministers every moment of every day. I’m honored to be trusted with the care of the pastor. But, it’s also a great burden. It has taken years off our lives. It is largely unseen, rarely acknowledged, and often painfully lonely to be a pastor’s wife.

Ladies, your work is not that different from mine. You may not be a pastor’s wife, but you serve your church and the Lord by tending your hearth and home. All the work you do to manage your home is a sweet perfume poured at Christ’s feet. All of us manage the tangible things so that we can be in church on Sunday clean, fed, and ready to listen. Pray for each other, pray we will live by faith and not by sight. And please pray for your pastor’s wife. Pray she’ll endure the pouring out of her husband, that she’ll be faithful to the end.