For the majority of my life, I attended a small community church that had about 50 people in the congregation on a Sunday. These people are my family, and many of them served in multiple ministries of the church. We shared so much of our life together. I know every single one of their names. I’ve babysat many of their children.
This new church where my husband works? I know two names for sure. Like, maybe three. My efforts of trying to remember everyone’s name who is introduced to me are failing horribly, but most of the congregation is elderly so they immediately forget my name too… I’m trying, I promise.
Today was my first Sunday as a member of this church. I went solo since my man is gone to pastor at kids camp. I got ready early so I could look very presentable (can’t wear sweats like I did at my last church). I even wore a blouse and straightened my hair! It felt like I needed to hold myself in a manner that said “Ah yes, that’s a pastor’s wife.”
So of course it rained and hailed. Humidity dealt with my hair, and my shoes filled up with water as soon as I got out of the car. Pretty sure God was saying, “Who are you kidding? Just be your messy self.” I made my way into the Welcome Center and said “hi” to some faces I recognized. Then off I went to the bathroom to pour the water out of my shoes. An older lady met me there and we talked about the crazy weather. She said she was going to wear some nice flats today with her outfit, but decided to go with the muck boots despite the conflict with her getup. I like her, whatever her name was.
Oh yes, then Sunday school. I have never gone to Sunday school. My last church’s numbers didn’t really allow it. Anyways, I ventured upstairs to a small room with ten or so people inside. We went through Colossians 2 along with questions from a study book. Honestly, I sat there in silence when the leader asked questions. Then it occurred to me that I was very much being like many of my youth kids at my last church; when a question is asked, look down or away! The other members were quite responsive, though, and I was amazed by the knowledge they had about the New Testament.
Another pastor’s wife lead me downstairs to the sanctuary. We sat together behind the youth and had worship with the band (they forgot to do the Meet and Greet! YES!) But then, it was the choir’s turn to sing.
Oh, Lord. Sweet, merciful, ever-present Lord.
First of all, the band went down to sit with the congregation. I was very confused as to why since I thought they might play with the choir. Oh no. This was not the case at all. All of a sudden, A SOUNDTRACK CAME ON. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a soundtrack of piano and guitar came on even though they already had these things in the worship band. I was just flabbergasted. But then, they started to sing. I didn’t realize that I was clenching my jaw so tight until after they were done. I really hope they didn’t see my face while they were singing, either. One of the men in my Sunday school class had given the solo. His soul was in it, but man, not his voice. You could clearly hear a soprano much louder than any of the others. I’m not really sure there were tenors, even though there were men present. One lady was singing off-key the whole time. My attention was caught by the youth kids in front of us as they looked at each other and snickered. My heart hurt.
I clapped afterwards, of course, cause I’m not THAT rude. Then the intermittent pastor came up to preach about Jacob and his wrestling with God. It was great. I learned new things. Isn’t it wonderful that, even through great transitions, God’s word is still good?
Morning service ended. I got introduced to many more people whose names I have already forgotten. Time to go back to evening service, and forget many more.
The Science of Being a Pastor's Wife 