This approach is a softer way of using my husband’s position as a weapon, but it kills by degrees. It suggests, “You must sacrifice connection and authenticity because your husband is a pastor. You can tell people about your struggles when they’re way in the past, but you cannot speak of them as they are being endured. You must take this road alone. You must encourage everyone else to share struggles and confess sin, but you must not do it. It is not safe for you.”
Many pastors’ wives live their lives in fearful isolation, unsure with whom beyond God himself they can share their pain and concerns, and we rarely get to interact with one another because we are, for the most part, in different churches, completely busy in completely different circles. Because ministry is relational at the core, our families get tangled up in ministry issues. Our husbands get to address the issues head-on in meetings, but the wives rarely have a viable place to sort through the complexity.
But I don’t know how to minister and how to build friendships and accountability if I keep everyone at an arm’s length. And I don’t know how to build a thriving marriage if our problems and pains can only be spoken about within our own walls. Precious pastors’ wives, trapping ourselves inside our homes with our pain and struggles? This is not the way.
Since that hiss, “What would he think about what you’ve done?”, God has better attuned my ears to snakelike patterns. How silence when connected with sin and pain—anyone’s sin and pain—is nearly always devilish. How hiding is not a noble pursuit for anyone but actually an overflow of shame. How none of us have to bear shame anymore because Jesus took it. How storytelling—the gospel story and the real way its themes play out in my life—has always been the thing that loosens my chains.
I have six chairs at my table, and I feel the most grateful when women are huddled around it studying God’s word or exchanging embarrassing stories, and I want them to feel comfortable at my table. Greer drops clumps of oatmeal all over it, and Adelaide once colored on it in green crayon, so these precious people are certainly welcome to open up their Bibles and hearts right here. It’s scary sometimes because, you know, he’s a pastor, but we won’t get anywhere if we are all pretending like we have our act together. So I will go first, and I won’t wear any makeup, not on my face and not on my soul. I am fully prepared to let God be the only perfect one in my story.
Do I need to pursue my relationships wisely? Absolutely, and James teaches me that wisdom is the one thing God said he’d give generously without judgement. I’m counting on that. Will this determined vulnerability hurt me? Yes, from time to time, but the years of stoney smiling hurt more. Will people betray me? Yes, but betrayal has been part of the ministry game since Judas greeted Jesus with a kiss.
Rather than building walls, may we lean on the Holy Spirit to know with whom we can generously share our hearts. May we faithfully create vibrant communities of believers in which pastors’ families can fully participate. May Jesus strengthen us to go first, to come out of hiding, to silence the hisses with the holy hum of togetherness with God and one another.
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This article originally appeared at WriterCaroline.com.
