A relaxed morning brunch together and a quiet drive through a countryside awakening to spring released a spurt of courage and openness within me. "Nancy," I began, "you just can't imagine what your inviting me out like this has meant to me." She looked startled. "Well," I tried to explain, "being a doctor's wife, you've probably never heard anything like this before, but ministers' wives just aren't supposed to have friends. I mean, we're supposed to be gracious and kind and all that, but we're not supposed to be close, share from the inside, be real human beings. Oh, I understand the well-meant cautions, but I do need people—so much!"
Stopping the car so she could look at me, she began a speech that, hours of reflection later, would still provide fresh insights and prompt new fountains of courage.
"That explains it," she stated emphatically. "I invited you today partly because it seemed the thing to do, your being the new pastor's wife and all, but mostly—I confess—because I was curious about what makes you tick. You're just not a"—she hesitated and then resolutely continued—"a 'benevolent nobody' like so many of the rest of them. They all smile and shake our hands and act friendly, but we can never get past the facade to the real woman under neath. You have helped me to under stand."
That morning began an enduring friendship that is one of my most precious earthly treasures; its richness has minimized the personal risk of reaching out in love to a multitude of others. And in the moments when our very souls have lain bare to each other's view, compassion and warm understanding have encouraged us both to grow.
Ministers' wives are called upon to wear many hats. In choosing a mate, our husbands searched for a perfect blend of musician, secretary, cook, and socialite, all wrapped in a humility that still allowed for sorting smelly old clothes donated for the poor, and cleaning ancient, ink-encrusted mimeograph machines.
I still remember one of my first evaluations of what I had to offer to my husband's ministry. It happened on the way home after our introduction to a large group of ministers and their wives from the three-State area in which we were to begin our ministry. The tears that had filled the corners unnoticed burst out of hiding when Ron spoke to me; then everything tumbled out. "It's just that I love you so much, and you have made a dreadful mistake," I blubbered. "I can just never be like all those ladies in white gloves that I met today. They're so gracious and poised and mannerly, and the most serious problem they have is how to handle the parsonage telephone. I'll never be like them." My young hus band's devotion and endorsement of me just as I was came as little comfort, for feelings totally obscured fact or reason.
I also remember the day I determined, with every cell in me, that I would fit the mold of the ideal minister's wife—even if it took a reworking of my complete personality. To this day when we cross paths with friends from our first congregation, we laugh together about the day I tried so desperately to be quiet and re served, gracious and poised, and even managed to play the opening hymn flawlessly, as it was written.
Fortunately the strain of such a major personality overhaul proved too great, and I decided that, come what may, our church members would have to accept or reject me as I am, for I could neither pretend to be nor become somebody else. And as often happens, resignation led to discovery. I learned that churches would indeed challenge my talents to the full, but since churches are not programs and dinners and fund drives, but people, the greatest gift I had to offer was not talent but friendship—an open, honest sharing of myself.
To be a friend is risky business. For true friendship is a two-way revelation, a sharing of our inmost being. As John Powell puts it, it's scary to show you who I really am, because you might not like me, and I'm all I've got. But a cor responding discovery about my inestimable worth in the eyes of my Creator and Redeemer has given me courage to take the risk. A new view of the risks God has taken in loving, of how His character has been maligned and His Son rejected, has crystallized for me a mission in life. My prayers as I stand beside my husband in his ministry have become very simple and specific on this point. "Lord, make me the kind of friend with whom others can experience on a human level the acceptance and love they can know with You." While the challenge of representing God still leaves me awe struck, the rewards of sharing myself as I am in relationship to Him have brought some of the richest experiences of my life.
Learning to share openly from the in side, risking not only my success stories but my discouragements and struggles, as well, came hard. Somehow I thought—and church members did too, I discovered—that sleeping next to a minister must bring sanctification by osmosis! Our parishioners need to see us for real; they need to experience our humanity. Letting them know us as we really are gives added depth to our testimony of trust in God. How meaningful, then, becomes our sharing of what we have learned through a trying experience and how, even in the darkness, Jesus and the salvation He offers is truly more than enough for us all.
Quality friendship requires the development of communication skills. I have been richly blessed by several communication courses I have taken. I learned that for me talking came easily, but listening needed a great deal of cultivation. I needed to become consciously tuned to the feelings, as well as the words, that were expressed. I struggled to become better at creating an atmosphere of love and acceptance, even if the feelings or messages a person was sending made me .uncomfortable. I learned the value of checking to be sure I really understood how another felt inside and to treat this opening to me as a sacred trust.
Friends come in all shapes and sizes; some of my most cherished ones are children. I'm a mother of two little boys now, so on Monday afternoon I am a volunteer in my second-grader's classroom. I've always enjoyed Jeffrey's friends, and I've known one, Terry, since kindergarten. Actually, you couldn't be even a casual visitor to the classroom and not know Terry. His desk seems always to be separated from the others by about six feet. And if he doesn't cause a problem on a particular day, it's newsworthy.
Last Monday we made bread together. The science lesson had been about measures, so the children took turns measuring ingredients and mixing. Finally, one by one, they came up to knead. Then Terry stood across from me, his sticky hands working the dough with mine. Suddenly he raised his freckled face, grinned, and said, "Jeffrey's mom, I like you."
"Well, I like you, too," I stammered. "I know." He pushed the dough toward me. "That's why I like you." I really didn't mind that he saw the tears. My thoughts reached heaven ward in thanks to God for friends, still more evidence that His blueprint for relation ships really works. Love does break every barrier down! And I hoped many more opportunities would be mine to say "I love you," even to the unlovely, and by my friendship declare, God is like this.
Prayers from the parsonage
by Cherry B. Habenicht
I do not know who lives here, but I can tell a lot about the owner.
Everything is tidy; trim painted and windows washed. There's no clutter on the porch or trash in the yard. The trees have been pruned, the bushes shaped, and the lawn mowed and edged. Even the car in the driveway shines!
I can picture someone kneeling in the garden, first planting, then thinning, later weeding. He has a plan and the diligence to make it work. Already he has been rewarded with vegetables and berries.
But it is the flowers, Lord, that dazzle my eyes. Spikes of gold snapdragons, rows of scarlet salvia, borders of lavender ageratum, clusters of pink geraniums. I'd like to know the person who loves such color and variety! Not afraid to get dirt under her fingernails, she designs flower beds that proclaim the loveliness of nature.
Thoughts of admiration for these unknown people ultimately turn to praise for You.
Thank You for midsummer when the earth teems with life. Thank You for being wonderfully extravagant, perfectly designing even flowers that bloom once and die. Thank You for instilling a desire for beauty in each of us.
Thank You, too, for people who wouldn't think of replacing grass with green gravel or plants with plastic arrangements. Many, like Adam and Eve of old, still dress and keep their garden, thrilled with the miracle of growth.
Attractive homes inspire me. Please show me what I can do to make our bit of property declare the glory of Your creation.
