Boy, are we lucky to be preacher's kids," said 13-year-old John and 12-year-old Ruth when we returned from a two-week vacation. The sign on our door said "Welcome back. We love you!"
Fresh-cut flowers on the table; counters loaded with canned goods, homemade bread, and pie; and an over flowing refrigerator were a heartwarming sight.
My children have not always been that enthusiastic about parsonage life. There were times when they didn't want to at tend church, but they went. There were times when they didn't want to leave their friends and move to a new pastor ate, but they moved. And there were even times when they rebelled against authority, but they obeyed. Most of the time, however, they appreciated the privilege of living in a parsonage. I've talked with many ministers' wives and children, and I am convinced that parsonage kids are special. They really are lucky to be preachers' kids.
Special houses
Living in different parsonages is exciting for PKs. We have lived in a variety of houses in our 36 years of being in pastoral ministry.
The first parsonage in which our children lived was an old schoolhouse. The first floor was a chapel, the second our home. When we arrived, the slate chalk boards were still on the walls, but after much remodeling we enjoyed a livable apartment.
One time during the worship service I took my baby upstairs to her crib and found another baby sleeping there. Along with the advantage of not having to bundle up to go to church came the disadvantage of sharing the bed.
At our Florida parsonage we began a practice that we have continued through the years. Since there was no shade around the cement-block house, we decided to plant a tree. Our toddlers helped tramp the dirt around the newly planted seedling. Fifteen years later we drove past the parsonage. What a thrill to discover that our little seedling had become a huge tree that towered over the house, providing much-needed shade.
Since that time we have planted some thing permanent in each parsonage yard: more trees, rosebushes, tulip bulbs, shrubs, and other perennials. Our children have enjoyed providing beauty for the benefit of future clergy families.
The Lake Placid parsonage was located on a steep hillside above the church. We made a toboggan slide from our house down to the church. John and Ruth fondly remember the speedy trips they took on their way to services. Learning to ice-skate on the nearby lake, they wobbled on double runners while Olympic-bound athletes did their practice routines beside them.
In New Hampshire we lived in an apartment attached to the rear of the church. When I put a roast in the oven it provided tempting aromas in the sanctuary. My husband tried to complete his sermon before people started thinking about their hunger pangs.
From New Hampshire we moved to a five-bedroom, high-ceilinged parsonage in Quincy, Massachusetts. Living in close proximity to the Adams mansion, the John Quincy Adams homestead, and all the historic sites in Boston helped our children learn their history lessons.
From Quincy we made the long move to a ranch-style parsonage in Indiana with church fellowship hall beneath. Our children enjoyed the leftovers from potlucks and ate royally for the nine years that we lived there.
Now our kids are gone and the two of us rattle around in a big parsonage near the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. They would love it here. How privileged our children have been. Who else but a preacher's kid could learn to ice-skate at Lake Placid, learn to ski in New Hampshire, and learn his history firsthand in Massachusetts?
Learning to serve
Many opportunities to serve await the preacher's child. Our children visited shut-ins, cut out patterns for Vacation Bible School, sang in the choir, helped in the nursery, folded bulletins, picked up hymnals, gave up their bedrooms for guest speakers, and helped in many other ways. If we show our children that God's work is a joy, they will usually feel the same way about it. Perhaps that is why our son is a missionary in Africa today and our daughter is actively serving in her church.
Living in a parsonage seems to develop a good sense of humor in both PKs and their parents.
One day after services our 10-year-old son locked the church door by bolting it on the outside. Walking home to the parsonage up the street, he left us inside visiting with a few people who lingered after the service. When we tried to leave we found ourselves locked inside the church. The only other exit was through a small coal chute in the cellar. Fortunately we were able to get the attention of a man walking past the church. He unlocked the door and released us.
Another time when this same PK was 5 years old, he looked intently at a lady visitor who had a rather conspicuous mustache and loudly announced, "I thought only men had whiskers." I tried to act like I didn't know the child.
In a song service that included the hymn "Onward Christian Soldiers," Ruth sang "leans against the phone" in stead of "leads against the foe." I wondered if she had been brainwashed from living in a parsonage where her mother spent quite a bit of time leaning against the phone.
Yes, PKs are fun to live with. They are lucky when they have parents who have a good sense of humor too.
Special memories
In his book Laughter in the Walls Bob Benson poignantly reminds us that after the children are gone our homes will still be crowded with memories. I asked my children to share their childhood memories, especially those related to the fact that they were preacher's kids.
My daughter reminded me of how she enjoyed helping to entertain evangelists and missionaries in our home. Sitting around the table with a missionary telling his stories is unforgettable. She also recalled the Christmas gifts we received from our congregations and how we divided gifts of money equally among us.
Ruth also remembers how much she enjoyed Sundays, which we tried to make very special days in the parsonage. After the evening service we regularly relaxed together, enjoying popcorn and table games. Our children looked forward to this family time together.
Camp meetings, conventions, and assemblies were highlights in the lives of our children. They enjoyed meeting other PKs at camp. They participated in Bible quizzing and all the teen activities.
John remembers going for ice-cream cones after Wednesday evening prayer meetings. He recalls our family altar when each one of us took a turn being in charge of devotions for the evening.
I will confess that tears rolled down my cheeks when I read the letters my children wrote. Sometimes I have grumbled about life in the parsonage. Many times I have failed in my role as a pastor's wife, and I have not always been the ideal mother. But memories my son and daughter shared in their letters erased any small regrets I had about marrying a minister and all my failures. They really feel that they were lucky to be preacher's kids.
