Monday, June 7, 2010

Sign Number Three

So Hubby, last night after reading my blog, bemoaned the fact that "I left out so much." I could dedicate a new entire blog to our first 5 years of marriage, but then I would never get to the story of how I actually became a pastor's wife, and really, that's how all of this started.

So here's the first five years in a nutshell. We hated the city that held the Most Expensive Seminary in the World. H-A-T-E-D it! It was a scary and violent place. We both held decent jobs but Hubby's boss was abusive. And mine, well, mine is another story in and of itself. So without a job or much of a savings between us, we moved to a little second floor apartment on a coastal barrier island to start over. There we proceeded to get whamped by hurricanes. Not one, not two, but three hurricanes. When our second floor apartment became a first floor apartment by way of storm surge and rats moved into our stove shortly afterwards, we decided buy a house and move a little more inland to Pop. 259.

Just a few weeks after moving inland I was in a death-defying car accident. A 70 year old woman who had had a stroke just two weeks before AND HAD NO SIGHT IN HER LEFT EYE, stopped at a stop sign and then pulled out in front of me while I was going 55 mph. I crashed into her and almost sent her into the intracoastal waterway.

We decided to get pregnant after I healed and had our first miscarriage on my 30th birthday. Hubby sold life insurance but hated it and I worked at a tiny little pharmacy and loved my customers but hated my boss. All the while we were attending this very old, red brick church with the most beautiful stained glass windows and a dying congregation. Hubby suffered from depression and I would find him hiding out in the house playing tetris. Something had to change. He had to find something that made him happy.

One day the pastor delivered a sermon about answering God's call. I don't really listen to the sermons (even my husband's). I don't know why, probably because I am not biblically knowledgeable. I'll make grocery lists in my head, sing silent songs and write whole plays while the service is going on, but this one caught my ear because I knew it was speaking to Hubby. But I kept silent. I remembered our first date and his comment on being a pastor. If he wanted to be a pastor, fine, but I wasn't going to PUT it in his head.

Finally, one late, warm afternoon Hubby asked me to go for a walk. We put a leash on our dog and started to meander through our small town. We walked in silence for a while as Hubby gathered his courage to talk to me. Finally he told me that he had been thinking about something but he didn't want me to feel like he had to do it. If I couldn't support him in it, then he would forget about it because it would drastically affect both of our lives. It was then that I stopped him and said, "You want to be a pastor, don't you?" The relief I saw in his eyes that he wouldn't actually have to say those words to me was immense. I told him of course I would support him, whatever it meant for us. He told me that he wanted to go to the World's Most Expensive Seminary but it would take a year to get into it. In the meantime he would receive special training to be a lesser pastor.

We finished our conversation just as we walked up to our cute little white house that we had just purchased less than a year and a half before. Our cute little house that we had renovated with our own sweat and gumption. Our little white house that sat on the corners of Church and College (funny how we hadn't noticed that before). And it was done. Shortly after Hubby became a pastor and we moved back to the scary, violent town we hated so much so Hubby could work as a part-time pastor while he got his degree.

And that's how I became a pastor's wife.

I appreciate all the comments of people who think my Hubby should become a teacher or work at another profession, but Hubby would be miserable. Whatever my beliefs, I believe in my Hubby. I believe that his Higher Power touched him and gave him his calling. I believe this is what he is meant to do and I believe that I am meant to be with him. So we work it out. (See, Natasha, I didn't ignore your question.) This blog is my place to vent my anger at congregational life, but I am not as miserable as I appear BECAUSE I can write it out. He is as committed to my well-being as I am to his, and that is what it takes to survive this crazy life. We hold on together and walk the road side by side.

Oh, one last thing, the year we moved up to the city with the Most Expensive Seminary in the World...a hurricane barreled into our state and kept going up...up..up. And we got WHAMPED AGAIN!

I am a bad weather magnet.

1 comment:

Bubblewench said...

This has been an awesome story. Just catching up.