A decade ago, when you called my husband to be one of your pastors, I felt worried about my kids.
Pastors’ kids tend to go bad.
I was worried you might treat my kids differently because of their position, maybe set expectations high.
And you have.
You have loved them more and have expected great things.
You affectionately surrounded my daughter and cocooned her through difficult teenage years.
You have laughed at my son’s antics but have told him when to be quiet.
You have let my boy and girl be not perfect.
You have put them in leadership positions because you have seen what they can do and you have looked ahead to see where they can go.
You have clapped and hugged and celebrated their accomplishments.
You have had them over to dance Michael Jackson on the Wii and have bought them hot chocolate and burgers and milkshakes.
You have prodded them to work hard and rake leaves for elderly women and serve food in soup kitchens and clear rocks from bike paths.
And you have never once mentioned the pastor’s kid thing. They’re just kids and they’re family and you care about them.
You have loved Jesus for real –every day where my kids can see it.
I think my kids have grown to love God and to make good choices. That’s no small statement for a pastor’s wife to make. I’d like to think they’re good kids because I’m a super terrific mom, but I know a big chunk of the goodness in my kids is because of how you’ve wrapped family around them.
“…love the family of believers…” (1 Peter 2:17 NIV)