Life as PK

There is a popular myth being circulated about Pks (aka Preacher's Kids). I'm sure that you have heard it - they have a wild side. Looks are deceiving - they may be starched and in the front pew listening intently to every word that their pastor parent speaks. Get them out of their church clothes, however, and it's a different story.
Well, I'm hear to partially debunk that myth. I can speak from 38 years of being a preacher's kid that every PK is different. We don't all have a sudden urge to test out of firestarting techniques in the back of the sanctuary. We don't have hot tub parties in the baptismal font -- OK, well I'm Methodist and we don't baptize by submersion. But I still wouldn't have a hot tub party. As my father would say, we Methodists like to let our hair down, but we are pretty short haired people.
Living with a minister in the house does tend to give their children a slightly different upbringing than other children. Not good or bad, just different. I know how to take complete phone messages from time I was in kindergarten. Name of person, message, phone number, time of call. I have been to more marriage counseling sessions than most married people.
Death was a common theme in our house. There were frequent funerals and I could recognizethe sound of the funeral director's voice on the phone. Police showing up at the front door in the middle of the night meant that I knew before someone else's family knew that a loved one had tragically died. My father was a young minister during the end of the Vietnam War and we did have "army men" show up to ask my father to accompany them to a family's house to give them a death notification.
I grew up nourished on pot luck dinner and funeral lunch left overs. I know that you have not truly mourned until you have eaten an open faced cheese whiz sandwich with a piece of green olive on the top. I consider hamburger hotdish and jello comfort foods. Funeral sandwiches would often show up on the lunch table and we enjoyed the left over cake from the funeral lunch.
Everything was not always leftovers and Christmas cookies. Being a Pastor's family meant that you were always held under the microscope. If you left too many lights on in the house, you were wasting church money because they paid the utility bill. You lived in a house you did not own and white walls with brown carpet are a universal color scheme. You can't walk on the carpet in high heels. As a PK, you knew that if your father stopped his sermon to look at you, you'd better pray that Jesus came back before the benediction or you were toast!
People that go to church are just like any other group of people. Some of them are nice and some of them are not. For some reason that has alluded me, people think that the staff at church can be used as target practice. Someone will start a rumor, voice a disapproval or point out a fault and away you go. There are meetings and letters, phone calls and gossip. Pretty soon you start to avoid people on your way to get the mail. You are not quite sure who your friends are, or even if a pastor can have friends that are also parisioners.
And yet, when someone dies or a tragedy strikes, you pick up the phone and call your Pastor. And they come. Your expectations are always higher of your parsonage family than your own family. You expect them to forgive and forget, work tirelessly on any church project, visit the sick and those in prison, feed the hungry, be kind to everyone and always have the answers to life's hardest questions.
I don't mean to rant about church people. There people are those that I consider some of my closest friends. I have shared their table for holidays and have been invited to family events. I get to share in their largest triumphs and their darkest moments. I consider it a privilege to share this season with them.
I grew up knowing that death was a part of life and that there are things in life worse than death. I understood that by inviting those who would be alone for the holidays to break bread with you, you were giving them a wonderful gift. My family is closer for all of the moves that brought us to a new place, a new home and a new church family. Knowing Vaughn was right down the hall in a classroom full of strangers made me braver as I faced a similar classroom. We both knew that the world was bigger than that little corner of the world.
Pastor Appreciation month is in October. Please take some time to think about how you can encourage your pastor and their family. They have made the decision to serve the Lord where they are sent and your affirmation makes that path a little easier to trod. Remember that they are human and suceptible to weakness and doubt. Lift them up to the Lord in prayer and ask for God's wisdom as they face difficult decisions every day. Love them as family. Forgive them as Jesus taught. Those would be the greatest gifts.