Training for war

My training for war began as soon as I was born. My quiet grandma lived with us. When my Irish brothers threw heavy objects at each other, or dad swore at my mother and she screamed back in hysterics,  I ran to my grandma where she quietly rocked back and forth and buried my head in her lap. After she died,  I was alone on a remote farm with a drinking dad and an angry mother. As soon as I could I fled but I carried a boatload of guilt for abandoning my mother.  Many years later Ted and I brought my parents from that primitive Kansas farm to California.  Both became Christians at 75 years of age. Overnight my dad stopped drinking, smoking and swearing.  Kind Christians,  my tender Ted and our family loved my parents to Jesus.  When we moved to Texas my brother moved my parents to Kansas to be near him. After each visit to them in Kansas,  upon my return to our home in Houston I would go into our bathroom, close the door and scream into a towel from the pain of not being able to take care of my parents until they went to Heaven. We still had a daughter at home who deserved to have whatever pieces of her parents were left over from an exhausting ministry, fraught with joy and agony. ... all at the same time.  Could I have made better choices?  I have tortured myself over and over about that.  I honestly do not know.  Years later we opted for another pastorate.. ...a ministry that brought even worse emotional pain.  After three years and another merciless bludgeoning, Ted began another ministry here for the people we knew needed love and kindness.  I shut down, refusing to participate. I shocked myself, Ted and about a hundred people who were gathering in the local gym to be fed and loved.

One of the reasons the pastorates were bitter/sweet for me was that most of the time somebody was mad at somebody or even worse, were mad at Ted.  I agonized when people were mad at my sweet Ted who gave blood for every ministry. We both did. ...and so did our children. What hurts so badly is that they did not sign up for ministry, but were forced to sacrifice right along with us.  Twice, my Ted, their dad was treated like a criminal.  Ted never fought back,  nor did he defend himself. ...but attacks upon his character had to affect him deep in his soul.  I was quietly torn up inside most of our pastoral years,  but I could never tell anybody. ..except our wonderful Christian doctors who supplied me with sleeping pills, ... and my chiropractor who treated me for chronic neck pain. Ultimately, in Houston,  I went into a deep depression from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  ...a  name now given for buried, unexpressed horror experienced in war.  I appear to be a pretty tough cookie, but I am a woman with a huge capacity for deep feelings.

Like a mother hen I do my best to protect young chickens from the ugliness that goes on in Christian circles. ...but I can't always pull that off.  Now that Ted is out of the pastorate I don't have to be involved in useless joy sappers, but I can't quite break the tendency to try to head off a fight or resolve one that's already in the second or third round.  Take Monday and yesterday:  Hours and hours were spent on the phone and on this computer either trying to extricate myself from a brewing church division or prevent another one from happening. The Spirit's steady reminder to "Make it your ambition to lead a quiet life, mind your own business and work with your hands" isn't easy to obey, but the Lord and I are working on it.  Paul said somewhere, "As much as is possible, live at peace with all men."   In full time ministry, it isn't possible. ...but the blessings?  Many of you who read this and contribute to my ministry of discipleship had no idea that any of the above happened.  Maybe you never did need to know. Up until today I have not been moved to tell you.  You are the ones who brought joy unspeakable into our lives, and you still do.

There are many ways to serve the Lord "full time" besides the pastorate.  I would never, ever encourage anyone to go into a pulpit ministry. ...the men, maybe. Paul didn't have a wife. We do not know why.  Maybe he did and she left him or died.  I can fully understand both. I did leave Ted when he started another pastorate after the church bludgeoning. It was the only way to get through to him that I could not live through another pastorate. Dying? Yes, I considered suicide, but knew that that would bring disgrace upon Jesus and agony upon my family.

Many a Christian servant's wife, and even some husbands have buried their faces in my lap. I am still here, living in my lovely mountain home and am able, now that I have a lady to cook for me to  welcome God's servants into my arms for rest and recovery.  Tuck that away in your thinking, for you may need to know that sooner rather than later. I do not charge for mine is a non-profit ministry, but people are welcome to contribute so I can pay my bills.  Faithful monthly contributors keep me afloat.