Never underestimate the prayers of a mother - Part 2
Bernice and Orville were very happy and in time brought forth the boom-requisite three kids. Boy, girl, boy. My parents started every day together, early, in the kitchen praying for us by name. I remember it as the edge of my dreamworld. Their hopes, dreams and prayers for us were that we would know Jesus and serve Him.
Here we are on Easter Sunday 1964. Note my brother's Bible and my purse. We are both sporting "perfect attendance pins" given out by the Sunday school. I cannot read the number on my brother's pin, but I guarantee you it is a number within a year of his age. We did not miss church, and when on vacation we went to Sunday School and brought a note from that teacher.
I always knew what my mother hoped for me - Pastor's wife. She hoped to send me off to the Wesleyan Methodist School, Marion College in Marion Indiana. I remember her comparing and contrasting for me the lives of missionaries and pastors. And while she would have surrendered me to the mission field if that was God's will, she trained me for the parsonage. Potlucks, music, Sunday School teacher. She had me by her side in Women's Missionary Society meetings when they met in our living room. I was still in grade school, but she had me practice taking minutes. I was teaching Sunday School as soon as I was in high school. When the Men's Quartet from Marion College came round doing recruitment she talked to me about the relative merits of the young men - she was partial to curly haired tenors. I am quite sure, that thinking it or no, she was offering me up to God as the sacrifice for her disappointment she had given her own mother.
The kindest thing my older brother ever did for me was to be way too smart to go to Marion. Off to Purdue and the sciences for him, and my chance to look asunder as well. My mother didn't know it but I was apostate at the time and had no intention of getting any where near a pastor, parsonage or church if they could be avoided. I was planning a career in law or politics. I ran as far and as fast as I could. I married a rather wild young man right out of the Navy. I made sure he was not a believer of any sort before I took up with him. I went to St John's and studied the classics. I thought I was safe from my destiny. My mother was seriously disappointed in me. Then through odd circumstances I ran smack dab into the Living Christ. How He got me is a whole nother story, but got I was.
And I kept trying to go to law school. And I was thwarted twice. But I ended up taking my two daughters to church, and my mother was appeased.
Then I started preaching, at first, mostly against my will. I fought. But I eventually surrendered to a call to the ministry of my own. I went off to Seminary. My mother could not have been more surprised. My Grandpa Hubbell was 90, but was pleased as punch. Named for me some female preachers that he had always admired. Willed to me his pulpit Bible over all his children and grandchildren.
My mother died only a few years after her aged father. She did not live to see me called pastor. But she did hear me preach once. She was encouraging. She said she hoped I would still sing some times, but that I should not let them know I could sing before they heard me preach.
I have pastor'd four churches, and preached in many dozens of them and in several countries. I have occasionally called down fire. I have kicked the Devil's butt. With others, we built a church from scratch.
My marriage lasted 30 years, but it's foundation was never really all that solid. But it made two beautiful daughters for whom I tried not to have agendas.
Then I found love again. Christ-centered love. A foundation of ministry at the core. And I have been very happy. But after seven years as pastor of Freedom Friends Church, I needed a break. I was given permission by God and community to step back. And lo and behold, my beloved stepped forward. And she is the pastor now. And I know she will be an excellent one, because she is called, and equipped and readyand way less rebellious than I.
And... I am the pastor's wife. I surrender.
And somewhere out there in the universe I can hear my mother chuckling. And I can hear her say "Orville, I told you so."
I've been hoping you would write up the story of becoming a pastor's wife! Thank you! The family photos are wonderful icing for the cake.
Blessings on you and your pastor both.
The first time I met the two of you, I said to my car ride mates on the way home "It just seems like emotionally they're a couple!" it's a weird gift, this naming thing, sometimes.
I hope your love and service continue to flower!
No one was surprised except us. We were great friends and co-workers in the Lord before we were anything else. Rock Solid foundations.
I'm behind on my blog reading! But I just read this, and love it! Ended up a pastor's wife anyway. =)Post a Comment
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