Year: 2024

When I was 4 years old, my dad accepted his first pastoral call to a church in Lexington, Ohio. One of my first memories as a pastor’s kid, was a Monday morning. We were invited on Halloween night, which happened to be a Sunday, to a friend’s house after church to play UNO and a time of fellowship. It was a night full of laughter and fun.

Very early the next morning, we received a call from the family we had such fun with the night before, with news their son had just died in a car accident. Dad & mom got dressed and immediately went over to console the family who just lost their son. I went with them, as my good friend, who was only 7, had just lost her big brother. Maybe I would know what to say? Being only 5, I had no idea what to say to my good friend. It was a tragedy I will never forget.

Growing up as a pastor’s kid meant attending an abnormal number of weddings and funerals. Sometimes it even meant participating in them through singing or reading a poem or scripture. For the longest time, the smell of flowers reminded me of funerals. Being a pastor’s kid meant helping mom in junior church. It meant singing in the choir as well or singing “specials”. It meant going to church every time the doors were open. It meant helping where help was needed.

Youth camp, youth group, revivals, district assembly, and camp meeting were all part of my life as a pastor’s kid. Roller skating and ping pong were popular past times of a pastor’s kid.

Sometimes being a pastor’s kid meant hearing things I probably didn’t need to hear…. like when people were mad about any variety of things or if they said something negative about my dad or us as a family. Though I’m sure my dad didn’t need it, sometimes I felt the need to stick up for him.

Being a pastor’s kid was a privilege. I am thankful to have been put in a position to learn about God from the vantage point of being a member of the parsonage family. I’m thankful for parents who lived their lives serving God and others. They are an amazing example for which I will be forever grateful.

Randy & I are blessed to celebrate 19 years of marriage. We made the decision to love each other in good & bad times as well as in sickness and health. My love isn’t based on how I feel when I get up each morning or whether he puts the toilet paper on the ring the right way. He doesn’t love me only when I make him his favorite dinner and when everything goes right that day. Sometimes love doesn’t mean like. Sometimes love doesn’t mean agree. Sometimes marriage isn’t 50/50. Sometimes its 90/10…for days, weeks, or months.

Randy & I are blessed to celebrate 19 years of marriage. We’ve grieved together…and separately. We’ve sat in hospital waiting rooms together. We’ve watched each other struggle with things life brought our way.

Randy & I are blessed to celebrate 19 years of marriage. We’ve raised kids together. We’ve been on countless amazing trips together. We’ve worshiped and ministered together, and we’ve worked together. We were given the amazing gift and opportunity to find each other and commit to each other. We plan on making it to the very end… together.

I’m looking forward to number 20.