A Letter to a Pastor's Wife

Dear Pastor’s Wife,

You find your nine-year-old daughter sitting alone on a bench, her small figure hidden by the leaves of a plant. Although you can’t see her face, you notice her shoulders shaking, and you see her hands moving towards her face. You realize she is trying to stifle a sob.

You approach and hug her from behind, asking, “Why, Love?”

As the words leave your mouth, you realize how foolish you sound because you are fully aware of the answer. The weight of your guilt presses down on you once again. But how can you explain to a nine-year-old that your actions are part of your role as a minister’s family? And that this won’t be the first or last time you’ll have to move from one place to another?

This is the life you have chosen, and you cannot simply fast-forward to the day when she is old enough to understand.

What if she isn’t your only child? What if she is the youngest of three siblings? What if she’s crying her heart out because she misses her “Ate” and “Kuya?” And what if you are to blame for this, as it’s more convenient for you and your husband to have the older kids stay in a school dormitory while you are far away?

“Tell mama, please.” Of course, you can guess her next words, but you just try to let her speak her mind.

“I don’t like it here. I miss my friends,” she replies. As she unexpectedly finds comfort in having a listener—someone she actually wants to blame—her attempt to hide her emotions crumbles. It’s as if she’s been waiting for your voice to unlock a flood of tears.

“Sorry, Love. Your Papa and I are very sorry you have to leave your friends, but believe me, you’ll soon make new ones,”you try to reassure her, but the thought of your own fears and the feeling of inadequacy shatter your heart in splinters.

As a mother, the most painful wound is not caused by a literal dagger, but by the sobs and sufferings of your children. They are your entire world. However, this is not the only battle you are fighting for.

It’s not just your children who need comfort that everything will be okay soon; you need it too. However, you often forget about your own needs because you want to be strong for your husband as well. He relies on you to fill the void he, as a father, has reluctantly created. He can’t always be there to kiss away the pain when she stumbles, nor can he carry her in his arms through the nights she’s burning with fever.

You need to be strong because it’s the life you have chosen. You have committed before the Lord that you will be a helpmate—the cushion of comfort and the sponge ready to absorb all the emotions your entire family run through.

And not just that, you have promised the Lord that you will fully support your husband in the ministry and the women out there are waiting for you to step onto your new role.

These women—no, the entire district—are eagerly waiting to see your ability to make a difference in a community that has been well-led by the former leaders. A district that truly loves them for years, and even unwilling to let them go, though they may have warmly welcomed you and your husband during the turnover ceremony.

You suddenly feel a surge of inadequacy, tormenting yourself with the thought that perhaps you and your husband would never be accepted as warmly as they were.

You start to question your value in their eyes, feeling that you will never measure up. Your choices appear trivial to them, making you think they believe you are just talking nonsense every time you open your mouth.

Being new in a place, your husband works hard to prove his worth and gain acceptance. He responds to every call, plans visits to every home, and stays late into the night for several days.

You are assigned to a large district, and visiting a family in a day means more than a few year’s effort. This includes burials, baptisms, property blessings, sick anointing, program planning, speaking engagements, and much more.

You are new to a place — not only the sponge of your children’s inconveniences and unhappiness — and yet, you feel alone because your husband is physically present but mentally distant. You can only sigh because you understand that he comes home late, exhausted and overwhelmed, too tired to engage in conversation with you.

What if you are pregnant and far from your immediate family, leaving you without their comfort and rescue during the challenging first trimester? Or what if you go into labor suddenly while your husband, a pastor, is out in the field evangelizing and can’t just leave his responsibilities to be with you?

What if a church or district member questions your decision publicly and you feel disrespected? What if there are multiple events happening in your district, and you are not feeling well enough to oversee them all, including the seemingly simple tasks of accommodating the guests?

These are just a few of your struggles, and no book is thick enough to record every heartbreak you’ve experienced. Similarly, no pen can capture all your difficulties. But once you find yourself in such situations, what can you do?

Whom can you share your pent-up emotions with? Is it your husband, who sees you as his perfect companion — his own version of Eve, or the fictional Darna in his life — too flawless to complain about anything?

Where will you find the strength and comfort you need? Can you pour out all your heartaches to the Lord?

Can He bear your endless grumblings?

Can you change the impression that the brethren have of you?

Can you erase the bad decisions that have left imprints on the minds of the women you lead?

Will time ever be enough to heal all wounds and allow you and your church to see things from better perspectives?

To be continued…

Lyn Lucero, CPUC Communication Department