The Journey of a Preacher's Kid
Finding Identity in a New Church with a New Church Family
Because when your dad is the preacher, his title automatically qualifies you to do everything: drive the church van, sponsor children's camp, run the sound booth at the ripe age of 8. True story. People don't question it. You're the preacher's kid so they have no reason not to believe you're anything less than amazing. (Plus you kind of have to when no one else will.)
Growing up, I never understood families searching for church homes. That was never us. Churches sought us out. And I don't say that to boast. It's just the way it is in full-time ministry: God calls you somewhere and you stay there focused on His task until He calls you somewhere else. There are prayerful steps of faith involved, but God takes care of those little details.
But then you grow up. And you find yourself single and looking for a church home. For the first time. ALONE. It's refreshing and it's scary and you find yourself nitpicking the entire service from the pastor's welcome to how long the congregation shakes hands to whether or not he does a children's message and how many points are in his sermon. The first time I visited a church on my own, the first several times really, I went home frustrated that they weren't doing church "right". I sat under the same man's teaching for 21 years of my life. I proofread and put his sermon points in PowerPoint on Saturday nights. I even picked out his suit and tie a few times when my mom let me. I knew the way church should be done - my dad's way.
Three years after first venturing out alone as an official church visitor, I, WE, began church shopping again. The recently-married preacher's daughter and deacon's son, the new kids in town. Our list of expectations was exhausting. I would like the music but not the preaching. He would like the preaching but not the Sunday school class. This one was too big, but that one was too small. But there was something I began to like no matter where we went: we were just another couple in the sea of visiting couples. No one knew our story. No one knew how involved we had or hadn't been previously. We could just be. And I was more than okay with that.
Three years later, we went shopping again in a new town. This time, our list was even longer because we had a baby's needs to consider. As we found our new church home and began getting to know people, this same idea I had grown accustomed to began to haunt me.
NO ONE KNOWS OUR STORY. NO ONE KNOWS HOW INVOLVED WE'VE BEEN.
What was once almost comforting began to eat away at me. I wasn't the default Bible school teacher or special singer or nursery person. No one asked my opinion on the church bulletin font or colors to paint the youth room. For the first time in my church "career", I was trying to prove myself worthy of all these things. The things it was once assumed I would do, I now had to seek out and ask for. For the first time in a long time, I was given the gift of a choice. Choose your level of involvement, choose what people know about you, choose to know people.
Choose to WORK, choose to DO, choose to LOVE because IT MATTERS.
One Sunday morning, it finally hit me: here I stood with my husband by my side, holding my oldest daughter's hand and carrying my youngest on my hip. If we were going to get plugged in, we were going to have to make the choice and be intentional. We were going to have to put ourselves out there, as individuals and as a a family unit, and see who would have us. It's exciting really - placing our lives in God's hands, purposefully and prayerfully asking how He would choose to use us in His church.
Because when your dad is the preacher, his title automatically qualifies you to do everything: drive the church van, sponsor children's camp, run the sound booth at the ripe age of 8. True story. People don't question it. You're the preacher's kid so they have no reason not to believe you're anything less than amazing. (Plus you kind of have to when no one else will.)
Growing up, I never understood families searching for church homes. That was never us. Churches sought us out. And I don't say that to boast. It's just the way it is in full-time ministry: God calls you somewhere and you stay there focused on His task until He calls you somewhere else. There are prayerful steps of faith involved, but God takes care of those little details.
But then you grow up. And you find yourself single and looking for a church home. For the first time. ALONE. It's refreshing and it's scary and you find yourself nitpicking the entire service from the pastor's welcome to how long the congregation shakes hands to whether or not he does a children's message and how many points are in his sermon. The first time I visited a church on my own, the first several times really, I went home frustrated that they weren't doing church "right". I sat under the same man's teaching for 21 years of my life. I proofread and put his sermon points in PowerPoint on Saturday nights. I even picked out his suit and tie a few times when my mom let me. I knew the way church should be done - my dad's way.
Three years after first venturing out alone as an official church visitor, I, WE, began church shopping again. The recently-married preacher's daughter and deacon's son, the new kids in town. Our list of expectations was exhausting. I would like the music but not the preaching. He would like the preaching but not the Sunday school class. This one was too big, but that one was too small. But there was something I began to like no matter where we went: we were just another couple in the sea of visiting couples. No one knew our story. No one knew how involved we had or hadn't been previously. We could just be. And I was more than okay with that.
Three years later, we went shopping again in a new town. This time, our list was even longer because we had a baby's needs to consider. As we found our new church home and began getting to know people, this same idea I had grown accustomed to began to haunt me.
NO ONE KNOWS OUR STORY. NO ONE KNOWS HOW INVOLVED WE'VE BEEN.
What was once almost comforting began to eat away at me. I wasn't the default Bible school teacher or special singer or nursery person. No one asked my opinion on the church bulletin font or colors to paint the youth room. For the first time in my church "career", I was trying to prove myself worthy of all these things. The things it was once assumed I would do, I now had to seek out and ask for. For the first time in a long time, I was given the gift of a choice. Choose your level of involvement, choose what people know about you, choose to know people.
Choose to WORK, choose to DO, choose to LOVE because IT MATTERS.
One Sunday morning, it finally hit me: here I stood with my husband by my side, holding my oldest daughter's hand and carrying my youngest on my hip. If we were going to get plugged in, we were going to have to make the choice and be intentional. We were going to have to put ourselves out there, as individuals and as a a family unit, and see who would have us. It's exciting really - placing our lives in God's hands, purposefully and prayerfully asking how He would choose to use us in His church.
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