And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren.
- Romans 8:28-29 (NKJV)
It's been a week of lessons for me. Perhaps it's better to say my eyes have been opened to the lessons I've learned. The first epiphany I had this past week was on hearing when I hear and the dangers of failing to do so. The second relates to what I refer to as my exile.
God wastes nothing. The scriptures are filled with circumstances and events that had, in the end, multiple purposes. The Promise Land wasn't just real estate God handed over to His people. It was a land in which He would preserve the lineage of Christ and the place where Christ was born, ministered, suffered death to pay the penalty for sin for those who believe, and then where He overcame death so we could have life everlasting. That land also represents our heavenly home, the New Jerusalem. And Christ healing people wasn't just to help those in need. It was a sign to those around them--and to us today--of the power of the living God who stood before them.
I've experienced this multipurpose framework in my own life. Eleven years ago, my husband was called to ministry in a rural region of eastern North Carolina. He was a perfect fit for the congregation. So much so, he is now the second longest serving pastor the church has had in its seventy-four year history. Over the years I've watched him teach solid biblical theology to the congregation, visitors, and Airmen and their families who have walked through the church doors seeking such rich teaching. He has also sat with members whose loved ones were undergoing surgery, and with those whose loved ones had passed away, and who needed both comforting and guidance through the burial process. He has visited the sick, the prisoner, and those who hate him for no other reason than the fact he's a minister of the gospel. This is what the church wanted in a minister and to this day they're grateful God brought them together.
For me, our move to the rural flat lands of an agrarian community has served a different purpose. It has been a time of isolation, of deprivation from the people and places I love. A time and a place of exile. And as we know from the scriptures, God places people in exile for a reason.
Anyone who knows me knows I am not the typical pastor's wife. Why would I be? I wasn't raised in a Christian household, nor did I marry a minister. In a short amount of time, I went from being a regular Believer who served in various capacities in the church on occasion, to being a minister's wife after my husband of ten years accepted a call even I could recognize. I did my best during the first decade of my husband's ministry, despite the load of expectations that went along with being a PW. Then, when my husband stepped down as a Baptist minister after discovering and studying the doctrines of the faith and joined the Presbyterian Church in America, I discovered the role of pastor's wife took on a whole new dimension. No longer was I just expected to do everything people tried to volunteer me for, I was suddenly supposed to socialize and serve as grand hostess to frequent dinner parties as part of Christian hospitality.
Panic set in. I can't cook! I had never thrown a dinner party in my life. Due to a secret my mother desperately tried to keep from me (which half the town knew and which I later found out anyway, but that's another post) I wasn't properly socialized. Faced with these foreign challenges, I wanted to find an exit and run.
I tried to explain all this to the Lord in prayer, but examples of those who likewise felt unequal to the task He had set before them came to mind. I couldn't argue while remembering similar protestations from Moses and Gideon.
Short of leaving my husband (which I did not care to do; I rather like the guy) I had no choice but to follow him. Doing so not only meant placing myself in a position for which I wasn't qualified or prepared, it meant leaving the Blue Ridge Mountains, a region I'd fallen in love with and didn't care to trade for a flat land completely devoid of scenery. That alone crushed me.
So I pushed back. During those first few years, I didn't even try to be the PW, and I made it clear to the congregation I was just a layperson whose husband was called to the ministry. I had another focus, a task for which I felt better suited.
In other words, I had a rebellious, stiff-neck, complainy attitude not unlike that so many of the Israelites displayed during their long sojourn through the desert. An attitude that not only had to be addressed, it had to be corrected.
So I was placed in exile.
Eleven years have passed since my husband was called to serve in this church. The years have been tough. There have been tears and a few tantrums (that I like to attribute to surgery-induced early menopause and its accompanying insomnia--another reason I needed to be kept in isolation for a time. I was pretty cranky.) As for the task I arrogantly claimed I was better suited, that failed completely. I finally had to abandon ship and trudge to solid shore.
I've had some tough times and learned some hard lessons, but I've learned a lot from these people, and I've grown to love them. So much so, I've sat with a spouse on more than one occasion in the moments after their beloved of many years passed away, shared prodigal parenting fears and frustrations with others (who appreciate the fact that I understood what they were going through. See? God never wastes anything, even our pain.) And so much more.
I still miss and long for the beauty of the Blue Ridge and feel dismal when I pass field after scraggly field devoid of the grandeur of God's creation, and I'm still not the typical pastor's wife. I never will be--I'm not sure I was called to be one. But I am the right person for my husband and for our congregation. People who are too down to earth and busy for dinner parties. We're happy laughing over pot luck fellowships and enjoying occasional outings.
This may not be where I want to be, but it is where God wants me to be for now (and maybe forever, who knows.) While I can still feel resistance at that notion, I love and trust Him enough to say, "Here I am, Lord," when a need arises in our church, even if I'm not up to the task. For He assures me, "all things (even my efforts) work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose."
And that does reassure me.