I Am A Preacher's Kid

Today, I dress in my finest clothing, and help my little ones do the same. I comb through tangled hair, gently and softly and then proceed to braid. We load in the car and drive. Taking them to see their granddaddy. Taking them, to hear him preach.

I am a preacher’s kid.

Entering the office, my dad sits in a wing back chair reviewing his notes for the sermon that he has prepared. I gaze at his recently re-covered bible that was at one time falling apart like my husbands. This man taught me what he knew about religion. I smile

I sit, bible open and listen to the words that he speaks, I see him grin at my children and I remember being raised sitting in a similar pew.

I married a preachers kid.

When I met my husband, he wanted to be a pastor. With hours of seminary classes behind him and more yet to come we began our story. We could have been running a church, he the pastor, and I the pastor’s wife.

I feel for both of our dads since we no longer worship in building.

I sit today wondering if my daddy feels disappointed, and then I remember my other Father, the one that I meet with throughout the day and commune with on more than Sunday Mornings.

We do not forsake the meeting together with other believers as some may think yet we do not meet together in brick buildings with steeples. We meet in one another’s houses or out at coffee shops to discuss what Father is doing in our lives.

I love my daddy and will forever be thankful for his protection and teaching that the Bible is truth. It is THAT teaching that has made me strong, set apart and convicted.

I may not worship in the same way as he, listening to man speak from stage but I do worship. Will we forever worship in this way? Probably not but for this season we are here awaiting more instruction from Father.

My daddy smiles at me as he calls the choir for invitation time.

I am a preachers kid.