Not Just One of the Girls

By Stacey Weeks

​Life as a ministry wife is a whirlwind trip best taken strapped in tight. A stormy tour through my husband’s first church solidified the need for me to remain seated until the ride came to a full and complete stop. I tried to follow the rules on these waves of ministry. I quickly learned what I was made of.

Once upon a time I sported a charming pair of rose-colored glasses. They were enchanting, magically turning all ministry prospects into a wonderful opportunity. Cautionary warnings from veteran pastors didn’t curb my enthusiasm. Ministry life would be rosy and good.

I soon found a tender heart surrounded by thin skin offered little protection on the battlefield called ministry. In all fairness, I had been warned. My glasses must have affected my hearing because the warning fell on deaf ears. My rosy specks transformed those words into a promise that life would be different for me. Before long I found myself riding the roller coaster called ministry.

Only Strive to Meet God’s Expectations Upon entering our first church I anticipated certain expectations for my husband, but was blindsided by the ones placed on me. This flock had definite ideas on who I should be. I discovered this group expected me to fit their “perfect wife” mold. This was the cookie cutter they measured each of their ministry wives against. I didn’t fit. I didn’t even come close.

I remember our first Sunday at our new church. I dressed carefully, eager to make a favorable impression. As the deacon’s wife shook my hand I felt her appraisal.

“Do you play the piano?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

She dismissed me with a subtle turn of her shoulder.

The bright clothes I liked were frowned upon. The soft blue we painted the sanctuary’s archway was too bold. Apparently the only respectable colors were serious, plain, and beige.

Beige isn’t my color.

My vibrant personality, although frowned upon, complements my career as a hairstylist. I could not read a line of music and my voice could never mimic the chiming bells at the Crystal Cathedral, yet I appreciate music. I’m certainly not Cinderella, but I’m not the wicked stepmother either. I fall somewhere in the middle with all the other normal everyday women trying to juggle life.

In the midst of this common juggling act, one question plagues us women: Does God know what He is doing? I had no doubts about my husband’s calling to the ministry, but I did doubt my ability to serve alongside him...read more