Any of you who have an older sibling probably have some good stories to share about your childhood. I know I have some good ones stored away. My family never moved from our small hometown so both my brother and I had the blessing of long friendships and deep roots in one place.
My brother is two and a half years older and we were three years apart in school. While I suppose we were housed in the same elementary at the same time, it wasn't until I was a freshman in high school and he was a senior, that I remember existing in some of the same space in the school and bumping into one another.
It was also the first time I remember being "linked" to my brother in the minds of teachers. Many teachers remembered having my brother and because our last name had a unique spelling it was easy to identify us as siblings. However, I always got antsy when a teacher made that link, "Oh, I remember your brother." And it wasn't a bad thing, my brother was good in school, a good athlete, and a friend to many. I was proud of my brother. (At this age we were getting along well, I think the reality that my brother was leaving for college soon changed our perspectives.) I got antsy and uncomfortable because I didn't want the teachers to assume the person I was based off their experience of my brother.
"I am my own person,
get to know me for me,"
I wanted to tell them.
Fast forward a decade.
Less than a year ago I married a pastor. He might be in school phase at the moment but he is a pastor at heart, and looking forward to getting back to pastoring a church. And I know God has a sense of humor because it never ceases to amaze me that things I could never imagine doing or being, find a way to become a reality for me. If you would have told me at any time prior to marrying Nate that I would marry a pastor you would have gotten the expected response: laughter. You see I also have quick assumptions when I hear the word "pastor"...But God in his perfect timing brought us together during Nate's schooling without the audience of a congregation. I could easily get to know Nate for Nate, without additional pressures. I appreciate being able to gradually ease into this role.
Last night, Nate and I were talking with a missionary about his (and his family's) experience in Russia and then now their new placement in Trinidad through Global Missions. And we began sharing some of our own thoughts about what the future might hold.
As we shared, the future seemed more tangible, and I began feeling similar thoughts of when I was in high school and I was fearful that teachers would assume who I was because they knew my brother. When I think of being a "pastors wife" I begin mentally protesting "I am more than that! I am my own person." Nate is called to pastoring. I am called to love and support Nate. And him, me. And while I know this to be true and I don't question whether or not Nate and I can find our balance. I struggle with the labels and perceptions that come with being a pastor's wife.
I know my identity will continue to be shaped over the next few years (and lifetime) in this area as I navigate this world of being married to a pastor, and through it all I pray that God continues to mold me into the person he would have me be.
