I was a bit shocked to hear this, but then the woman qualified: "Saturday he's anxiously pulling apart his service, praying it is just right, and Sunday he's either preaching, teaching or laid out flat, trying to recover." I could sympathize - my father is a pastor.
As far back as I c
an remember, Dad packed his cracked-leather, duct-taped bottom, faded brown bag every day and left for "the Village." During the week, he left right after he dropped us off at school (7am), and visited 2 or 3 congregations. If they were near town, he would be home in time to pick us up from school at 3 or 4pm. I remember being so excited the few times Dad came home and had enough energy to come outside and play Frisbee with us in the cool of the evening before the mosquitoes descended. However, much of the time, he didn't return until dark, or sometimes he spent the night and returned the next day. Whatever his schedule during the week, it was a given that he would leave earlier and return later on the weekends - that he was never home when my friends' fathers spent time with their children. And when he did come home, he would open a cold beer and slump in a chair, covered in dried sweat and dust, and completely spent. Then Mum whispered not to disturb him and we gave him a wide berth.In Primary school, we had to write "News" first thing every day. On Monday, friends would write about their family trips to the lake (Lake Mala
wi), to the game park, to Lilongwe... My news never varied and it took 2 sentences:"On Saturday, I went to the pool with my sisters and my Mum. On Sunday, we went to church and then we went to the pool."
I remember coming home and asking Mum,
"Why can't we go to the lake on the weekend like so-and-so?"
The answer was always the same:
"Dad has to work and we don't have a car when Dad works."
In my early years, we rarely had a second car, so we didn't take day trips or go anywhere. Or, rather, we couldn't go anywhere we couldn't walk. It took half an hour to walk between home and the swimming pool...that was acceptable. I think we must have found a ride to church - I don't remember ever walking to or from church.
During those earlier years, we expressed much the same sentiments as that minister's wife, except we moaned and groaned more, and weren't quite so understanding of my Dad's work. "It's not fair!" "I'm bored!" Mum heard her share of those. It is all well and good for Dad to make sacrifices in the service of the LORD, but we never chose this life! And when faced with 4 or 5 bickering daughters, Mum sometimes gave up on uncomplaining service to the LORD too. Then it was probably just as well Dad wasn't home.
Thinking back, we lived through all those weekends without Dad. After all, we were able to spend time in a beautiful pool in hot weather while he was out sweating and working. Besides, Dad made it up to us in other ways when he could. Now, we are all proud of the work he did, and thankful for the opportunity to live in Malawi because of his work.
I just hope my children come to the same realization when they are older. Right now, they say their share of "I'm bored!" and "It's not fair!" It's their turn to wonder why we don't do things like so-and-so. And my husband and I even spend every weekend with them! What was I saying in my last post about the grass always seeming greener on the other side?
I am sure that my kids can relate to what you are saying, Alex. However, my dad was not a pastor and we never did things on the weekend either. He owned a construction company and I remember that he often had to go to a job on Sat. or Sunday after church. He also had to estimate future projects on the weekends because the days of the week were filled. Somehow, I survived this with very few scars:) Thanks for your remembrances as they stimulated my own.
ReplyDelete