My Bad

2010 was a year of distraction for me; challenges sprang up on every side. As a result, I have not had the opportunity to maintain my blogs as would have liked. I am back with a plan. Saturday will be my writing and publishing day. God has been so gracious as to allow me the blessing of a new year and I will not procrastinate on the assignments He has given to me. We can so often get sidetracked by life and forget to keep the main thing the main thing. The first three months of this year are filled with ministry opportunities and I cannot falter at this stage of the game. I do not have a slogan for 2011, as in "Moving towards Heaven in 2011," or something to that effect. I just remember Jeremiah 29;11-13, and though God was talking to a captive Israel, I just believe He is also talking to a captive Donna who has been in bondage to her circumstances and has forgotten the words she embraced so long ago, "If the Son, therefore, shall make you free, you shall be free indeed!" Praise God for His freedom.

A Charge To The Pastor’s Wife

Almost from the moment I became a Pastor’s Wife, I became concerned about pastors wives, their challenges, their heartbreaks. I wanted to encourage and support the other First Ladies as much as I could.
I did my best to express that encouragement through writings specifically for the pastor's wife. I wrote with the hope that some simple message would touch some wife at the right moment, perhaps just a tiny spark of encouragement at just the right time. Here are a few things I have learned during ny twenty years as a PW:

1. God did not make a mistake. He knew we would be pastors wives no matter how ill equipped we feel, or how resentful we may be. What's done is done. Now is the time to turn to God, to ask his forgiveness for a lack of trust about his plan for your life, and to start from this place. Whatever we may feel we are lacking, be it wisdom or recognition of a spiritual gift, we can ask God to give it to us. Perhaps it's a love for the people, or even ourselves. We can ask God to fill the void and use us for His glory in a place designed by Him for us. We must understand this: It is God who gives us the desire to do His will, and then it is God who gives us the power to do his will (Ephesians 2:10). Then, as we spend time in God's presence, we may have to apologize to our husbands for not believing in their ministry and God's call.

2. We must allow God to do His perfect work in us. Please understand that though this First Lady thing is high profile, it is not a platform for ego, nor an agenda for prestige and status. Jesus said that those wanting exaltation must first humble themselves. We are the ones who humble ourselves; He is the one who exalts (I Peter 5:6). I understand how easy it is for the PW to develop a hunger for attention, particularly if she is too often overlooked, and devalued. When my husband was first called to pastor, the advice he received from seasoned pastors was amazing: "Sit her down and let her look pretty. Don't let her get involved with the people." My husband, though of that generation, did not take their advice. He allowed me a place in his ministry, and I did my best to honor him for his trust in me. Still, if he had chosen to listen to those "sages," I pray that I would have done my best to honor God in that place. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the PW must, like Paul, be content in whatever state they find themselves, and truly trust God to effect change for their good.

3. Repeat after me: "Women are not an issue!" Now, before anyone falls on the floor laughing hysterically, hear me out. Yes, the majority of the congregation is female. Yes, they do think that our suit wearing, cologne wearing, kissing/hugging husbands walk on water, especially if their husband leaves muddy tracks on their lives, or the last man in their life spent his time in the world's swamp, or they are still sleeping single in a double bed. My husband was a "chick magnet" from day one of our courtship until the Lord called him home. That magnet ratio went up a few notches when he became a pastor. He used to say, in the latter days, "I'm an old, fat man, and women still approach me." So, I knew the challenge, but I never acknowledged the challenge, at least not in public. When I discerned that a woman was too interested, I just gave him a "heads up," which he usually discounted (though later he would come back and tell me I was right). As far as I was concerned, once I passed on the warning, I let it go and prayed that God would give him wisdom and protect him from a dumb mistake. I do believe that God is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us, but what is that power? I believe it's the power of faith, the power of trust, the power to believe God when everything in your reality points in the other direction. Don't be scared to walk in that power. Be bold, be strong, the Lord thy God is with thee!

4.) The Pastor's Wife is also a member her husband pastors. She will not always understand his vision; she will not always agree with his vision; she may even balk at the vision. But, isn't that what the other sheep do as well? I did my best to honor my husband as Pastor, even when I was so mad at him I could have spit nails. When I stepped into the sanctuary, he was no longer the husband who had angered me; he was my Pastor/Teacher. Whatever had transpired at home, or on the way to church (you know), was placed on the back burner, to be continued at home. We had a family motto when the girls were growing up: "What goes on in the house, stays in the house." No, I do not think this is a front, because we shared our challenges with the marrieds ministry. I just believe that God ought to have priority in his own house. My anger or dismay with my husband, had nothing to do with God, so when I stepped into His house, I honored Him and His word, irrespective of my issues with his messenger.

5. Life is so short, too short to spend looking back. Life, like everything else, happens. We must make peace with our lives, trust God for our reality, and love our husbands one day at a time. None of us is perfect, but a union dedicated to God has perfection in its view. To God be the glory for the things He has done, and will do.

A Personal Choice

Anytime we enter into any kind of relationship, we take the risk of being misunderstood, abandoned, or just plain old having our feelings hurt. What, then, are we to do? Do we just keep to ourselves in order to protect ourselves from such potentialities, or do we open our hearts and understand that life often means broken hearts and bittersweet moments?

These are tough questions, but I think that at some point we have to make the personal decisions to either address the issues that are troubling us (speak the truth in love, as the Bible teaches) or we let stuff go and move forward to the next opportunity.

I stumbled across the following when I picked up a book another patron had put down in the beauty shop. I did not have time to read all of it (it is a small book), but I scanned what the author (don Miguel Ruiz) calls "The Four Agreements" and realized that the so called agreements contain not only common sense but biblical insight even though the presentation is more New Age than Christian (a caveat to all who continue to read). Still, I think that if we consider the "agreements" we just might find we will be able to overcome some of consequences set in place by the haters out there (and the dumb things we do) and we will begin to take personal responsibility for how we respond and react to "stuff" (you do know stuff just happens, don't you, that you don't have to do a thing, it just happens).

The "Agreements" are as follows, and I think these are agreements between you and you although the side-effects just might mean a more harmonious life.

The Four Agreements are:

1. Be Impeccable with your Word: Speak with integrity. Say only what you mean. Avoid using the [w]ord to speak against yourself or to gossip about others. Use the power of your [w]ord in the direction of truth and love.

What I hear (dmw): Let nothing be done through strife or vainglory; speak the truth in love; always let your speech be seasoned with salt; life and death is in the power of the tongue.

2. Don’t Take Anything Personally
Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions and actions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.

What I hear( dmw): In all that you do, do all to the glory of God (in the accolades); fret not thyself because of evil doers; pray for those that despitefully use you (in the negatives).

3. Don’t Make Assumptions
Find the courage to ask questions and to express what you really want. Communicate with others as clearly as you can to avoid misunderstandings, sadness and drama. With just this one agreement, you can completely transform your life.

What I hear (dmw): No gossip, no backbiting, seek forgiveness, give forgiveness (without fanfare); love your neighbor as yourself; everyone shall know we are His followers by the love we have one for another.

4. Always Do Your Best
Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.

What I hear (dmw): Once again, do all to the glory of God; always present the first and best offering.

Agreement #2 is the one that really spoke to me. I have lived my life reeling from the opinions of others, wrestling with the negatives and wondering what I could do to make someone like me or make things better or just change how others perceived me. I finally get it; opinions belong to the opinion holder and not to me. If I am absolutely sure that I have done nothing to warrant their view (we Christians know what we are to do when someone has "ought"), then I do not take on the burden of their opinion. Let's face it; there will be those times when people don't like us, don't like the way we look, think we think we're all that and a bag of chips, etc., just because. Keep your eye on the prize and hold on. We may not all have Maya Angelou's "Phenomenal Woman's" confidence, but we can certainly strive to accept ourselves as we are and to do our best to see ourselves as God sees us, fearfully and wonderfully made and accepted in the beloved.

Who could ask for anything more?

Sick and Tired of Being Sick and Tired

Her name was Fannie Lou Hamer, a fierce 60s Civil Rights activist in mean old Mississippi. She was sick and tired of being sick and tired and decided to do something about it, even to the extent of taking on the Democratic National Convention to question the seating of the Mississippi delegates at the convention.

Not too long ago, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. I began to ask myself some hard questions. How could I, as a firm believer in the Lord, Jesus Christ, find myself in a place of worry and anxiety? Why was I still wrestling with the past rather than trusting God not only for my future, but also for my present? Why was I still putting my trust in mankind (who had already proven they should not be trusted) rather than in a God who had proven Himself to me over and over and over? "Why", as one woman asked me those many years ago, "was I made out to be the bad guy?" And why was I still pitching my tent in that miserable valley? I know I am wired for worry and I realized that I needed to submit that pre-disposition to the authority of God. But how?

I finally declared to myself, "Enough is enough," and determined to fast and pray on the matter. I entered into the fast with the thought that I would fast until God declared "the end." This time I also decided that each time a hunger pang hit I would think on the word of God and pray. In times past, when the hunger pangs hit, I only though about food. This time I turned my appetite to God to feast on His word and to hunger for His righteousness. This became my daily routine and the stronger the hunger pangs, the stronger my prayers.

It is not important how long I fasted, but when I came out of the fast, I came out with the calm assurance that through it all Jehovah Shammah is indeed with me. These days my worry switch is not so easily flipped, after all, if God is for me, who (or what) can be against me. I have that peace that confounds me. When I do feel the tickle of worry, I immediately turn to God (Phil 4:6-7).

No, I have not reached perfection. There are still days when the enemy points out the losses and what I do not have, days when I wonder "What the heck happened?" There are times when he pokes me in my spirit and asks, "So, where is the love?" But, when these moments show up, I remind myself that I am the apple of God's eye, that He has my name written on His hand and that He catches my tears in a bottle. He will be my vindicator long after I've forgotten the hurt and gotten over the heartache. He truly is my light and my salvation. He fills the voids in my life and I am (thank you, Marvin) stronger and wiser and so much better.

I get joy when I think about what He's done for me!

Just For Fun

SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA GET YOUR PRAISE ON!
Donna M. Williams
(Any resemblance to anyone living is Holy Spirit revelation)

Miz Ima Mae Wonderin is an older woman at my church. She is almost old enough to be my mother but in spite of the age difference she is my friend. I called Miz I. M. (the name her friends call her) the other day, but she couldn’t talk long. “Maisie’s visiting baby, and its time for her to get out of my guest bedroom.” Maisie is Miz I. M’s oldest friend and her very best friend.

She called me later to tell me about Maisie’s visit:

Maisie and I decided last year that we would have a girlfriend week-end every three months. We just wanted to make time to laugh and talk with each other without our husbands snoring in the background. It was my turn to go over to Maisie’s house a few months ago when she just suddenly showed up on my doorstep that Thursday evening.

Now, Maisie and her husband Archie have done well for themselves. They live in a nice four bedroom house. Actually, it’s Archie who has done well, even if he does tend to wear “high water” black pants, black shoes and white socks most of the time. So, Miss Maisie ain’t had to hit a lick at a snake since they been married. She has a closet full of those star spangled suits with all the matching accessories, purses, shoes, and even underwear. She wears those big hats with feathers chasing each other around her head, except when she‘s wearing those flower gardens of hers. Maisie and Archie are sitting pretty, that’s for sure. I keep telling her she’s going to fall off those high heels one day and break her neck. She quickly let me know that those shoes of hers were not high heels but stilettos. I told her I was surprised they still let her toes in ‘em.

Maisie never had any children, but she made up for it by trying to spoil my two. I finally had to tell her, “Listen here, Miss Maisie, I’m trying to raise these children to realize that in the real world nothing comes easy, that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Life is not about silver platter service, or to paraphrase Langston Hughes, ‘Life ain’t gone be no crystal stair’ for them. Then I had to remind her that she was my best friend, and I was not trying to hurt her feelings, but those were my children. Hmph! She kept spoiling them anyway.

Maisie is a good soul, but she does have one fault. She gets the blues, too easy and too often. It doesn’t take much for her to crawl into that overstuffed bed of hers in the Master bedroom, “my boudoir” she calls it, though I sure don‘t know why she thinks of it as a Master bedroom. There ain’t anything of Archie in it. Nothing but flowers and frills and fluff. She should call it the Mistress bedroom. Anyway, she will hide out in that room for days and weeks because she has the blues. I told Maisie a long time ago maybe she should see a doctor about her mood swings, maybe something was physically wrong, a chemical imbalance or something. She took my advice, reluctantly, and went to a doctor. They didn’t find anything wrong. Then I suggested that maybe she needed to see a psychologist. Well, that girl didn’t speak to me for a month, but when Archie threatened to have her institutionalized after one of her “spells” lasted for six weeks (he was just joking), she went to see one, who told her she was as well adjusted as could be expected for a woman of her age and experiences. She did have some issues, but doesn’t everyone? Anyway, they didn‘t find any emotional reasons for her blues, and her life issues ain’t that complex. That’s when I decided that Maisie‘s gets the blues by choice. She chooses to have the blues. Still, I didn‘t say anything, after all she is my best friend and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I don’t live with her, and when she gets the blues, Archie just goes fishing, that’s how he copes with Maisie‘s blues. If Archie likes it, then I love it!

Anyway, Maisie shows up on my doorstep that Thursday evening, and she brought her blues with her. She went into my guest bedroom, closed the door in my face, put on one of those fancy gowns of hers and crawled into my bed. I served her dinner in bed that Thursday night. I served her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed on Friday. When I wanted to talk to her, I had to talk to her through the door because she said my being in the room made her migraine worse. Finally, I decided enough was enough. The blues at her house was one thing, but the blues in my guest room, well enough is enough and too much stinks. Maisie didn‘t come to visit me; she came to visit my guest bedroom. So I said, “Malsie, I believe you have a migraine, but its spelled m-y¬-g-r-a-i-n-e, not m-i-g-r-a-i-n-e.” Then I had to apologize because she is my best friend, and I was not trying to hurt her feelings.

That Saturday morning I knocked on my guest bedroom door and announced that if she wanted to eat she was going to have to get up and fix it herself because Saturday at my house is “catch as catch can.” Saturday is also my cleaning day, and she needed to come out and help me, get some energy flowing in that prostrate body of hers. I was playing a tape by Babbie Mason, and one of the songs I really like is called “Carry On.” That’s when it occurred to me just what Maisie needed. “Maisie,” I said, “What you need to do when your blues show up is to carry on.” Of course she didn’t understand, so I read Psalm 100 to her: “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord. That’s carrying on, Maisie.” I read Psalm 34 to her: “I will bless the Lord at all times. That’s carrying on Maisie. You need to learn to carry on in your blues so that you can carry on through your blues! Carrying on is praising God in spite of how you feel! A real loud carrying on could be just what you need. “

Of course I know that Maisie does not believe in this carrying on and loud noise business. She told me once that she praises God in the peaceful meditation of the quiet revelation of the spirit. Hmph! Sometimes I enjoy a peaceful meditation in the quiet revelation of the spirit, but most of the time, as Maisie has pointed out to me more than once, I am loud. The first time I visited Maisie‘s church my Amens and Hallelujahs were so loud I woke up half of the preachers in the pulpit, and all of the folks in the pews. Maisie had the nerve to tell me that I had embarrassed her. Well, I told her that my God is a big God, and I am going to give him big loud praise, I don’t care where I am or who I embarrass. Then I had to apologize because she is my best friend and I was not trying to hurt her feelings.

Maisie is still not convinced about this carrying on business, but I know that what she needs is one good shout! Sometimes, you just gotta get your praise on! Sometimes you just gotta shout it out! That’s what I’m talking about!

Miz I. M., in her own inimitable way, has again given me food for thought. Someone has said that attitude is 99% of all we do. After our conversation, I thought back to the times when I felt defeated emotionally and spiritually, times when I gave in to my own brand of blues. You know, sometimes my bluesy attitude foreshadows defeat before anything negative even happens. I just might need to learn to carry on a little myself. How about you? Do you feel like carrying on? I was just wondering.

Miz I.M. was given to me by the Lord for an inaugural Women’s Conference because I was concerned about the lack of laughter for the sake of laughter in most such conferences. She is a blend of the older women I knew as a small girl growing up in North Texas. I, through Miz I. M., provided comic relief with a spiritual message for the women at that first conference and she became a fixture at the women fellowships even if some ladies were a little chagrinned that their First Lady had the temerity to “become” Miz I.M. Strange enough, the ladies never remembered Miz I. M.’s name but they all knew Maisie!

What Does It Take?

Yes, Ephesians 1:6 and Philippians 1:6 are my life scriptures, but Luke 9:23 is my living scripture. I know, I know, all scripture is alive, but when I say living scripture, I mean that which I need for everyday living, the scripture by which I must live in order not to revert to my Donna-Rule church girl ways.

Luke 9:23: "If any [wo]man would come after me, let [her] deny [herself], take up [her] cross and follow me daily.

There are three facets to this scripture to which I must pay attention each and every day if I want to stay Christ-centered and God-focused.

1. The Cost - Deny Myself

I eventually realized that the psyche, the total self, has to be involved in this process of; all of me, the mind/will/emotions, have to let go of the controls.

The Mind (seat of reasoning & intellect) must say "I surrender."
The Emotions (my visceral reactions/responses) must say "I will not interfere."
The Will (conscious decisions/choices) must say "Let's do it!"

The declaration Jesus made was not an invitation to First Ladyship but rather an invitation to discipleship. Wherever we are, we are expected to be His disciples. This is an internal discipline that manifests itself in an external behavior. The internal state is one of being totally submissive to the will of God which is reflected in my every day behavior.

The Cost is all about Self-denial which is the same as self-sacrifice. Sacrifice is never about giving up that which I do not like. Sacrifice and Denial requires that I turn away from doing those things I want to do, the things I like to do, to relinquish control of me to Jesus. I will not lead anyone to believe that to do this is easy; it is not; in fact, it is a real challenge to let go of those things and all that stuff that makes me feel sooooooo good, but I cannot and will not consistently follow Jesus when I'm weighed down by all those wants and desires. I have to let all of it go and trust Jesus to supply my every need. Besides haven't I read somewhere that if I delight myself in Him, He will give me the desires of my heart?

Galatians 2:20 - I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live, yet not but Christ liveth in me and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God who loved me and gave Himself for me.

Romans 12:1,2 - I beseech ye, therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed (molded/shaped) to this world; but be ye transformed (changed) by the renewing of your mind (John 17:17), that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable and perfect, will of God.

Can you hear the old hymn: "What shall I render for all His mercies? What shall I render, tell me what shall I give?" What, indeed?

Just a thought: If Jesus died for me, why can't I live for Him?

Confessions of a Former Church Girl: What Does God Say?

My quest for sanctification without too much angst led me to three scriptures, two of which I call life scriptures and one of which I call my living scripture.

The life scriptures are those scriptures of promise that I needed in order to keep my focus on God and not on me. My living scripture is that scripture that I must continually refer to in order not to become distracted by the "isms" of everyday life.

My Life Scriptures
Philippians 1:6
Ephesians 1:6

Philippians 1:6 reminds me I do not have to be the quintessential church girl rushing about to make things happen. God's promise is that now having begun the work in me, He will continue that work until the day of Jesus Christ. All I have to do is submit to His will and His guidance and take my marching orders from Him. This frees me from performing, self-compelled to show off my great church girl skills even as I struggle internally with my imperfections. Ephesians 2:10 reminds me that I am God's workmanship, the field in which He works in order to prepare me for the works He has already designed for me. I don't have to make anything happen when it comes to my place or purpose as a member of the body of Christ. I am not an appendage to the church; I have been baptized into the same body like every other member. To decide that I have to be some kind of superwoman Christian simply because I am the First Lady is an extreme. I am called to follow Jesus and if I allow God to do His work in me daily, I will be freed from my church girl nonsense.

Ephesians 1:6 simply tells me I am accepted in the beloved. There have been more times than I like to remember when I have been deemed unacceptable. I was raised in a community that labeled my hair texture and my skin color as unacceptable. I was the consummate overachiever during a time when smart girls did not have boyfriends and they were not included in the popular crowd. My socio-economic status still denies me access to most high society events. I may want to go to places where everybody knows my name, but most of the time I am the obvious "Who dat?" surrounded by people who are going places and doing big things. In spite of what some may see as negatives, Ephesians 1:6 reminds me that regardless of how I am perceived in this life, I am accepted in the beloved. I am a part of God's royal family and nothing can separate me from His wonderful healing love. He knows me from the inside out, yet He has set a place for me at the family table where I am accepted, warts and all. His grace is still amazing to me.

Where Do I Begin?

So there I was; church girl extraordinaire; introvert par excellence; scab picker.

I marched into that fishbowl of ministry life prepared for absolutely nothing other than anger, bitterness and frustration. I soon became the miserable and negative First Lady. If there is a saving grace to my story, it is this; I never acted out in public. I just drove my husband crazy with private negativisms, so much so that he banned me from riding in the car with him on Sunday mornings because I always managed to bring up some negative issue, always, always blended with my pessimistic view, either about home or church people or both. (I must hurry to add a caveat here, that wives do this, sometimes, because this is the only time they have their pastor/husband as a captive audience.)

The good thing is that in the midst of all my “stuff” when my husband came to the pastorate he began to teach the basics of Christianity in weekly general assembly sessions and I attended each and every one. As I sat in those sessions and learned not only the word of God, but learned about God and His plan for His children, the Holy Spirit began the promised transforming work in me. First of all, I was astounded by the fact that though I was “church girl bar none,” I was woefully ignorant about biblical doctrine. Oh yes, I did learn the requisite bible stories in Vacation Bible School and I learned how to find the books of the Bible in Baptist Training Union, and I memorized passages from the Bible for Easter and Christmas programs, but I would not have been able to tell you what I believed, and I barely had a nodding acquaintance with the God in whom I professed to believe. This church girl was more than a little dismayed that I had spent all of my life in church and yet I knew very little about that which I professed to be my faith. The more I learned, the more I wanted to learn. I began to ask my husband doctrinal questions and when we went out to repasts with our ministry friends I wanted to eavesdrop on the conversations of the pastors as they held court on doctrinal issues (the rapture, before trib, after trib/in the middle of trib, fascinating topics like that). My enthusiasm grew and God gave me a facility for quick scripture recall.

My pastor/husband became my mentor and my encourager. I will admit, however, that he did go a little too far in his encouragement when he began to buy me books and commentaries and study guides every Christmas and on my birthdays. I loved the idea that he thought of me in that vein, but I was still very much a wife who wanted baubles, bangles and beads.

I was blessed to have a husband who invested his ministry in me as well as in the people of God. Still, I must have been as much of a challenge to him as some of those recalcitrant sheep who sat next to me in the pew every Sunday. I, therefore, do not want to give you the idea, dear reader, that the transformation from church girl to committed disciple happened overnight. Though I became voracious for the Word, sanctification the process was an up and down journey for me. I had to willingly enter into the process, and sometimes I was not so willing even as the Spirit poked me. Ultimately, the Holy Spirit led me to three scriptures that would impact my resistance to trusting God with my all, scriptures that would help me to begin to replace my “I can do it” mentality with a Philippians 4:13 mindset, “I can do all things through Christ. . .”

THE FINAL F: FAIL PROOF?

I was FALLIBLE, imperfect, mortal and frail. I was liable to make mistakes at any given moment, at any time. This drove me nuts. I did not like to admit that I was subject to the frailties of humanity. I was Super-Donna, able to overcome anything through the sheer force of my will. I had intestinal fortitude. I knew how to grit my teeth and bear anything. My motto was, “Never let ‘em see you sweat!” I often turned down help with a work or a project because to accept help meant I was not capable of doing it on my own.

Do you know, dear reader, how much energy one needs to keep up the front that all is well and everything is under control? I have lost count of how many nights I spent “rehearsing my misery,” going over in my head the mistakes and mis-steps of a day. I had more moments than I can count of borderline depression, days when I would declare to myself (and sometimes others), “I’m standing up, but my spirit is sitting down!” There were times when I didn’t want to pretend any more, moments when I just wanted to cry out in my distress and hope that someone would come to my rescue. But the church girl in me did not want anyone to know that she was insecure. “What will they think of me?” was always my main concern. The knowledge that I was fallible always led to self-loathing because I would never be perfect.

I remember the Sunday I stepped into church and mentally noted that most of the women wore white. Talk about things that make you go “Hmmmmmmm.” I had chosen that particular Sunday to wear a forest green outfit so I stuck out like a green sore thumb in a garden of white flowers. The mission president finally told me that telephone calls had been made to the women asking them to wear white that Sunday. How had the person making the calls forgotten to call the pastor’s wife? In spite of the fact that this situation had nothing to do with anything I had or had not done, the perfectionist in me was horrified that I was not “correct” that day. I spent the rest of the service waiting for the benediction so I could bolt away from the reminder that I was not as much in control as I thought I was.

Here is the issue that often adds fuel to the church girl’s fire: The expectations that some congregations lay at the feet of its First Lady are often unrealistic. There is no manual for the “role” of the pastor’s wife, yet there are churches that act as though there is a Standard Order of Procedures for the Pastor’s Wife and the wife is supposed to be well acquainted with the text. Surely the wife can sing, work with the children, play the piano and keep her composure while people critique her clothing, assess the behavior of her children and bad mouth her husband to her face as she smiles and pretends that all is well and nothing is amiss. The church girl, the overachieving people pleaser, steps into that place of unrealistic expectations and immediately goes into church girl mode to work and work and work and work, hoping her hard work will satisfy the unspoken demands of the congregation as well as still the turmoil in her soul. Unfortunately, the foolish church girl builds on the wrong foundation, a foundation that is fake and flawed, one that is subject to failure. It is a foundation that someday will collapse under the weight of her pretense.

F #2 and #3: Fake and Flawed

F #2: I Was Fake
Proverbs 3:5, 6 pops up again. I trusted me for my walk as a First Lady. I clothed my Donna persona with an image of confidence and self-assurance. But, away from the ministry limelight, in the deep shadows of my life, I was quivering bundle of doubt, anxiety and fear. What if someone discovered that I was not all I seemed to be, that I was just as human and subject to the failures of humanity as they were? What if it were found out that I was just projecting an image of piety, that my relationship with God was more form than substance? A national bible study teacher, Beth Moore, says that anxiety is a result of our wanting to be in control; I definitely wanted to control how others perceived me, so I faked it!

I remember a mini-conference in my hometown, a series of which the State Convention President was holding to get better acquainted with the local associations. I had been asked to assist at the offering table and I made sure that everything about my appearance was, well, perfect. I made a short but eloquent talk to encourage giving (again, from my perspective). Smug and satisfied with Lady Donna, I sat down next to the President. I had known this man and his wife for years and I greatly admired both of them for their work in the ministry. I had only sat there for a few minutes when he turned to me and asked, “Well, Donna, what are your doing? A little studying, a little praying?” I was doing neither at that time. I was faking my way through ministry, confident in my church work thesis, that the works I did would speak for me. I do not remember how I responded to this pastor’s query, but I do remember what I felt. I felt the façade of my pretense crumble as that pastor seemed to look into my soul to see the emptiness, the void I was trying to fill with myself. As my late pastor/husband so succinctly labeled it in one of his sermons, I was “dressed up on the outside and messed up on the inside.” I was Fake.

F #3: I Was Flawed
There is an old gospel song that contains this line: “I may never reach perfection, but Lord I’ve tried.” The church girl in me took that song to heart, that church work was paramount and boy, did I try. And since I could not stand being imperfect, I became a perfectionist.

Pefectionism
Refusal to accept any standard short of perfection
Philosophy: A doctrine holding that religious . . . perfection is attainable, especially the theory that human moral or spiritual perfection should be or has been attained.

Are you kidding me? Was I really so foolish as to believe I could reach perfection? YES I WAS! And because I was flawed and I was so determined not give any appearance of flaw or imperfection that Donna the perfectionist became the self-appointed critic of the flaws I observed in others, a way of proclaiming myself as "not as bad as" or "better than." This is a flaw of the perfectionist's psyche, the determination to hold every other person’s feet to the fire of that perfectionist’s exacting standards. For example, I would tune out a speaker or preacher who used incorrect grammar in a talk or a sermon, irregardless of the biblical content and context. I would critique the teaching method and style of a bible class instructor or facilitator, silently comparing their pitiful effort to how much better I could “perform” in their place without a thought as to the biblical principals and concepts I could learn.

Yet, in spite of my determined effort to overcome my flaws, my melancholy temperament lent itself to scab picking. I am not trying to gross you out, dear reader, but I was a scab picker, I spent a lot of time taking out my imperfections to mourn over them. I would hold them up to the light of how other women looked and what other first ladies did and I always, always, came out dead last. I was a perfectionist who was also a pessimist, so I was never good enough even as I stalked perfection. My glass was always half empty; my life was always a mess, and I knew how to sing the blues loud and long. My perfectionism drove the church girl in me, but my pessimism always put the brakes on any progress I thought I made by raising the question, “What’s the point and why bother?” In my foolishness and my fake-ness, I cloaked my flaws with a perfectionism that I undermined with pessimism. All of which ran a poor second to the good work God could do in me if I just got my Fake and Flawed self out of the way.

The First F: I Was Foolish!

As a church girl I did not know Proverbs 3:5-6:

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not to thine own understanding
In all thy ways acknowledge Him and He will direct thy path.

Even if I had been acquainted with this scripture, I probably would have just used it as a tool in my church work, a weapon to wield against those people who were not living up to my expectations. To use the lines from the poem “Invictus,” I was “the captain of my fate, the master of my soul.” I was in charge of me and I would be the only one who would chart my course for church work even as I did it under the guise of humility and submission.

I was a true legalist; I judged not only the church worthiness of people by what they did or did not do, but also my standards determined if they were worthy of my church girl attention. Heaven help the preacher who used bad grammar in a sermon; I immediately tuned him out, deeming him illiterate and sub-standard. If I knew of a particular “sinful” predilection of an individual, then that individual became persona non grata, always under the purview of my jaundiced eye. If anyone offended me, he or she made my hit list which meant I did my best to avoid any contact with the miscreant. I became very skillful in ignoring people without their ever having a clue that they were being ignored.

Since I was in control of my world, I was also correct in my assertions and my assessments. In my foolishness, I established the rules by which I measured everything and everyone. When some mere mortal did not meet the standard of my expectations, I became judge and jury. There was not a smidgen of grace or compassion in my scrutiny. I was hard-core. I saw all the negatives in life and it was my responsibility to not only point them out to my pastor/husband and anyone else who would listen to me (one reason why my pastor/husband, for a period of time, banned me from riding to church with him on Sunday mornings since I always seized those moments to voice my negatives), but it was also my duty to provide the cure.

I was foolish, because I was in control of nothing even though I did my best to control anything and everything around me. In spite of my "good intentions," my thoughts, my words, my reactions and my responses were still subject to the whim of my personality and the tenor of my circumstances. While I did a pretty good job of controlling me, myself and I most of the time (meaning I never snapped or lost control of myself in public), I still had my moments and most of the time I had those out of control "moments" with family. I was Foolish!

I. The Church Girl In Me

I hear you, dear reader. “Duhhhhhh. “A pastor who has a church girl for a wife? Where is the problem? Isn’t that ideal for every pastor, a church girl wife?”

Okay, so let me hasten to define “church girl.” A church girl, from my perspective, is that woman who is very experienced in church work and said experience supplants any spirituality, any genuine relationship with Jesus. A church girl is that female in the church who works hard to perfect her church work skills, one who takes great pride in the work she does. The church girl’s efforts are not about the love of Christ but her works are about labor for praise. Her efforts are not about John 4:24 worship but they are about work for accolades. It is not about the work of the ministry but it is about church busy work. I was that church girl.

I have a memory that I suspect reveals the genesis of the church girl in me. It was Easter Sunday morning and I was about four or five years old. I was sitting on my mother’s lap in all my Easter finery in some large probably Methodist church in Texas. You know how we used to do it back in the day. I had on my little straw hat with the ribbon around the crown, my frilly little dress, the white socks with the lace around the cuffs and my white patent leather Mary Jane’s. The crowing accessory was, of course, my little white gloves. As I sat in my mother’s lap I considered the back of the pew in front of me and then looked at my white gloved hands. Another glance at the pew and back to my hands and it came to me in that moment; I could dust the back of that pew with my gloved hands, which is exactly what I did. Voila! A church girl is born!

My church girl mantra was “I’ll do it!”
You need someone to make the announcements on Sunday morning: I’ll do it!
You need someone to type the church bulletins? I’ll do it!
You need someone to copy the bulletins? I’ll do it!
You need someone to work with the youth? I’ll do it! ,
You need someone to be president of the choir? I’ll do it.
You need someone to do anything, anywhere? I’ll do it!
I’ll do it; I’ll do it; I’ll do it!

Whew! The problem with my being a church girl was that while I was prepared to do the work, I was not prepared for the challenge of the labor. I understood the work, but I did not understand real worship. I was well acquainted with the work, but I had barely a nodding acquaintance with the Word.

Oh, and one more thing about this church girl. This lack of sincere Christianity was not evident in my life because I knew how to front, how to wear the mask and appear to be that which I really was not. Yes, I knew how to front; I just did not know how to follow Jesus.

1 Timothy 2:3 says, “Endure hardship as a good soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ.” I was not prepared to endure, forbear or long suffer in anything. In fact, since I was a church girl whose work was peripheral to any genuine work of the ministry, I was not prepared for any kind of warfare. Though I had been in the church all my life, I did not even know there was such a thing as spiritual warfare, which also means I had no clue about the need for the whole armor of God.

Had there been a draft board for the army of the Lord and the board called me in to test for my fitness potential as a soldier, I would have been classified as 4-F, “registrant not fit for spiritual service.”

4-F. I was 4-F. I was Foolish. I was Fake. I was Flawed. I was Fallible. This, dear reader, is an accident waiting to happen in the church.

Next: I was Foolish.

CONFESSIONS OF A FORMER CHURCH GIRL

I was not raised a PK. I knew about pastor’s wives, but I did not know any pastor’s wives personally. The pastors and wives we had in my small town church did not live in that town. They came to town on Saturday and usually returned to their home in the city on Sunday afternoon. The members of the church rarely had a chance to get to know the wife. I was not acquainted with any ministry families. In fact, I thought all pastors were rich because their wives were classic and elegant dressers to my small town eyes.

A few years after I moved to California, the pastor of my church in Oakland ran into some difficulties with his music staff. Suddenly, the musicians could not remember how to play any of the choir’s repertoire and the choir director allegedly lost his list of songs, songs he could not remember how to teach. The pastor thought of a young man from his home church who had directed and taught the adult choirs from the age of twelve. The man, now a young adult just coming out of eight years with the Jehovah’s Witnesses, became the minister of music at the church. I was the president of the choir. Can anyone say divine providence? We eventually got married. One year after we were married, my husband announced to me one week before he announced it to the church, “I have been called to preach.” He admitted to me he had known about this call for some time, but he had been “running from it.” What did this simple statement, “I have been called to preach,” really mean? I had no idea how this announcement would impact my life, but I did understand that this declaration was between my husband and God, so I got out of the way.

I became an associate minister’s wife for almost six years, which was not too worrying. But, somewhere around the sixth year my husband began to believe God was calling him to pastor, so he began to “court” churches. Sure enough, a church decided he was the man for them, the man God had called to be their under-shepherd, so he packed up the family, his one wife and three daughters and moved them, not to Beverly, but to a church on the corner of 8th and Peralta in the heart of West Oakland, California. I was not clear on the concept of First Lady, but once again, I did not balk. This business was between my soon to be pastor-husband and God. I was so innocent, So trusting. So unclear on the concept. So without a clue.

When my husband was called to pastor the Trinity Church, he had two concerns. Actually, he had one concern that manifested itself in two persons, his youngest daughter, who was almost two years old at the time, and his wife, who was just a little older than two. Neither of us seemed to like people. We were not friendly. Now the almost two year old could be forgiven for this proclivity, but the wife who was just a little older than two, well that was a horse of a different color in another story (sorry for the mixed metaphors). The heart of the matter was not that we did not like people, but that we were both introverts, and we two introverts just had a hard time figuring out how to talk to strangers. How do you talk to someone you don’t know? What else is there to say after, “Hello” and “How are you?”

Extroverts will not understand our dilemma. Extroverts are startled by the idea that there are strangers in the world. Certainly my husband did not understand. He was an extreme extrovert. He could talk to a rock rolling down a hill on a stormy day. We were on a beach sitting on a blanket in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, and my husband struck up a conversation with a couple next to us who were from England. The husband wound up giving my husband his recipe for Yorkshire pudding and tips on how to get it just right (the oil has to be really hot, or something like that). Now if any of you know Yorkshire pudding, you will understand it is not a dish I am going to serve with my fried chicken, collard greens, blackeyed peas and rice. But my husband, the extrovert, acted as though it was the best thing that could have happened to him on that sandy beach in Mexico. I must hurry to give props to my husband in that he also engaged the gentleman in a salvation discussion, as well, so it just “shows to go you” how creative these wily extroverts can be when it comes to sharing the gospel.

Yes, my husband was concerned about taking his wife and his youngest daughter to his new parish, especially since he was taking us to a church full of strangers. But, as we all know, our God is a God of miracles and my daughter and I went into that setting actually talking to and interacting with those strangers. Today, I am (as the comedian Mike Myers puts it) a site-specific extrovert. I am so much the extrovert today that people who have only known me as “our pastor’s wife” scoff at the notion that I am an introvert.

My husband was concerned about my introverted ways, but what he should have been concerned about was the fact that he was married to a CHURCH GIRL!

On Becoming the Elder

Who knew that after that 18th birthday life would become jet propelled, that what was a dream yesterday (to be grown) is now almost a faded memory. Sure, some of those old people, as seen through our teen-age eyes, tried to warn us about the speed of life, but the arrogance of youth refused to listen and heed the signs along the way. I think that though our bodies age and change, our minds remain stuck somewhere between 18 and 21. This is why we keep asking ourselves, as we peer into those too honest mirrors, "What happened?" Still, even as we wrestle with our age and aging, we are pretty sure of ourselves and our longevity until, that is, a parent becomes ill and death spits in our face as it comes to remove him or her from our presence.

In my view, we do not truly become adults, absolute freestanding adults, until we lose our parent(s), when we can no longer call, or call on, Mother or Father, Mommy or Daddy. Until that moment, as adult as we may perceive ourselves to be, the child we think we have outgrown seems to always show up when we are in the presence of a parent, the child who sometimes still wants that parent's attention and/or approval. But, as much as we may rail against it, there is nothing we can do to delay the inevitable. One day we will consider our parent(s) place and he or she will be no more. Yes, one day we will be the elders in the family and when we look back over our lives, aloud or in our minds, (an apparent right bestowed upon every elder), we will eventually take out our regrets as well as our unrealized hopes and dreams. What shall we do with these life leftovers? Shall we mourn and bewail our lot, or shall we embrace each new day and move forward with purpose in spite of our aching knees and graying roots? True, some people will reach that elder stage in life with all that he or she ever hoped they would have in material possessions, but, to paraphase Peggy Lee, is that all there is to this journey? Just the abundance of things? And if we rest on our laurels, will we ever look to that new sunrise that reminds us that the day is not done, that there is more hope upon which we can rise? What shall we do with our accumulated knowledge and the by-product of its application, wisdom? Maybe we should not wait until we are the elder before we begin to consider our place and our path. Perhaps, the time is now, before we become the elder and perhaps it begins with telling that parent, "Thank You."

Just a Thought

I am a thinker, though it is probably more about my picking at the scabs of my life than any great wisdom or knowledge. Sometimes, a thought or a sentence gets stuck in my head and goes around and around and around, sort of like that song or jingle you can't get out of your mind. The only way I can free myself is to write, so I write until the thought or sentence no longer cries out for release. It is my way of thinking out loud and from time to time I will think out loud in this blog. These are my thoughts; welcome to them.