CONFESSIONS OF A PREACHER'S WIFE

Conversations between a preacher's wife and God. Conversations here are offered as composites of various struggles facing minister's wives in general. This blog acts as a mirror into the mind of various trials faced by ministers' wives I've met along my journey as a pastor's wife of 26 years. Any statements used here are purely coincidental to anyone specifically. Once posted and printed all material is [copyrighted by SelahV, 2006].

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

WILL THE REAL ME REMOVE THE MASK?

Oh Lord, it's that time again. Every time the doorbell rings tonite I'll be greeted by ghouls, ghosts, American Idol stars and princesses. Each wear those clumsey masks that cover their true identity. What?

Well, yes, I do wear masks. Why? Well, uh, because I don't want people to know who I am, I guess. Or maybe because who I am isn't as good as the person I try to be behind the mask. What do I mean?

Let's see. How do I answer that? Be specific. Hmmn. Okay. I try to be the best friend I can be, but behind my mask I want to tell her the truth. That I am lazy. I'm not at all as nice as she thinks. Nor have I gotten my house all spic and span, like she did, before coming to lunch today. Behind my mask is the lie that I am better organized, less impatient at redlights, than I actually am. And to be honest I'm not totally resting in you, Lord, for Dex to get that new church position.

AND?

Okay, Lord. Annnnd, I know the mask I wear is a lie. I should be honest with my friends. Must everyone know the real me? That I don't always have the right answers? Must they?

Well, I suppose You are right, Lord. Deception of any sort can build unstable bridges. I shall try to examine myself a bit closer when You and I meet in our quiet time. Do help me, Lord, to remove my masks. My hands are so busy doing other things sometimes, I forget to reach up and take it off. I see. Just don't put it on anymore? Now, Lord, that would take a miracle. Huh? Oh yeah. I do remember the Red Sea and the Resurrection. Guess You can handle my little bitty mask. Thanks for the reminder. I love you, Lord. I really do. dani lee

Thursday, October 26, 2006

I Love Playing Poker

Lord, sometimes I just wanna call it quits. I wanna fold my hand (even when I know my 3 Kings and lowly 3 of spades on the table will take that other guy's full-house). Ain't no way his three queens, and Ace of clubs is gonna beat my hand. Even if he's holding a queen of hearts to back up his other three ladies.
I have another King in my hand, after all.

So why do I feel like throwing in my cards and going home?

I guess it's because I am tired of the game, Lord. I don't wanna play poker anymore. My brain gets tired of counting cards and remembering what's been played. I hate trying to figure out if someone is bluffing. I wanna play something else. What?

Dodgeball? No, Lord, I don't like dodgeball either. I'm bound to get hit somewhere along the line. Once when I was in 2nd grade, a big ol' boy hauled off and slammed me with that ball at my ankles and knocked my feet right out from under me. I lay on that ground crying and everyone making fun of me. I don't wanna play dodgeball either, Lord.

Ping pong? No, Lord. I'm just not fast enough in reacting to play ping pong. Reminds me of debate teams in highschool. My tongue can't keep up with my brain. And sometimes my brain gets ahead of my heart and out pops something I'd rather have kept in my brain. Nope, ping pong is out.

Swimming? No, Lord. I can't swim with others in the pool; You know that. If I get half way across that pool and someone gets in my path, I'm gonna sink like a baby with a millstone tied around its neck. You can't want me to swim, Lord. I'd drown.

I've never really been very good at any games, Lord. I think I'd rather be a spectator and just watch everyone else play games. You know like watching games between the dawgs and the vols or the Titans and Cowboys. Or the Bengals and the Colts. Oh, no....I'd really love to watch those Patriots and the Bears match up. Huh? Well, no, I guess I wouldn't be much good sitting in the stands.

But I could be a cheerleader! I'm good at cheering people on. I'm vociferous! And isn't a cheerleader sorta like an encourager? Like Barnabas? I mean, I know he was no Peter. But he was a good Barnabas, doncha think?

Well, yeah. I guess I could pray about it a bit more. But please remember, if it weren't for knowing I had that King in the hole, I would fold my hand right now.