I cried with you with your cancer diagnosis.
I helped you decorate for your son's wedding.
I brought a meal to you when you became a mom.
I rearranged our schedules to meet with you and your husband when your marriage was in trouble.
I prioritized your family over mine countless times over as my husband served your family.
I prayed and cried as my husband went with you to pray as your mother passed into eternity.
I held your hand while your rape kit was performed.
I wrote you thank you cards for the ways you serve the church family.
I listened to your frustrations and gave encouragement when my own heart was broken.
I counseled you on how to handle the challenges of mom life.
I cried on your kitchen floor with you when your grandbaby was taken too soon.
I sat with my husband for hours of your premarital counseling.
I prayed for you.
I cried with you.
I loved you in every way I knew how.
Who am I?
I am your pastor's wife.
I don't think you joined a gang when you left our church family, but I can't pretend it didn't crush my soul either.
Did I not sacrifice enough?
Did I not make you feel special enough?
Did I not make you feel loved enough?
Was it me?
Was I in my own head the last Sunday you came and miss talking to you?
It will always feel like a divorce when a family leaves our church my husband pastors.
It will always cause me to cry.
I love you. I miss you.
But I'm not allowed to say that.
So I'll politely smile when I see you at the store and ask how your family is doing. I'll genuinely tell you it's good to see you. I'll try to hide the scab on my heart.
I was your pastor's wife, but I'll always wish I was your friend.
