The Making of a Preacher's Family - Prep

The Making of a Shrew

"Aurora, it's time to get up!" Artista shouted from the kitchen. "Sunday breakfast is in fifteen minutes."

"I'm not going to church, today," Aurora said. "I have a tummy ache."

Every Sunday, Artista thought to herself. Will the battles never end?

"Hi, Mom!" Zenith popped into the kitchen, cheery and ready for the day.

Like every other Sunday, it's 7:00 o'clock and this daughter is dressed to the nines. Artista thought and smiled. She said, "You are such a balm, Zenith. Do you think you could help your sister to be up, dressed, ready, and fed in time for the car ride to church?"

"Sure, Mom, I'm glad to help you. Back minute." Zenith took a powder, and in a moment was in her bedroom next to Aurora, whose mouth was agape, and drooling.

"Two more different children have not been born," whispered Artista under her breath. "Why couldn't both be like Zenith. Only seven-years-old and she's already a little adult, responsible, cheerful, a real joy to be around. Aurora will be the death of me. Always obstinant, always late, hateful wherever she goes. Why? Why God? Why can't you tell me why?"

No answer. The Heavens were brass. A bubble of grits popped, splattering her glasses. "Really? That's all you can say?" Artista started to boil over.

At 7:15 AM, sharp, Zenith bounced into the kitchen. "Here we are, Mom!" Hands held high, waving, she smiled, ebullient.

A very slow 20 seconds later, Aurora lumbered in, squinting, rumpled, and groaning, "Do we really have to have breakfast so early in the day?"

"Glad to see you, too," Artista managed. Been working my fanny off to make you something good to eat before a long morning at church, and this is all the thanks I get? "You'll feel better after you eat," Her words dripped with syrup, like the proper Southern matron she was. "It's almost time to go."

"I wish you would go, and let me stay home."

"You know I can't do that, Aurora. You're not twelve, yet."

The typical Sunday continued.

Ten-minute drive to church.
9:00 o'clock Sunday School.
10:00 o'clock Church-wide Fellowship with coffee and doughnuts
11:00 o'clock worship service
12:00 Noon scramble to The Eat Wave to take the best seats from the Methodists.

Another ten-minute drive home.
Afternoon naps.
Ten-minute ride back to church.
Training Union, (another Bible storytime for the kiddos)
Evening Worship

Drive home.
Get ready for bed.
Snore up enough courage to live through another week of school days.

My life as a pastor's wife, thought Artista as she laid her weary head on the pillow.

Sundays were thick with responsibilities and activities. Matt focused on ministry with the tenacity of a snapping turtle. Artista and Zenith serve with smiles on the outside and breaking hearts within. Doing the same thing every Sunday for more than 700 in a row (or approximately 14 years) was a wearisome task.

On the twins' 21st birthday Artista looked old. Barely in her 60s, she didn't appear long for the new world they had served for a number of years. As it turned out, she wasn't. One month to the day after the twins' birthday, Artista had a birthday of her own. She died to this life as she was birthed into the Everlasting Day.

The grief of losing her mother caused something to snap in Zenith. "Dad, I'm done. I've served the Lord for 21 years. I smile. I'm pleasant. People abuse me. I'm not going to take it anymore."

"You're grieving, Zenith. Give it some time."

"It's not worth it. Mandy and I are eloping. We're moving to the other side of the planet. Don't try to call. I will not answer you. You're no longer my Dad, and I hate your God." With that Zenith turned on her heels, ran out, and slammed the door behind her.

Matt fell into a heap on the floor. "God, please help me. I've lost my wife and one of my daughters in a matter of a month. What do I do now?"

Shrews are made when they live a thankless life.
Shrews are made when their fathers don't see their hearts.
Shrews are made through neglect on some level.
Shrews are made when they trust their perspective, regardless of their father's attempts to do the right thing.