| Sunny Side Up Oct. 27, 2004 �2004, Kathleen Gibson Appreciating the nearest clergy The Preacher and I recently attended a conference for clergy couples in Canmore, Alberta. On our second morning there we got up early, ate breakfast beside a crackling fire, and found we still had an hour before our first meeting. We decided to spend it walking. A concrete path stretches behind the conference center for about half a mile - perfect for strolling. But I don't stroll; at least not usually. And especially not that morning. Our breath emerged in plumes, and I hadn't thought to wear a jacket. In spite of the October date, our daytime temperatures had been reminiscent of summer. Not so the early morning ones, I found. "Hurry up," I urged the Preacher. "I'm turning into a popsicle here." I walked backwards, high-stepping to encourage blood flow. I ran forward, then reversed. I circled around him one way and then the other. I tried pulling him, but if you've seen my husband you'll understand the futility of that exercise. He plodded on, steadily keeping his measured pace, grinning. It's why we usually take our exercise separately. A raven swooped onto the railway tracks beside us. Above, the mountains loomed large against the backdrop of a pinking sky. A few clouds hovered over their tops, one long one obliterating the tip of the tallest. The Preacher noticed it, pointed, cleared his throat, and in his preaching voice uttered this remarkable thing: "The mountain peak snagged the cloud and it stretched out thin and long, trying to make an escape." I stopped in my tracks. "Hey, you trying to take my job? For someone who doesn't think they can write, that was quite good." He chuckled. "That's what comes from living with you. You're rubbing off on me." I was too amazed to say it then, but we rub off on each other, I think. Daily, his example encourages me to be more, love more, serve more. It happens when I watch him in the church kitchen preparing a dinner for our seniors, or when in the night he willingly leaves sleep and bed and me to help someone in crisis. It happens again when I hear his voice catch during a funeral address for a parishioner, and I know he's speaking from the platform of his own grief. I'm immensely spurred by the time he spends digging out the truths of scripture to share on Sundays, and the priority he devotes to prayer. He inspires me by the small regular things he does for those who seldom notice or care, by the respect he shows people few others have time for, by his integrity and the humble way he handles criticism. It's October, traditionally designated as Clergy Appreciation month. Though in the unique position of being housemate to my pastor, I don't often take time to tell him how much I appreciate his example. I'm telling him now. I live with a man of God, and forever I'll be grateful for the privilege. Even if he does plod. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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