ALICE KIM | CONTRIBUTOR

We lived on the seminary campus for the first couple of years of marriage. Shortly after settling in, we hosted our first guests and I was asked, “Do you feel called to be a pastor’s wife?”

When I met my husband, he was a missionary. I didn’t know then what dating a missionary entailed, let alone marrying a pastor. Though there was a period before we walked down the aisle and exchanged our wedding vows where I wrestled with God about my future and confessed how hard it was to have open hands, I don’t recall a defining moment where I was called.

Over the years, I’ve heard from many women who share their experience of being called to be a pastor’s wife. This is wonderful! However one comes to the role, the varied journeys speak to the beauty, richness, and complexity of how each woman bears the privileged position to serve alongside her husband. And given the challenging reality that nearly two in five pastors have considered leaving full-time ministry from burnout and discouragement,^[1] a wife’s strong, wise, courageous, and steadfast presence is irreplaceable.

GOD KNOWS AND THAT MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE

In Psalm 1, the comparison between the blessed and the wicked man and the similes of a tree and chaff captures our attention and imagination. But just as a good conclusion ties everything together, the three letter word “for” in verse 6 (“for the Lord knows the way of the righteous”) invites us to slow down and consider its important implication.

The word “for” not only serves as a bridge to the preceding five verses, but it also signals to us that there is more. It tells us the reason why a blessed man thrives: because the Lord knows. His identity is rooted in God’s knowledge of him. And that makes all the difference.

BECAUSE GOD KNOWS WE CAN EXPERIENCE DEEP REST

We see this in Exodus 2:25, “God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.” The Israelites were in anguish over their oppression in Egypt. They groaned and cried out for relief (v. 23), and God heard. He remembered his covenant promises to them. He took notice of their plight, not as a bystander, but as one who was moved with compassion. The Israelites’ pain and suffering were no longer theirs alone, but was also personal to God.

The night of the tenth and final plague, God separated those who were covered by the blood of a substitutionary sacrifice from those who were not. This set in motion the ultimate sacrifice at the cross where Jesus took upon himself the cup of wrath we deserved.

One commentator explains, “God’s “knowledge” is a deep commitment to, love for, and care of his own.… As such it is an expression of his covenantal commitment…”^[2] Thus, his knowledge of us is deeply relational, and it is felt. He is intimate with the pain of loneliness and disappointment of a pastor’s wife; he knows that feeling less than, not enough, and doubt are inevitable. He also knows self-sufficiency and self-reliance are a means to protect against heartache. He sees the weekend single mom transporting car seats and strollers and navigating the parking lot with a diaper bag draped over one shoulder and kids hanging off the other, while being poised enough to smile and greet other church members along the way. Then, when our husbands travel on a mission trip, to a speaking engagement, retreat, or local or distant meeting, he sees us take care of things at home. He sees too when something unexpected happens—an appliance malfunctions, we’re in a car accident, receive difficult news, or make a trip to the emergency room.

God knows all this. He also knows the ending is far more glorious than we could have ever imagined or hoped for. He knows the exact steps to get us from where we are to what awaits us. He invites us to stop taking matters into our hands and to submit to his sovereign timing and wise ways.

Because when we are known—seen, heard, validated, understood—our emotions feel more manageable. They are quieted and calmed. Our obsessive angst and worry, paralyzing fear, feeling overwhelmed, and in a constant state of frenzy are contained. While we still experience emotions, we are not swamped nor hijacked by them. Consequently, our bodies feel settled, hopeful, and secure. We think with clarity. We meditate on God’s promises and find comfort and freedom in them. Because God knows, we can experience deep rest.

BECAUSE GOD KNOWS, WE CAN BEAR LASTING FRUIT

When the original audience of Psalm 1 heard about a well-nourished tree that bore fruit in season and whose leaves did not wither, they understood the impossibility of this in arid Palestine. Trees were scarce and could not thrive without an irrigation system to keep hydrated during drought. Hence, the lush image not only recalled for them the original Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden (Gen 2:9-10), but it also made them long for the day when they would be welcomed back (Rev. 2:7).

Psalm 1 served as a message of hope for the Israelites. God had not forgotten nor abandoned his covenantal promise to rescue his people from exile and redeem and reconcile them to himself, to one another, and to the land. The plans to prosper them, not to harm; to give them hope and a future (Jer. 29:11) were still “Yes and Amen” (2 Cor. 1:20).

But what the Israelites didn’t know was that there was another tree, one far more grand. It was the tree in Calvary that would bear Jesus (1 Pet. 2:24). So that what was lost in the first garden would be redeemed in the future garden in Gethsemane, and the cursed tree (Deut. 21:22-23) would be a blessed tree bearing the fruit of life.

Because the Lord knows, bearing eternal fruit is possible, even in seasons of trial and difficulty.

I’m often that woman at the grocery store, rummaging through multiple boxes of Asian pears or apples to hand select the perfect combination, or inspecting at least five cartons of strawberries for ripeness and mold before adding it to my shopping cart. But unlike the fruit neatly arranged on the stand and grown under ideal conditions, the fruit of the Spirit—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control—are matured in life’s crucibles. These fruits are cultivated, refined, and tested under pressure. They undergo a prolonged season of wilderness wanderings, heartache, doubt, loneliness, and exhaustion. Their growth is marked by broken relationships, tragic loss, illness, financial hardship, anxiety and depression, and unfulfilled dreams.

Whether the calling to be a pastor’s wife was clear or not, the journey often contains hardships we never envisioned and yet, we have a God who tells us there is more to the story; this is not how it ends. Dear pastor’s wife, because he knows the way of his children, he leads us to streams of water, restores us, provides us deep rest, and in season, we get to reap lasting fruit that tells the story of our struggle and his glory. He will do it. He is able. He knows.

^[1] “38% of U.S. Pastors Have Thought About Quitting Full-Time Ministry in the Past Year,” Barna Group, (November 16, 2021), https://www.barna.com/research/pastors-well-being/.

^[2] W. A. VanGemeren, “ Psalms” in The Expositor’s Bible Commentary: Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Song of Songs, Vol. 5 Edited by. F. E. Gaebelein (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 1991), 58.

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