Coitus Corrupted

They taught me…

Adding a lot more weight to each letter of what was considered forbidden fruit, each letter spelling out the unmentioned, shamelessly stripping off what covered my nakedness as I understood hers, as I understood what happens when we come together bare, unclothed, and full of desire.

It was just a thought at first, one I couldn’t comprehend, especially at my tender age of approximately 2920 days after birth. But I did partly understand, I understood from the look on their faces, and their hushed tones that this was one thing that was a shame to mention, a shame to delve into, a shame to think about. So I became silent, observing, just listening to the muted expressions of disgust at the thought of it, the thought of wanting it…

Another 96 full moons had passed and the world as I knew it had turned a shade close to indigo, I understood it better, much better, but… I had to understand it on my own, alone in the shadows, without a whisper or voice, in silence, only interrupted by a moan to remind me that I had indeed understood, and understood well, too well.

There is a word that comes before “…the bad and the ugly” a word that I didn’t know at the time, a word I had learnt when I had already thought it was too late, a word that held the key to free me from my imprisonment, from my ‘understanding’.

Good…

I was mystified, how could this be a good thing, how was it right in any way, how had I never associated it with such a positive word, a positive thought?

Good…

I was once told that it felt good when she didn’t feel like she was forgotten, when she didn’t feel forgotten in the moment, much like a conversation… Wait, should I have heard that, should I have learnt that, should I have committed it to memory? I must say now that I didn’t regret it, but should I have? I don’t think so.

Good…

“For everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is to be received with thanksgiving.”- 1 Tim 4:4

So if God made it then it must be good… but is it really? I’d like to believe so.

As I sat watching two little girls look over books in a book store I watched their reaction as they came across a book that mentioned it on its cover, “We shouldn’t read this book, its bad, its evil…”

They understood me, they were me at 2920 days of life after birth, but I also understood that 96 full moons later their world would turn indigo, in silence, shame, solace, hopelessness.

Good…

“And the man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” – Gen 2:25

This is it, this is it right here, God created humanity and made them naked with no shame, no solace, full of desire, and it was a good thing.

I see it now, I see its beauty, I see its value, I see its good, I see its intent, I see its expression, and I see its creator.

I am a son of Adam that longs to look at my Eve’s nakedness with no shame, and make love to her knowing that I am doing good by it.

I am an author, thousands of years  after he wrote his sensual song to her, anticipating my own melody and lyric, preparing my ink and my quilt to not only pen it down but demonstrate that expression of love.

I am a musician much like Sean Carter that would one day love to hear my wife say,” You’re mine” getting her drunk in love.

I am an unmarried man who is willing to wait, not out of fear or shame but out of awe at such an amazing expression that gives commitment one of its highest rewards, sexual intimacy.

So how dare I, and how dare you think or talk of it as anything less than good, no no, great, such a gift that should be treasured and taught well.

Sex is a beautiful thing...

White Boy In Black Skin

It doesn’t take people longer than five minutes in conversation with me to say the words, “You’re such a white boy”. With a simple roll of my eyes and shake of my head I brush it off and proceed with my life, not really bothered by what was just said because the truth is I know what they mean…and there is an element of truth in it.

What is confusing for me is how certain things I do are associated with skin color: for example, aesthetical order, the way I’d treat a lady and things I would say. Growing up I had never thought of differences in skin color and how that would relate to how people act. In my eyes everyone around me was the same as me. I was color blind and I’m not saying that was a bad thing at all.

Looking back now I have a clearer picture of why people have referred to me as a “white boy in black skin” (or an Oreo) and why I acted the part so well.

1.)    I’m from Pretoria. If you don’t know much about Pretoria, you should know that it has a very high population of white people. I grew up in an area that was predominantly white and for a while my family was one of the very few black families living in that area. So I grew up in this type of racial setup which meant my friends were mostly white, my teachers were white, and my neighbors were white (by the way, the complex I stayed in was painted white and the color of my school shirt was white too, but that’s not the point).

2.)    My parents raised me as me. My parents never brought up the issue of color in relation to how I should behave or do things and they never forced my black ethnicity on me. They didn’t see the paradox of black and white and raised me that way.

3.)    I wanted to be white. This is a heavy point because it’s almost shocking but I believe there were a few reasons for this:

a)      I wasn’t proud of the fact that I looked different from others around me but I’d only notice we were different when they brought it up.

b)      In the community I grew up in black meant bad. If there was a black guy walking the streets the assumption was that he was a thief or some sort of criminal. If I was walking with some white friends we would be cautious of the black people that walked past us or wouldn’t walk past them at all: true stories.

I can recall an incident that would amplify my point. So one day my brother had a friend over from school and they were playing outside, close to the front gate, when a stranger (who was white) came to the fence and started talking to the boys. My mom quickly noticed the situation and called the two little boys inside and asked them what the man had wanted (I’m not sure what answer they gave her).  She then cautioned them to be careful and not talk to strangers because they could be dangerous but then my brother’s friend with a confused expression on his face said, “But this guy was white.”

c)       The color peach was called ‘skin color’. This is no joke: when we would draw with our colored pencils and wanted to borrow the color peach from a friend we would ask for ‘skin color’. I must have thought that being white was the right skin color to have because it was insinuated in these situations.

d)      I liked white girls and was rarely attracted to any other kinds of girls. In my mind I thought I would marry a white girl. However, very few white girls wanted to go out with black boys (maybe because they never considered it an option). I remember liking this one girl (actually a lot of guys liked her) and one day her brother came to me and said that his mom had said that things go wrong when black people and white people get married. In that moment, I wished I was white.

4.)    I didn’t like black.

I will never forget one incident as a kid with my good friend Josh. We were playing an imaginary war game (if you never played imaginary games by yourself or with friends it’s not too late to do so now) and then suddenly Josh turns to me and says, “You do know that you’re a black guy in this game, right?” and I was shocked and got so upset with him because in my mind I pictured myself as a white soldier (maybe because I thought black soldiers sucked). It felt like a demeaning role, like he wanted me to be the bad guy (and of course we had to be heroes). My buddy Josh was actually being good to me; he wanted me to be who I am. I didn’t see it like that at the time but I sure wish I did.

I try to think of how all this has influenced me today and how I’ve changed and grown. I’m an adult now but my childhood was a step I had to take to get to where I am today and my experiences in the past will always go with me. I’ve lived with different kinds of people with different cultures and different colors of skin, and I believe my views on people now are influenced by the different people I’ve met in the past. And I’ve learnt that experiences in the past may have occurred in the past but the lessons are sometimes learnt much later in life.

Eventually my family left the beautiful city of Pretoria and moved to another city, Lusaka. Much like Pretoria it’s a capital city, but unlike Pretoria it has an overwhelming number of black people. When I first arrived in Lusaka I felt out of place because it was so weird seeing so many black people and I felt everybody was staring at me because I ‘looked different’.

Now what’s interesting is that Lusaka has its own views on race, white people and ethnicity. It’s when I arrived in Lusaka that I got a lot of comments about being a white boy. Some people have their own ideas of what white people do or don’t do and have their own ideas about what black means. The truth is I find most of it annoying, ignorant and prejudiced. What black America promotes blackness to be is what I hear a lot from people: it’s all built on stereotypes and Kevin Hart jokes. Having heavily interacted with both black and white people it’s clear that both camps don’t know much about each other and even themselves.

So having been higher up the mountain (than I was before) and given you a description of what was below me, let me tell you at what point I am now:

1.)    I love my color. I love who I am and how God created me (seriously I do!).

2.)    People recognized me as black when I started to rap a few years ago and the whole ‘white boy’ thing started to fade away (not completely).

3.)    Traditional people think I’m uncultured (Hey, it’s not my fault I’m a white guy…).

4.)    I don’t act like any color; I’m just me.

5.)    I love Trevor Noah’s shows. He and I are similar in some ways and he just captures cultural diversity so well.

6.)     I love colored people (those of you in America, that’s the color of your president: yep, unfortunately he’s not black; and yes, it’s okay to call someone colored where I come from. No, really; it is).

7.)    I love diversity in culture. I love relating and meeting people from everywhere.

8.)    I’m grateful for some of the things I’ve been through in life.

9.)    I still have a lot of white friends that I get along with.

10.)  I also have a lot of black friends (and Koreans, Indians, Latinos, etc.).

11.)  And finally, I’m still and will always be color blind.

Knowing who you are is important, but the color of your skin doesn’t define your character or personality and it won’t define your likes and dislikes or spell out what you can or can’t do. For example, I love cricket and rugby, and those are seen as white sports; but I love soccer and basketball too (‘black’ sports). Be proud of how God made you; be proud to be a black swimmer or a white runner or whatever you wanna be. Don’t let your color dictate how you view yourself and how you view others. And don’t let your upbringing corrupt the right way to view the world, always view it the way the Creator wants you to view it and His people. I may always be an Oreo, but I’m not going to let that define me; I won’t.

But you know, being an Oreo taught me this. Think about it.

Lenny Kay

Could I Be In Love?

 How many times have we heard and said the words “falling in love”, either in reference to our own feelings or someone else’s? Probably too many times to count, right?

A few weeks ago as I was listening to a track by Beleaf Melanin, I came across a line in which he says, “Why fall in love when you can stand in it.” I paused and seriously thought about it, and knew I had to address this sooner or later.

It was at that moment I realized that most of the time we think we know what love is when we really don’t. I mean the phrase “fall in love” seems harmless and on point, but did you ever think about where that phrase came from or what it really means?

Our minds have been so poisoned that we often don’t notice that we have a warped view of what love is, especially in relation to the opposite sex.

What I want to do here is give you something from what I’ve been learning from experience, observation and studies about love.

If you know anything about my history you’d know that I received an Honors award in heartbreakery and infatuation, which is a prestigious award for the foolish and ignorant. I’ve broken hearts and been heartbroken all because I thought I knew what love was when I really didn’t. Even after Christ gave me a new heart I still thought wrongly about love, and in the process hurt myself and others around me. I remember often asking myself how long I’d keep moving in the same cycle, liking the same girls, and ending up in the same trashy pile I just came from. I was ready to give up on love entirely, it seemed hopeless and empty, because I thought as long as I had anything to do with hearts there would be a crack straight down the middle. I was tired of this, and I desperately needed a break.

If you’ve ever gone swimming and tried to keep your breath under water and eventually come up to breathe, you’d know the feeling of relief and a rare appreciation for air. When I discovered the true meaning of love it felt like a breath of fresh air as it filled up my lungs and gave me life. When I found Joshua Harris, he gave me not just a fresh view but a biblical and Christ centered perspective or outlook on love. He along with people like Elisabeth Elliot, Randy Alcorn and a few others helped shape my view on relationships, marriage and of course love. I had to correct quite a few wrongs, which included seeking forgiveness from girls whose hearts I had broken and living in repentance of my mistakes. Unfortunately I had to learn the hard way. Do I regret those mistakes? Yes I do, I wish I could rewrite my story, but what’s done is done. By God’s grace I lived to learn from my mistakes, and pray someone learns from mine.

As I learnt what love really is, I also learnt what it isn’t. The world has its own view of love which I had believed for so long, and had allowed to corrupt me. The world’s view of love is as follows:

1.)    Love is for the fulfillment and comfort of self. It’s all about me, and what I want.

2.)    Love is a feeling. It’s all about the warm fuzzy feeling you feel tickling your heart when it skips a beat every time you see that special someone. If that feeling is not there, then it’s not love.

3.)    Love is uncontrollable. I can’t control my feelings; they just happen and control everything about and around me.

It’s scary how we probably think along these lines when we try to define what love is, when in actual fact these points describe what love isn’t. So at this point you may be asking what love is. If it’s not primarily a feeling what is it?

To properly understand love we need to go to the one thing that cannot make a mistake, is inerrant, and all sufficient for everything, yes even about love, and that one thing is the Word of God.

The Bible is a book about love, from beginning to end, telling the greatest love story ever, about The King who graciously died for people that didn’t deserve it (Rom 5:8). All those who find forgiveness and life through Christ are called to follow in His steps, to love others because He first loved us (1 John 4:19)

Through His perfect example, Christ taught that:

1.)    Love is the fulfillment of self but for the glory of God and good of others.

True love is completely selfless, it gives, sacrifices, and dies to its own needs (John 15:13). Jesus died for us, and so we need to be willing to die for others.

2.)    True love is not measured or governed by feelings. True love always expresses itself in obedience to God and service to others. Jesus says in John 14:15 that if we love Him we’ll keep His commands.

3.)    Love is under our control. Jesus chose to love us by choosing to lay His life down for us. I once read that the danger of believing that you “fall in love” is that it also means you can “fall out of love” just as unexpectedly.

Some of you may say that this sounds cliché and unreal, besides Christians have been known to be the cheesiest people with the cheesiest lines, and all because they don’t see life for what it really is. Most people who have this view are the same people who end up getting screwed by ‘love’ and never learn from their mistakes, because they’ve never known what real love is. And trust me, once you understand what real love is it changes your life forever.

“When we extract the poison of self-love, our entire motivation in relationships is transformed…more changes occur when we seek to love with Christ’s love” – Joshua Harris

So what does this look like in practice in our everyday lives? This may sound very theoretical, but what does it look like before our eyes?

Let’s take an example of two people, Steve and Courtney who like each other deeply but before they just throw themselves into a relationship, they critically analyze themselves and ask themselves these questions:

1.)    What is my real intention for getting into this relationship? Is it to satisfy my lusts or my feelings? Is it because of social pressure?

2.)    Am I awakening feelings that I won’t be able to meet with equal commitment?

3.)    If we get into a relationship is it going to help or harm the other persons walk with God?

4.)    If we do get into a relationship at this moment, will someone end up getting hurt?

5.)    Do I have a correct view of marriage?

6.)    Am I thinking about myself or doing what’s best for her/him?

7.)    Am I doing this just because I have feelings for her/him?

These are some hard questions to ask, and some of them painful, but it’s all for the good of others, the glory of God, and your joy. Don’t let feelings guide you, but instead let your feelings be guided by truth and true love (which is not primarily a feeling but an action of goodwill towards another person backed by commitment). Love is a service to and for someone else, and we need not go any further than 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 to understand this.

 Love is patient, love is kind, it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not arrogant. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.

This is love, it is pure, perfect, long-lasting, true and God honoring. Love is a commitment; it’s sincere, unselfish, and responsible. It’s not about what I can get, but about what I can give. It starts with understanding Christ’s love and responding to it, and expresses itself in how we love one another.

Pursue this kind of love, and don’t let the world falsely define for you what they think love is.

Your friend,

Lenny Kay (a.k.a The Exposition)

Born behind a Pulpit Part 2(Danielle Van Meter)

Danielle:

The story of my being a pastor's kid is difficult story to write in isolation because it is tightly interwoven to the entirety of my life, and bleeds into so many other aspects of my journey. Often when I am in an existential mood, I sift through the personality traits or struggles unique to me and try to trace them back to this aspect of my life. Pastor's daughter. How exactly did that shape me differently than any other member of a family with any other father's vocation?

My life has been a good one. I have no doubt that being a daughter of a pastor comes along with some 'perks'- I've been privileged to see the inner workings of the leadership as the elders move towards new ministries. I have met and spoken to prolific, renowned pastors whose sole reason for remembering me is my last name. I've attended family camps of more churches than I can remember and as a result have met diverse people with endless true-life stories.

But, like life and this groaning creation, nothing is left untouched by the Fall.

My father’s ministry is made up of humans- images of God thoroughly ravished with sin- and he is called to be actively involved in lives for the good of the church. It’s a messy business. There are times that he comes home and anyone can read the empathy on his face from his listening to the brokenness of others. There are times when he doesn't acknowledge my questions because in his mind he is still in his counseling room, or in a hospital, or at the funeral of a little boy. There were times when I was near-tears, yet I would shrink back from telling him why because the laments of a teenage girl seem petty when he has come from counseling a family torn asunder.
At a sensitive age, I was disturbed at the pervasiveness of such brokenness, but now I understand it is a blessing to have grown up seeing the human struggle- and redemption- in such a real, important way.

One remark I’ve often heard from pastor’s kids is a feeling of being held to a higher standard, but I would be underestimating the grace and sympathy of my church family to say that I felt the same. If anything, my pride rendered me incapable of being honest. I was afraid if I was completely open about my sinful struggles and times of doubt, it would reflect badly upon my father. I held back because I thought if somebody found out we were not a fruit-of-the-spirit family all the time, that person would not be able to respect my father in the pulpit. This battle between fierce loyalty and honesty gunned me down for years, until I was able to realize the truth of James 5:16- that where there is honesty among community, there is healing. More than being a good representative of my family, God desires me to be a good representative of Christ. That is freeing, because it means that I am no different than any other redeemed sinner, seeking God on a journey Home. 
I am sure my story on this subject differs from others’, but mine rests on the kind of pastor my dad is.
 I remember when our church once went through a split, and young as I was, I understood what slander was. It ached to the depth of my being- hearing the car pull in late at night, the steady step of my dad, the low voices emanating from my parent's room. It was all too much for me so I draped my blanket over my shoulders and tapped on my parent's door. My ten year old vocabulary lacked the words needed to sufficiently represent my feelings, and I said a feeble, "Dad, I'm sorry people hurt you." Though it was late and my father tired, he sat on the edge of his bed with me and explained to me the necessity of people following their Biblical convictions, even if it meant their leaving the church or causing minor hurts. And that's the kind of man my pastor is. A good one. That's the kind of man my dad is. A good one. He just happens, for me, to be one and the same, and I wouldn’t change that for all the world.

Born Behind a Pulpit(Stories from Pastors Kids) Part 1(Anton Beetge)

Ever wonder what life must be like through another person’s eyes? Imagine what kind of perspective of life you would see, for example what seems blue to you may appear yellow to another. This thought can be mind boggling, and I’m not going to get into the theoretical components of this, but today I want you to see through the eyes of a couple of my friends and at a later stage I’ll tell my story.

My friends and I have a few things in common, but among those things one thing vividly stands out, and this one thing is that we were all born in the same place. This may sound interesting and may confuse you, but what I really mean to say is that we were all born behind a pulpit. We’ve lived  a big part of our lives as Pastors Kids(PK’s), and because of this we can relate at a mutual level where we just understand each other. This article is all about our experiences as PK’s.

Without wasting much time lets get straight into the stories:

Anton:

“So what does your dad do?”

“He’s a minister”

“Oh really? That’s so cool!”

“So he works for the government? What is he a minister of?” 

“The gospel - he is a pastor”

“Oh...”

And so goes the familiar conversation brought about by the PK’s mistake of referring to his dad a minister out of context. 

That is the the reality of our lives - we live out of context. Pastor’s kids in particular, and all Christians in general live as aliens in this world, different, set-apart, distinct.

In reading the book of Leviticus - I’ve wondered what it must have been like to live in the home of a priest. Seeing your dad praying for the people, coming home, exhausted and covered in blood as a result of the dozens of sacrifices he had made that day must have been strange. But then I suppose that’s not too far removed from the life I’ve led. 

The life of a PK is marked by unusual activities such as being at church five times a week, having Friday nights planned out in advance, regular meals and visits from church members, giving up your room for a missionary or pastor in-transit and having your dad leave after dinner to go and attend an elders/deacons meeting or visit someone in hospital. 

Let’s face the facts - this is not a normal childhood. As a PK, you only realise this toward the end of primary school, and even then you don’t know the full extent of it until way into high school and beyond. 

Growing up as a young boy in a pastor’s home I saw my dad at work almost every day. To my knowledge, this is unusual - most kids may see their dad doing his work once or twice in their lives, or never. At home my dad was a counsellor after dinner, spending time locked behind the study doors listening to and advising various people from the Word of God. During the day he would be preparing his sermon in his office at the church. Normally, on a Sunday he would leave the house to go and pray before I had even woken up. Later I would sit in the pews and listen to him speaking with an authority that came from outside of himself and explaining what was written in the Bible with a seriousness and gravity that I seldom saw at home. He was presenting The Sacrifice for people to embrace. My life was not too dissimilar to the one I imagined from Leviticus. 

My dad was, of course, more than just a priest - and that’s where the difference comes. Many people knew my dad as the Pastor. I knew my dad was dad, when we were having supper or he was helping me with a school project, or tucking me in at night.  He was my coach on the sports field, encouraging me and shouting instructions from the sidelines. He was my mentor, teaching me to be a man and do manly things. But in every activity he lived, Coram Deo - before the face of God. Although he was a sinner, he was no hypocrite and so God and the Bible were very much a part of my life every day. 

There are negatives to being a pastor’s son, let’s call them, sacrifices. 

For starters, you can count on leaving church last after every service. Other kids cant imagine this. For them, after the benediction its tea time and then home time. Most PK’s on the other hand, know well what the church looks like in the dark, with no one else in it and how to lock it up.

A second negative is a lack of privacy and quiet. A minister’s home is a constant buzz of activity. The question after church on a sunday is not, “What are we having for lunch?” Its, “Who are we having for lunch?”

In addition, as I have already mentioned, during the week people come over for dinner and counselling, there may be a bible study on a Wednesday night, and certainly in my house, we entertained a multitude of missionaries. 

This is not all negative, but I will get to that later. 

A third negative is the scrutiny of others - people expect more of PKs as far as behaviour is concerned. People expect that you know the Scriptures better than other children your age and if you think you can remain anonymous, think again because everyone knows the PKs. 

A fourth negative is not one that is exclusive to PKs, nor is it actually negative. As a PK you have a lot of rules from your parents - they’re strict and consistent. As you speak to non-christian friends, a growing feeling that you are getting the raw end of the deal with your parents begins to fester. You realise that you’re the only one who cant play sport on Sunday, or watch a particular movie with your friends or take part in certain activities. A lot of this doesn’t seem to make sense or be fair. 

A fifth negative is that people will ask you whether you are going to be a preacher like your dad so many times that you eventually begin to feel guilty that you don want to be one. I have never had a desire, or felt a call to the ministry but I often felt like I was disappointing people (not my parents) by saying so. 

A sixth negative for me was that when I was converted, I didn’t have a dramatic, Damascus -Road experience like so many other Christians. Having been brought up in a christian home, my behaviour was always quite good. It was my mind, and my heart that showed my need of a saviour. This meant that I struggled with assurance of salvation for years. I still cant tell you when I was saved. I know it was around the end of primary school but for me it was a process, with no fireworks or 180° turnaround. It took a lot of prayer and wrestling before God made me comfortable with the way I had been converted. I thank God for His grace in saving me from the rebellious childhood experienced by so many other PKs.

Lastly, your life can change dramatically in a short space of time should your dad be called to another church. It means, saying goodbye to your friends, packing up, leaving school and starting again somewhere else. I only had to do this once but it wasn’t easy. 

On the other hand, there are many many positives to being a PK, and in my opinion, they far outweigh the negatives. In fact, I found that as I grew up, came to know Jesus and got a new heart, I came to see many of the negatives as positives. 

The most obvious positive is being exposed to the Truth so often. I know that I am speaking from a human perspective when I say this, but I am sure that I would never have been saved if I had not been exposed to the Word so often and been able to ask questions of my dad whenever I couldn’t understand something. In coming to understand the sovereignty of God, I still marvel at the fact that He caused me to be born into the family that He did, rather than into some Muslim family in Saudi Arabia, where I never would have heard the Truth. 

Another positive is that, as per people’s expectations, you do actually know your bible and doctrine better than other kids your age, or at least that was my experience. Many other people are saved in arminian churches and then go through a long period of battle when they are exposed to the Doctrines of Grace and the rest of reformed theology. I never had that - I grew up believing in things such as God’s sovereignty, man’s sinfulness, election, particular atonement and perseverance of the saints. As I grew in my knowledge of the Scriptures, these things were just confirmed. 

You are forced into ministry life. By that I mean that you are at church so often, you naturally become involved with ministry yourself. You learn what it is to serve, and to give of yourself for others. You have the example of your parents to model this for your too. 

You are saved from, “Pastor worship” by seeing first-hand that preachers are mere men and not supersaints. You view other preachers as worthy of honour, yes, but as fellow Christians on the road of sanctification, and this removes fear. 

As a PK, you are exposed to many other churches - your dad is asked to preach at neighbouring churches and you get to make new friends and see what the state of the Church is in your country. It saves you from thinking that your church is the only one that has ‘got it right.’

You get to meet many interesting people and hear amazing stories of how God is real and active now, just as he has been in history. 

You get the chance to start again - moving to another church is a big upheaval in your life, but I enjoyed the chance to recommit myself to being different for the sake of Christ, and establishing a reputation as one of his disciples. 

I have lived in a pastor’s home now for 19 years (not counting my dad’s 4 years in seminary) and as I look forward to being married at the end of this year, leaving this pastor’s home, and starting one of my own I have come to appreciate the years I spent being a PK. There are unique sacrifices that a PK has to make but there are also so many blessings. I am moving into a chapter of my life where people will not know me as a PK, I’ll just be Anton, but I will always treasure my childhood spent in a pastor’s home and the lessons I learnt there.