Matthew 21:1-11

“The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

                        ‘Hosanna to the Son of David!

                                    Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!

                        Hosanna in the highest heaven!’”

I was admitted to the hospital in the wee hours of Palm Sunday in 1987.  It was determined that I was miscarrying what was my first pregnancy, and I would need a D&C before I could go home. This was no ordinary pregnancy.  It came after many tests and procedures, and two surgeries. 

My response to the loss surprised me. It was similar to Job’s response to his many losses: “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”  My thoughts weren’t as poetic, but even in my hospital bed I remember thinking that this experience would help me empathize with other women who experience the loss of a child. 

I still cried, and I wanted my mom, and as I lay in that hospital bed during the worship hour that Sunday morning, I wanted a palm branch.  Of course, our pastor wasn’t able to come to the hospital because he was leading worship that morning.  I understood, but I still wanted to be a part of the story.  I wanted to wave my branch and say with the crowd, “Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!”  It makes a lot more sense when you realize that “Hosanna” in Hebrew is an invocation addressed to God, meaning, “O save!”  O save me God!  Save me from my heartache, save me from my barrenness, save me from my self-pity! 

We think of Palm Sunday as a triumphant day, but Matthew’s gospel tells us that Jerusalem “was in turmoil,” much like my hormones that Sunday morning.  So, in that way, I was a part of the story after all.  My pastor called that afternoon, after we got home from the hospital, and asked if he could bring us anything.  He brought us some food–and a leftover palm. 

A Palm Sunday doesn’t go by that I don’t remember that day and its turmoil.  And as we approach Good Friday, I have a small glimmer of insight into Mary’s loss as she watched her son die on the cross.  What was true then is true now. Jesus comes boldly into the midst of our turmoil and we cry out, “Save us, Jesus!  Blessed are you!  Save us, God!  Amen.”

Virginia Ross Taylor was the first woman pastor of Lystra Baptist Church in Chapel Hill, NC and currently serves as a freelance minister.  She has a Master of Divinity from Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, CA.  She and her husband, Ralph are the parents of one grown daughter, Grace, who is in graduate school.

Recently one of my students was sharing her frustration of how she was never able to measure up to her pastor’s example. “He is doing so much to advance God’s Kingdom” she said, “and I want to be like him but I always end up lacking.” In addition to her frustration, I perceived also a sense of guilt/failure.

“Why do you think that this is happening?” I asked her. She replied: “There is not enough time and energy to do everything. I am a student, I also work, I am a wife and a mom, and I do ministry in my church.” “Look at all these things that you are doing,” I said. “I wonder if your pastor has someone who is cooking and cleaning for him, washing his clothes, and raising his kids.” “Most likely,” she replied. (Story used with the student’s permission).

The Forbes list of the nine toughest leadership roles places a holy leader/pastor in fifth place and a stay home parent in first place. (http://www.forbes.com/sites/robasghar/2014/02/25/ranking-the-9-toughest-leadership-roles/).

While there are different levels and combinations of these roles, the fact is that being a mother and a minister is not easy.

All this led me to remember Julie M. Hopkins’ book Towards a Feminist Christology: Jesus of Nazareth, European Women, and the Christological Crisis. Hopkins discusses how in the name of Christ and in order to follow his example women ministers are pressured by the church and society, to offer themselves as living sacrifices by following a path of self-exploitation and self-denial.

During this season of Lent, Christians remember Jesus’ life, sacrifice, and resurrection. While this week’s readings talk about God’s miracles of life as dry bones come alive again (Ezekiel 37:1-14) and Jesus raises Lazarus (John 11:1-45), the readings for next week talk about Jesus’ humility (Philippians 2:5-11) and sacrifice (Matthew 26:14-27:66). The Bible speaks a great deal about Jesus’ sacrifice. Hebrews affirms that his sacrifice was perfect because he represented both the priest and the offering. Furthermore, since Jesus’ sacrifice was perfect, there is no need for more living sacrifices (Hebrews 9:11-14, 24-28).

So, when the Bible talks about sacrifices, what does that mean for us today? The scriptures talk about offering spiritual sacrifices that are acceptable to God, such as proclamation of the mighty works of Christ through holy and abundant lives (I Peter 2:4-5, 9) as well as spiritual sacrifices of praise and good deeds (Hebrews 13:15-16).

Unquestionably, I can affirm that women are excellent at offering spiritual sacrifices of good deeds. Our churches are full of women who are doing good deeds regardless of their position, payment, or recognition. However, are women proclaiming Christ through abundant and joyful lives? Do ministers and moms reflect lives that are praising God?

As I have observed other women enduring the pressure to offer themselves as living sacrifices, I must confess that I have felt that pressure, too. Sometimes it has come from a combination of society/work/church/family demands, and others from my own imprudent decisions/choices. As a Latina woman who represents two minorities, I am often asked to do additional things on top of the ones that I already do in my home, church, and university. And to be honest, if I am not careful I can also easily end up as a living sacrifice.

Throughout the years I have discovered some valuable pieces of wisdom in order to avoid this situation. One day I realized that in my vocation, the more that I do, the better that I am perceived, and the more that is expected of me–and that workaholism (under the name of committed/passionate ministry) is highly praised.

So, realizing these (mis)understandings, I need to:

1) Stay close to God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit through appropriate spiritual practices.

2) Constantly remind myself that if I do not take care of myself, nobody will do it. As ministers and moms we are expected to take care of everybody. Without proper care, this path will eventually lead to burn out.

3) Recognize my limitations, establish healthy boundaries, and honor them.

4) Learn to wisely say “no.”

5) Establish a waiting period before I accept/reject an invitation. As I wait, I ask myself: why am I doing this? Is it because it feeds my ego? Am I really making a contribution? Are people inviting me because I represent two minorities, or do they really want to hear what I have to say? Is this something that God is calling me to do?

6) Get to know myself. What do I need to make it through the day/ week/month? How much sleep do I need to function well? As an introvert, what alone spaces do I need to schedule during a given day? What do I want and don’t want? What makes me excited? What drains me?

7) Recognize that there are different seasons in life, and that some are more demanding than others. I remember experiencing more time and energy limitations when my kids were little. The key is to be able to discern, following God’s wisdom, the right priorities for each stage of life.

8) Avoid a Messiah complex. I need to remember that I am not Jesus the Savior. I am only a collaborator in his work. Thus, he is the one who needs to be (and is) present/active all the time, not me.

Following this line of thought, I need to remember also that since Jesus offered the perfect sacrifice, there is no need for any more living sacrifices. I do not do any good by allowing myself to be one.

Thus, when my bones are drying out and I find myself close to being a living sacrifice, I need to ask God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit to redirect my life again, as I reevaluate my priorities and commitments. In a world oppressed by violence and hopelessness, an abundant, joyful, balanced life is the best witness that I/we can give to the power of new life and resurrection in Jesus. Amen!

Dr. Nora O. Lozano is the proud mother of Andrea and Eric. She is Professor of Theological Studies at Baptist University of the Américas, and co-founder and co-director of the Latina Leadership Institute. Lozano holds an M.Div., an M.Phil., and a Ph.D. in Theological and Religious Studies. She is a member of the BWA Commission on Doctrine and Christian Unity, and attends Woodland Baptist Church in San Antonio, TX, where she lives with her family.

1 Samuel 16:1, 11-13

The Lord said to Samuel, “How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.”

So he asked Jesse, “Are these all the sons you have?” “There is still the youngest,” Jesse answered, “but he is tending the sheep.” Samuel said, “Send for him; we will not sit down until he arrives.” So he sent and had him brought in. He was ruddy, with a fine appearance and handsome features. Then the Lord said, “Rise and anoint him; he is the one.” So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the presence of his brothers, and from that day on the Spirit of the Lord came upon David in power. Samuel then went to Ramah.

In the story of David’s anointing, one of the first things that stands out is outward appearance versus looking at the heart. However the beginning of the story focuses on Samuel’s grief and God’s call to hope.

When Samuel anointed Saul, he hoped and expected Saul to be used by God in the blessing of the people. The people of Israel had great hopes for Saul and the kingdom when he was anointed king. But all of these were destroyed when Saul rejected God and was rejected by God. Saul was no longer the leader in whom the people could place their hopes. He had a dark spirit hovering over him and now the spirit of God had departed from Saul.

Samuel was in grief. He felt broken by this broken dream. But God brought hope through David, a shepherd of Bethlehem who became the symbol of hope, light and joy. David became the promise of a good King and a future kingdom. Through his story David provided a glimpse at a future King, the King of all kings, a future shepherd, the Good shepherd, also from Bethlehem, who would bring hope of life beyond death.

A couple of years ago, I met a young girl expecting her first baby. Sadly, the baby was diagnosed with anencephaly, the absence of major portions of the fetus’ brain, skull and scalp. The mother was informed that her baby could die in her womb, during labor or die shortly after birth. This was so hard for her to hear–I can’t imagine knowing the baby in one’s womb will not survive.

But this young woman’s strength and hope beyond her circumstance taught me so much about being a mother. Her words of hope have stayed with me since: “as long as she is in my womb, she is alive and I will give her life for as long as I can, because every living being lives with purpose and her purpose was to make me ‘Mom.’” She carried the baby through almost the entire forty weeks of pregnancy and then went into labor. Her baby was born and died shortly after birth.

Though this young woman didn’t get to change a diaper or dress her baby or regret her discipline choices, she became a mother. She sacrificed for her daughter beyond any instant gratification in return. Yes, she cried and yes, it hurt. But the kind of light that glowed in her destroyed any kind of darkness that surrounded her. As in the story of David’s anointing, God did not change the situation, but provided hope beyond the circumstance.

David, the young shepherd anointed king, wrote the song recorded in Psalm 23 which we can imagine the people of Israel singing in exile, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff they comfort me.” In the past they had experienced hope beyond their deepest darkness. At times, the relationship between the people of Israel and God resembled a strong-willed child fighting to pull out of her mother’s strong hold. Over and over, God demonstrated the patience of a mother who repeats the same thing 20 times before her child listens, who forgives every time, but also fulfills the consequences that come after disobedience. Over and over, God also showed the love of a mother who hugs and holds her child on that dark night when she has the scariest nightmare.

The fourth week of Lent begins with Laetare Sunday, the Sunday of Joy. Lent is a season of penance and prayer in reflection of God’s death, but the fourth Sunday is a time of rejoicing in the hope found beyond the cross and death. Laetare Sunday, is also known as the Mothering Sunday, when many people many attend their mother’s church or go home and visit their mothers. Isaiah 66:10-13 says:
“Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all you who love her;
rejoice greatly with her, all you who mourn over her. For you will
nurse and be satisfied at her comforting breasts; you will drink
deeply and delight in her overflowing abundance. For this is what
the Lord says: I will extend peace to her like a river and the wealth
of nations like a flooding stream; you will nurse and be carried on
her arm and dandled on her knees. As a mother comforts her child,
so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted over Jerusalem.”

What a symbol of comfort, joy and light!

As ministering mothers, we mother not only our children, but all whom God brings to our care as mothers. At times, we have become the strong arms holding someone through the darkness, the voice of God bringing affirmation and the comforting presence when words can’t bring the comfort needed. God is reflected in the mother fighting alongside her cancer-stricken child, the single mother fulfilling two roles for her children or the pastor who loves and accepts a child of God who shares those things he wishes no one would ever know.

Mothers, you carry the image of God. You are not called into ministry despite being a mother–God made you a mother to be the minister you are right now. Rejoice because there is hope beyond darkness and you, my sister, are a symbol of that hope.

Griselda Escobar serves as chaplain at Christus Spohn South Hospital, Corpus Christi, Texas. She has a Bachelors of Biblical and Theological Studies from the Baptist University of the Americas, a Masters of Divinity from Logsdon Seminary and did Clinical Pastoral Education at Trinity Mother Frances Hospital. Griselda is a recipient of the Addie Davis Award from Baptist Women in Ministry for leadership in Pastoral Care. She is married and has a seven-year old son.

“Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon.”
John 4:6
Much have I learned from the laundry pile of my life! There are tasks, circumstances and sometimes people that simply wear us out. At times they pile up around us like a huge mound of laundry begging to be tended and tamed. They are the circumstances that call to be sorted, to be mended, to be refreshed and pressed until they shine like new. The thing about laundry (and about so much of what we do in a life) is that it is NEVER done, NEVER complete and NEVER all there is to do.

Jesus must have known a laundry moment on that day when he found himself at Jacob’s well. He was tired. Tired from his journey and perhaps tired from his work. He had just come from the Judean countryside where his disciples and John the Baptist had been teaching and baptizing. The gospel writer tells us that Jesus had figured out that the Pharisees were keeping score! They had a running tally of John’s baptisms and those of Jesus’s disciples. They had pitted Jesus and John as rivals and were placing Jesus ahead in the race.

In the midst of preaching and teaching about the newness of life in God and being born again into wholeness, there are those that press Jesus back into the old molds. Jesus finds his work being misinterpreted, weighed against that of another, burying the newness at the bottom of a laundry pile of tension and invented rivalry.

Laundry moments in life sometimes call us to a complete change of venue! They call us to leave Judea for Galilee and take a moment to catch our breath, to recalibrate our vision, to recharge our physical and spiritual reserves. Funny though, the recharge doesn’t always look like what we expect.

Jesus sits down for a breather and instead of rest, he is pulled into an encounter with another. He meets a fellow traveler and a most unlikely kindred spirit in the woman at Jacob’s well and shares a deep moment of connection with her. He recognizes her not as one whose shortcomings have caused her difficulties, but as a woman (often misinterpreted and misunderstood) who has moved from one difficult circumstance to another. He recognizes in her a weary traveler longing to be renewed.

In the encounter, both Jesus and the woman find themselves transformed. The woman leaves telling others how she has been changed. Jesus stays. He finds himself fed, strengthened and sustained by the serendipitous work God has provided and perhaps in the company he found along the way.

May our laundry moments call us to step away for a moment until we know the bubbling gurgle of living water rising up inside. May they call us to see in the other and in ourselves, the weary traveler longing for renewal. May they pull us from the stuck and stagnant places into the living, moving waters of God’s work in the world. May we find ourselves sustained, renewed and transformed. Amen.

Stacey Buford is a chaplain by trade and a mother by the miracle of adoption. She earned her BA in Religious Education from Samford University and her MDiv at Columbia Theological Seminary. Call has been a driving force leading her down hospital halls, into local pulpits and through doors of non-profit organizations into the broader community. Her husband is Jon Buford and together they are the parents of LeighAnne, Savannah and Will. The Bufords live in middle Tennessee

Psalm 32
1 Blessed is the one whose transgression is forgiven,
    whose sin is covered.
² Blessed is the man against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
    and in whose spirit there is no deceit.

³ For when I kept silent, my bones wasted away
    through my groaning all day long.
⁴ For day and night your hand was heavy upon me;
    my strength was dried up as by the heat of summer. Selah

⁵ I acknowledged my sin to you,
    and I did not cover my iniquity;
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,”
    and you forgave the iniquity of my sin. Selah

⁶ Therefore let everyone who is godly
    offer prayer to you at a time when you may be found;
surely in the rush of great waters,
    they shall not reach him.
⁷ You are a hiding place for me;
    you preserve me from trouble;
    you surround me with shouts of deliverance. Selah

⁸ I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go;
    I will counsel you with my eye upon you.
⁹ Be not like a horse or a mule, without understanding,
    which must be curbed with bit and bridle,
    or it will not stay near you.

¹⁰ Many are the sorrows of the wicked,
    but steadfast love surrounds the one who trusts in the Lord.
¹¹ Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, O righteous,
    and shout for joy, all you upright in heart!

 Straight through the child-rearing years, I was a stay-at-home-mom serving in that ambiguous role as pastor’s wife: no job description, but a wealth of unspoken expectations. I ministered to the congregation by my husband’s side as best I could, and struggled to keep our home as a place of refuge.

 My sons are grown and gone now, and though they both graciously comfort their old mom and dad that we were good parents, I remember the ways in which I often failed them.

Everything we say…  Everything we do…  Everything we don’t do… Makes an impact on our children.

That is a lot of pressure! And for all the people along the way who told me that children are incredibly resilient and will get over our mistakes… You lied! (Think Maggie Smith in Sister Act!)

When you are the mom of adult children, it can be uncomfortable to see in your offspring the habits, weaknesses, and temperaments clearly stamped in your own image. (I must admit that some of them can be fun, though! Both my sons share my love of music and Landry and I like to have jam sessions when he comes home for visits.)

If I could only change one thing about how I raised my kids, it would be to find the time every single day to look into their eyes and say, “You are OK!” But in the midst of childrearing a mom often finds that she exists in a haze of weariness and exasperation. I mean, really, who doesn’t go ballistic when she walks into the bathroom in sock feet to discover two inches of water on the floor!

Where I failed in the lives of my sons, I trust for God’s grace to fill up the empty spaces with His love, His peace, His compassion.

Our younger son, Landry, was born with major heart defects and required multiple heart surgeries and heart caths throughout his childhood. Doug and I did the best we could for both boys, but since Doug was the pastor and only staff member of our church and I spent many hours away while Landry was in the hospital, our older son, Jay, got used to spending time with his Nana or different friends in the church.
Somewhere between Landry’s hospitalizations, I have a foggy memory: Jay was 4 ½, in preschool at a local area church. Doug got off of work for lunch and we decided to take Landry with us to pick up Jay. Moments when we were all together during these early years were rare and always a cause for celebration. We walked into Jay’s preschool classroom and saw that he was in costume. And he was the only student left in the classroom and was helping his teacher vacuum. We had missed the Thanksgiving Play! Jay was thrilled to see us and did not seem disappointed in the least. God bless that teacher; she made a big deal of how he helped her and he was so proud.

I was mortified!

I wish I could say that is the worst mistake we ever made as parents.

When I read the 32^nd Psalm, I think,

“Blessed is the MOM whose transgression is forgiven,
whose sin is covered.
Blessed is the MOM against whom the Lord counts no iniquity,
    and in whose spirit there is no deceit.”

It is necessary to confess our sins to God. The psalmist points out that when he kept his sin a secret, his body wasted away. I think the same thing happens to us when we do not admit our faults to our children. Not some vague, “I know we made a lot of mistakes,” but specifics. When we try to keep some façade of invincibility, of perfection as parents with our children, we forfeit approachability. So early on, Doug and I agreed that we would fess up when we felt we had made a mistake. We apologized to our children if we lost our temper or made an impulsive decision. We asked them to forgive us. The compassion they exhibit toward us now was born in those early absolutions.

God promises to instruct us if we will be still and listen. That includes guidance in the area of balancing motherhood and ministry. We have access to the throne of grace every moment of every day. And honestly, God’s grace does make our children more amazingly resilient than they should be! He surrounds us with his love and covers a multitude of evils. Let us rejoice and be glad in Him!

Becky Brooks Jackson served as a pastor’s wife as well as a volunteer church musician and worship leader for twenty-four years before answering a personal call to ministry. When her husband, Doug, became a professor, Becky went back to school and completed a BA in Music from Texas A&M-Corpus Christi (2010), and an MDiv from Logsdon Seminary (2012). Between those two degrees, she trained and completed her first marathon. Becky serves as the worship leader at Lexington Baptist Church, Corpus Christi, TX. She and her husband Doug have two grown sons, Jay and Landry, and a rescued Bullmastiff named Spurgeon.

Like so many others, I watched last night as the stars of Hollywood paraded down a red carpet to be honored at the Academy Awards. Great praise–and critique–was given to every garment and piece of jewelry chosen for the special occasion. Men and women preened and pranced like peacocks, displaying their beautiful feathers for the world to see. I, of course, offered my own expert opinions on their appearance and demeanor from the safety of my couch.

Once inside, the show spent over three hours celebrating the work of these outstanding individuals, golden statues serving as the mark of excellence. My interest peaked as I listened to acceptance speeches that honored mothers and thanked spouses, listing coworkers and mentors in an attempt to sum up a lifetime of gratitude.

In the midst of all this glitz and glamour I periodically checked in on the Facebook buzz. Among the fashion critique and polls on who would win which award, something caught my eye. It was a picture put out by a popular Christian publishing house calling for the return of God to the Oscars. It claimed that God had only been publicly thanked in acceptance speeches a handful of times over the last ten years, which in the opinion of this group, needed to be rectified. It then prophesied an increase in “faith-based films” as a solution which they would be pursuing.

After seeing this post I began to pay more attention to the acceptance speeches that followed and noted that three of the actors in the last few hours of the show did, indeed, thank God. They publicly called on the name of the Almighty in gratitude for their talent and the opportunities they had been given. I assume this pleased the individuals who published the well-circulated meme, but who knows. Either way, their faith was made public.

As we approach Ash Wednesday we read the words of Matthew 6, “Beware practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them.” Hmmm…

It seems that making your faith public is risky business. Jesus warns against loudly and proudly giving alms and praying so that everyone will sit up and take notice. Rather than flaunting your rumbling stomach as a righteous sacrifice, slap your cheeks and perk up when you fast. Why? Because it doesn’t matter what everyone else sees, hears or thinks. There should be no YouTube replays of your prayers or Joan Rivers there to give her “Fasting Police” report. All the Facebook shares and reTweets may leave you feeling like that treasure chest is overflowing, but is that where your heart belongs?

As I sorted through the day-after social media ranting of last night’s broadcast, I came across another interesting Facebook proclamation. “I relish the chance to publicly wear my faith.” (Referencing the imposition of ashes) The writer went on to say that she planned to receive her ashes early in the morning so that she might wear them throughout her day to work, restaurants, the gym etc. I gathered, based on the lengthy comment section, that she believed that by publicly wearing a sign of her faith she would cause others to be reminded of their own faith, to draw nonbelievers to the faith, or at least bring discomfort to those who opposed her faith. It was her marketing strategy, in a sense, and she looked forward to seeing its fruits.

In my experience, there are always a good number of parishioners who would rather die than go out in public with a black cross smudged on their forehead. Baby wipes are freely passed around post-service and that mark of faith is gone before they hit the parking lot. Others may choose to let the ashes remain, but become uncomfortable when they enter the drug store and cashier offers a curious glance, or even God forbid, a question about their “new look”. All that to say, her anxious excitement over the upcoming opportunity to wear these ashes as a badge of honor and piety got me thinking.

We may not have our Ash Wednesday planned out in terms of how many hot spots we can hit with our newly branded selves, but are we innocent of viewing this yearly ritual as just another step in the dance of piety? If having ashes placed on our foreheads is about “wearing our faith,” about “making God public,” then the question remains, who are we wearing them for?

If you are like me, then you have moments in your day when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and are genuinely surprised, even jolted, by what you see. You didn’t realize your hair looked like Alfalfa or that you had been walking around all day with leftovers from lunch on your shirt. Unless you live in front of the mirror, you can forget from time to time the sight of your own self.

When I catch that glimpse of myself after Wednesday’s service and I see the smudge of black and perhaps even the drip of oil down my nose I see something more than faith or piety or ritual: I see me. I see the mark of my humanity, of a fragile and fleeting life haunted by hurt, prejudice, hatred and sin. I see death, my death. I see the end of everything that I thought mattered most and the desperate longing for something more. It is not pride that wells up in me, but humility. From dust I was born and to dust I shall return. God, help me.

So, who are we wearing these ashes for?

If that cashier at the drugstore asked about our marked up foreheads, I doubt many of us would have the courage to speak to the fragility of our own lives–to admit that what we are wearing is not our faith, but our humanity. In a world that often demands perfection, and promotes a version of Christianity that demands the same, Ash Wednesday gives us the opportunity to wear our imperfections and root around in the soot of our sin.

The gift of Ash Wednesday is the glimpse we catch of ourselves in the mirror of honesty and it calls us to change what we see. Not what the world sees, but what we see. For what we see is exactly what God sees, the nakedness of someone in need of redemption.

Rev. Bailey Edwards Nelson has served on the pastoral staff of congregations throughout the southeast, most recently as Senior Pastor of a congregation in North Carolina. She is a graduate of McAfee School of Theology and Furman University. Bailey holds a deep love for preaching and the creative arts.

Once upon a time, I dreamed of living happily ever after with Prince Charming in a castle filled with love and romance. As I fantasized about finding Mr. Right during my 20-something years, I still managed to maintain a spirit of adventure–focusing on my career as a woman in ministry, going back to school for my Master of Divinity, traveling the world on mission and educational trips, and waiting (sometimes patiently, sometimes not so patiently) for a husband that would partner with me in ministry.

Single life was pretty good most of the time. There was no one or nothing to hold me back from pursuing my dreams. My future fairy tale may or may not have included children—it was something I could’ve lived with or without. I wasn’t really sure being a mom was for me, but if Prince Charming wanted children, his wish was my command.

In early 2010, I was swept off my feet by a man named David, a single father of two children: 12 year old Walker and 4 year old Hope. As soon as I met David, I knew he was the man I would marry, and his handsome character and desire to serve God enchanted me from the beginning. All good fairy tales must have some kind of conflict, and mine was within. I really wasn’t sure that I wanted children anyway; what would it be like to raise someone else’s? What would it be like to shuffle them back and forth from mom’s house to dad’s house? Would they like me? Would they love me? Would they hate me? (You know stepmothers always get a bad rap in the fairy tales!) What would it be like to have an instant family?

If the questions in my mind weren’t already enough, they began to get more complicated as time went by. During our year of courtship, a custody battle for the children reared its ugly head as their mom’s downward spiral continued. Run-ins with social services, drugs, mental illness, incarcerations, relationships with men of criminally-recurrent behavior . . . then her phone calls and supervised visits became less and less.

About three months before I married their dad, Hope and Walker lost all contact with their mom and David received primary custody of both children, much to our relief. Not only was I going to deal with being a stepmom, but I was going to have to learn to be the “real” mom to these two kids. They felt rejected and abandoned by the very woman who gave them life. Would I be up for the challenge? Should I be up for the challenge? Did I even stand a chance of making a difference in their lives? After all, in the usual fairy tales the stepmother was always villainous and wicked.

And villainous and wicked I am at times. Why? Because I insist on home cooked family meals around the dinner table without the television being on. Because I help their dad enforce a regular bed time. Because I allow no video games or play time until all homework was finished. The setting of all these boundaries that children need to understand that they are loved and encouraged occasionally transforms me into the evil stepmother. I have been resented for having high expectations and standards in place that had never been before. I have been tested to see if my loyalty would remain or if I would just walk away when things got difficult. Sometimes, I am even intentionally pushed away for fear of getting TOO close, because they knew that if they didn’t love me too much, then it wouldn’t hurt as bad if I left.

One major challenge of being a stepmom is the search for identity. Professionally, I am identified as a minister. Personally, I am not completely mother, but I am not completely childless either. I am expected to act as a mother, but I have never known what it is like to have a child of my own. I never got to experience all the “firsts” of the children I love: their first word, first step, or their first Christmas; and I wasn’t the first woman to have a child with the man I love. It is tempting to be bitter because I didn’t get to experience the full joy of motherhood—bitter toward my husband, my children, and God—and some days I do give in to the grief of knowing I’m not really their mother. How does one even begin to come to terms with the ambiguity of being a mothering-stepmother, or to comprehend the identity of being a childless-mother-minister? . . .

Having searched for an example of a stepparent in the scriptures, the best I can come up with is Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus. He was essentially asked to be a stepparent, but we really don’t know much about his early years as a father. What was his attachment to Jesus like? I am sure he had feelings of inadequacy, just like any first-time parent would, but was there ever a “wall” there to be a constant reminder that Joseph wasn’t a biological father to Jesus?

When Jesus was “lost” in the temple in Jerusalem, being about his Father’s business in his Father’s house, how did that make Joseph feel? Wasn’t he the father, too? And the father who was worried sick about the whereabouts of his son while he searched for three long days, no less! What was he–chopped liver? Joseph had sacrificed his reputation and better judgment to do what God asked of him, only to be treated as less-of-a-father by Jesus.

I imagine the conversation after the temporary temple crisis could’ve gone one of two ways: “Mary, you’d better handle your son! Who does he think he is, saying he was in his father’s house? Nonsense! Does he have no respect for me? I am the one who feeds and clothes him, and look what he does to remind me that I am not his real father. ”

In the midst of his frustration, did Joseph resent God for making him a parent with no real authority over God’s son? Or perhaps at this moment he truly understood the responsibility that was his: to nurture this God-given child who wasn’t his own, to provide for his earthly needs, to accept the calling God gave to him in a dream; and instead he would’ve said, “We were foolish to worry, of course God would take care of his own son!” (It would be at moments like these I must admit, I would’ve been the evil stepmother that would’ve punished the child for being disrespectful and disobedient, without even thinking what message God would have for me.)

How did Joseph come to terms with being the parent of another’s child? We don’t read much about Jesus’ early years or of Joseph’s parenting years in the scriptures. In the moments of frustration, when he didn’t understand what God was doing, did he cry out and wonder what in the world he had gotten himself into? Did he wonder if God had made a mistake by choosing him to care for Jesus’ earthly needs? Did he even secretly wonder if he should’ve gone ahead and divorced Mary quietly so that his life would have been free of those complications? There are definitely more questions than answers when it comes to Joseph’s stepparenting, so we are left to speculation.

I’m actually a little jealous of him, because Joseph had it fairly easy for a stepparent. After all, he was parenting the sinless Son of God so how hard could it be? And he also got to raise Jesus from the time he was a newborn baby—an innocent, spotless Lamb of God. What about those of us who get a broken hearted, smart-mouthed, angry teenager for a stepchild? At least Joseph had some time to learn patience and to grow in love while he parented the perfect One. I never had that luxury, because I jumped headfirst into a situation so different from what I had ever known and had to learn to be a wife, mother to a teenager, and mother to a preschooler all at the same time.

As a stepparent, it’s important to remember what Joseph likely had to learn: “This is God’s child.” We are but instruments of God’s love and care to God’s child, and God has entrusted us with great responsibility. Not only are we parents asked to nurture and care for the physical and mental needs of the child, but we are more importantly asked to care for their spiritual and emotional needs.

In my situation and so many others, the stepparent is asked to be a healing balm to a troubled child’s heart. Divorce, death, or absence—in every situation that creates the opportunity for a stepparent—a child is left grieving what they’ve lost or what they’ve never known, and a godly stepparent could be the one that steps in and ministers to a hurting, broken family. The other three people who live in my home have been broken and bruised, abandoned and rejected; yet I am called to be the presence of Christ to them through mothering and homemaking.

I am a stepmom. A broken, sinful, clueless, wannabe mother. Yet I am called to point my children on the road from brokenness to wholeness, to trade in ashes of despair for a crown of beauty . . . God can use a stepmother (even if she’s a fairytale-like evil one at times) to intend it all for good.

The above was adapted from Kerrie Clayton Jordan’s essay “Once Upon a Time: The Tale of a Not-So-Wicked Stepmother,” in A Divine Duet: Ministry and Motherhood. (Macon, GA: Smyth & Helwys Publishers, Inc., 2013), available from http://www.helwys.com.

Kerrie Clayton Jordan, originally from Belhaven, NC, is a graduate of East Carolina University and Campbell University Divinity School. She served First Baptist Church in Smithfield, NC, as their Minister of Music and Senior Adults. Her journey as a not-so-wicked stepmother includes her husband David, teenage son, Walker and an imaginative daughter, Hope. Together, they enjoy outdoor activities, movies and all things musical.