A Decade Later: What My Father’s Retirement Taught Me About Ministry

Ten years ago, I sat in an audience filled with gratitude, pride, and bittersweet joy as my dad gave his final address as Superintendent to the Iowa Yearly Meeting. It was the closing chapter of 36 years in ministry—twelve of which he spent traveling from church to church, supporting pastors and congregations across the region, and seventeen pastoring faithfully at LeGrand Friends Church. That night marked the end of a long and faithful season for him… and the beginning of a new one, as he transitioned to teaching Religion part-time at William Penn University.

I remember watching him in his element that evening—delivering a message on leadership with clarity, humility, and strength. My heart boasted, not with pride in a human sense, but in deep admiration for the consistency of a man who walked the long road of ministry with integrity. His words were powerful, his exit sermon fitting. But there was one thing missing—a brief but meaningful honorable mention that came later, thanks to Berny McDonald—that deserves to be expanded upon, even now, a decade later.

Because behind that intelligent, faithful, steady man… was my mother.

As the years have passed, and especially as my husband and I prepare to end our own 12-year tenure as lead pastors at the end of this year, the truth of her quiet strength resounds even louder.

My mother is the kind of woman who made a pastor’s salary stretch to make a home feel like a million dollars. The kind who kept things running smoothly while my dad traveled to conferences, attended late-night meetings, and answered crisis calls. Laundry was always done. Meals were always prepared. The home was peaceful and beautiful—not because of money, but because of her creativity and diligence. She didn’t need recognition or a plaque. She just needed her husband to be able to do what he was called to do, without worrying about what was happening at home.

As a pastor’s kid, I saw it. As a pastor’s wife now, I feel it.

And now, ten years later, standing at the edge of our own pastoral transition, I understand more than ever the cost—and the reward—of ministry life. I understand the exhaustion, the second-guessing, the high of Sunday and the crash of Monday. I understand the sacred burden of preparing another sermon just days after pouring your heart into the last one. I understand what it’s like to grieve a family’s departure from the church like a death, to ache when others ache, to feel misunderstood, yet called to remain steady. I understand the tension of living in a glass house—where authenticity is demanded, but perfection often expected.

I understand what it means to support a spouse in ministry. To juggle children and chores, emotions and expectations. To skip meetings not because of disinterest, but because someone has to hold things down at home. I’m not yet at the level of homemaking my mother modeled—but her example inspires me to keep aspiring.

I wrote then what I still believe now:

“Dear church… love your pastors.”

Love them in word and deed. Encourage them more than you criticize. Hold them accountable, but do it with grace. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Understand that when members of the congregation are hurting, they are hurting too. They carry not only the weight of their personal lives, but the spiritual weight of many others.

Ask them how you can help. Not just on Sundays, but in the day-to-day. Help them create margin, so they can focus on what matters most—shepherding the flock God has entrusted to them.

And please, love your pastor’s wife.

She may not be as visible. She may not speak from the pulpit. But chances are, she is quietly bearing more than you know. She is listening, praying, supporting, protecting, and doing her best to make sure her husband can lead with clarity and peace.

Let’s not wait until Pastor Appreciation Month to say thank you. Let’s not wait until the farewell dinner to express our gratitude.

Because while the sacrifices of ministry are many—the rewards are even greater.

And as I look back on the example of my parents, and ahead to our own next chapter, I remain grateful. Grateful for the ones who’ve gone before us. Grateful for the ones still in it. And grateful for the grace of Jesus that sustains every leader—seen and unseen—along the way.