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Musings of a Maraschino Cherry

Chapter 7

Together in Ministry

By Peggy Musgrove

Cherry blossoms grow on the spurs of the tree like ministry grows out of relationships. Until a relationship is established, very little ministry occurs. My most important relationship was that with my husband. In a ministerial marriage, this relationship is extremely important and must be constantly nurtured.

Our relationship began in college days on a very light note. Derald was the most fun guy I had ever known. Being with him was a delight. However, he began thinking seriously about “us” long before I did. In fact, I nearly destroyed the relationship early on, when he started getting serious and I told him I was just going out with him for laughs. That was our first conflict to resolve, but there were others.

As our marriage progressed, I was always amazed that the guy I was drawn to for fun in my carefree college days developed into such a capable minister who understood the ministry intuitively. I continued to love him for what he became, even though he was different from what he was when I met him. But I had changed too, from a rather shy, unsure-of-myself college student to a more inwardly confident minister’s wife. We were both growing personally and growing together in ministry.

While we were both growing, that is not to imply we were exactly alike. In fact, in many ways we were exact opposites. Thankfully, being together in ministry is not dependent upon having the same personalities or we would have been in serious trouble. I am an early riser; he is a night owl. We don’t have the same understanding of the word “warm” when it is time to set the thermostat. I like a structured life with organization and planning. Derald is more spontaneous, enjoying serendipitous discoveries. When we take vacations, I like to schedule our stops ahead; he likes to take his chances.

These basic differences in our personalities played themselves out in the way we spent our time and money, and in our approach to ministry. The differences could have been catastrophic to both our marriage and our ministry had we not learned early on the principle of accepting each other with appreciation for our differences.

This principle is based, first of all, in the understanding in this area of life that there is no “right” way to be. There are times for organization and planning; there are times for spontaneity. To live and work together, we would have to understand and value our differences.

What Can Be Changed

We had to learn to change our expectations of the other person, rather than try to change performance. I could not expect Derald to be like me any more than he could expect me to be like him. I had to learn what he meant when he called from the office to say he was coming home. For me, that would have meant, “I’ll take the shortest route and be there in 15 minutes.” For him, that just meant he was leaving the office. He would take one of many routes home, usually different from the day before. He would make many stops on the way (always important) but he eventually would be home. I learned to expect that and gave up trying to change him. When we changed our expectations of each other, rather than trying to change each other’s performance, we developed a good working relationship and had much more understanding in our marriage.

Being together in ministry does not always mean being physically together in the same place. As demands on our time and schedules increased, often we could not be at the same place at the same time. This particularly became true when Derald went into district ministry which demanded a great deal of travel. The difference from the tense day that I didn’t go with him earlier in our marriage was that now we knew we had a commitment to each other and the ministry. If ministry required us to be separated from each other, we could handle it.

I once read the story of Father Damien, who ministered to lepers in Hawaii in the late 19^th century. Separated from his family in Europe, he longed to see them, but wrote: “We are held together by the tender love we have for each other.” This, I knew, was what held Derald and me together in ministry—not only our love for each other, but also our love for the Lord and His Church. We were heart and soul together in ministry, even when we were not physically together in the same place.

Together in Purpose

Our togetherness in ministry was based on togetherness in purpose to fulfill the great commission of Jesus to preach the gospel to the whole world. If both of us were to be involved, we each had to find our personal place in ministry. We had to be mutually supportive, our ministries complementing each other, never competing. He had his place of ministry; I had mine.

I remembered my granddad telling stories from the days when plow horses were used on the farm. “Two horses do not necessarily make a team,” he would say. “You can yoke two horses together, but they have to become used to working with each other to know how to pull a load.” I didn’t particularly like being compared to a horse, but remembering what my granddad said helped me to understand our adjustments, not only in marriage but also in a working relationship.

Understanding Derald’s place was relatively easy. He was senior pastor, a challenging position, but clearly defined. My place of ministry was not so easy to find, though I tried a lot of things during our early years of ministry. A mediocre musician, I played either the piano or organ if the good musicians were not there. I even put a choir together for a while in one church. I tried my hand at directing children’s programs, and vacation Bible school, sponsoring youth and women’s groups, and occasionally pinch-hitting in the church office. If it needed doing, and no one else was available, I would give it a try. It took me awhile to hit my stride, to find that ministry that was uniquely mine.

One day, Derald received a phone call. A teacher was needed for the young adult Sunday school class. “You can do it,” Derald said. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. “You can teach an adult Sunday school class. We really need you.” We had been in the ministry five years and this was one thing I had not tried. Standing before kids was one thing; standing before adults was another. But because Derald believed in me, and I was needed, I would give it a try. Hopefully it would be for just a few Sundays until a regular teacher could be found.

My habit of personally studying the Word of God served me in good stead. All week I studied the lesson, looking up references, making notes in the margin of the quarterly, thinking up questions and answers. I loved every minute of it and tried not to listen to my shy nature which kept reminding me that I would have to stand in front of people. “I can do this,” I told myself.

But studying at home was not the same as facing the class. It was a small class, 30 or 40 members at the most, and all of them my friends. As I stood before them, my body betrayed me. I had almost convinced my knees not to buckle when my stomach rebelled. Instead of lying calmly in my insides, like a well-behaved stomach should do at Sunday school, it tightened up like a fist ready for a fight. With clammy hands I reached for my notes. I tried to begin teaching but my voice joined the rebellion, making unfamiliar thin and quivery sounds because for some reason I couldn’t breathe. “Has anyone ever died of fright while standing in front of a Sunday school class?” I wondered. If I did, at least I had my church clothes on, and Derald wouldn’t have to wonder what to bury me in.

“You can do it, you can do it, you can do it.” Derald’s words rang over and over in my mind as I tried to start the lesson—a lesson on faith from Hebrews 11. Gradually, my mind focused on what I was saying, rather than on the scared person who was saying it. I took a deep breath. My normal voice returned gradually as I was caught up in the joy of sharing the wonders of God’s Word. “Through faith they subdued kingdoms,” I was saying audibly. My stomach relaxed. My knees stopped shaking. Inside I was saying, “Yes. I can do this. I can teach God’s Word to adults. It’s a matter of faith.”

From that unimpressive beginning came my love for teaching God’s Word to adults. I found my place in ministry, the place I fit. After that, I played the piano a few times, even did some children’s things, but my true love was always teaching Bible classes for adults. Derald had his place, now I knew I had found mine. We understood each other in our marriage relationship. We were “laborers together” in ministry. And that ministry was in full bloom.

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