I vs. the church

No one understands how much of a struggle the fellowship of the brethren can be like one whose parents have committed to serve there. For me, service and sacrifice did not begin when my father became a pastor. I was born into sacrifice and service.

To do as you are told and wear a smile on your face regardless every Sunday morning. To be the brightest child in children church. Heaven helps you, you go blank while reciting your memory verse.

There was a mode of conduct. You got into church wearing the dress mummy picked. Maybe she’d let you Pick your shoe. Greet everybody with a smile and you dare not cry that your lace outfit is uncomfortable. You must keep quiet during service even if there’s a prophesy going on and eight year old you can not relate.

I think as a kid,I loved church. Regardless of the million rules, I loved church. I got to see my friends, showcase how smart I was and wear a nice dress even if I hated it. Children church was cruel. You had to do as you were told and be pushed around by older women. If you misbehaved, any older woman could smack your ass and best pray your mum never heard of it.

All this and my father was not even a pastor. I remember sitting in the stuffy pastor’s office that blessed afternoon with my siblings, being asked “How do you feel about your father becoming a pastor?” I could never have said no even if I ever felt that way because I could not be the one against my father’s commitment.

Now, many years after, I have perfected the art of service and sacrifice. The dress could be nice but if it’d get people talking, it should not be worn to church. Daddy and mummy may have no issues with it but if it appears too buoyant, it should not be worn to church. The rules are simple. Dress so you raise no eyebrows, act like you were born to serve them.

Regardless, I have no beef with the church. It is just an aspect of my life. I have learnt to exist beyond the church. To have a personality beyond “pastor’s daughter” and to understand that even if you dissolve yourself, people can never be satisfied. So while you are being yourself, spice it up with a little “Do not raise eyebrows”.

For every off shoulder I can’t wear on Sundays, every ring I can not wear on Sundays so my rings are not too many on my fingers, every Trouser hidden behind other clothes, every smile covering my eye rolls and every time I’ve shouted “What the fuck?!” In my head while saying “no problem”.

Again, I have no problem being the pastor’s kid. Years later, I still like the church. As a teenager, I didn’t. I had to wear a mask everytime I came home from school. The pastor’s daughter mask. But as I’ve grown, I’ve dropped it. I’ve learnt to divide myself into sections. Maybe it is not healthy but it’s my coping mechanism and has worked so far.

You see me in church, even if the attitude remains almost the same, the outfit may not. Or may. In doing all this for years, I learnt so much even when I was not aware I was learning. Somewhere in there, I also found Christ myself. Sometimes, people say “you don’t act like a pastor’s child”. I like to believe it’s because outside church, I am Ayo. An Architect. Or whatever I need to be in that moment.

I vs the church, I won. Service and sacrifice, my perfect mask until it became a lifestyle.

If you’re a preacher’s kid, you see the church differently — Andy Stanley