The Pastor's Wife

Ellen didn't seem to fit the mold. Perhaps I was being stereotypical. Probably it was because I'd really only known one other person who was married to a minister. Millicent had been a plump little woman who attempted dressing like June Cleaver but couldn't even pull off that much fashion expertise. Instead she came off like a cross between Dorothy from TheWizard of Oz and Shirley from Laverne and Shirley. A permanent vague look graced her face and her songbird voice was closer to crow than red-winged blackbird. A kind woman, I sometimes wondered if she was kind only because she didn't know any better.

When the new pastor came I gave very little thought to what Mrs. Pastor might be like. After about a month I found myself intrigued by the fact that she wasn't heading up the committee to tie red bows and dead branches around everything in the church at Christmas time. Nor was she involved with the bunch rolling white strips of torn sheets from deceased parishioner's linen closets into White Cross bandages. How peculiar. I began to wonder what Mrs. Pastor might be like.

I was, in fact, pleasantly surprised. Mrs. Pastor has a mind of her own. She is attractive, sophisticated, intelligent, and fun to be around. She is not Mr. Pastor's marionette. She does not drivel. A classy lady who speaks her mind in a kind, yet direct manner, she will undoubtedly prove to be an invaluable addition to our congregation, if she's not cast under the spell of the "Circle Ladies".

The "Circle Ladies"-a bit round themselves, consider themselves to be the pillars within our little congregation. And don't get me wrong-they do good things. But not everyone has time to attend four meetings in one week where the agenda involves discussing whether to serve creamed potatoes or white rice at the church supper. And I'm an avid supporter of charities, but write a darned check! Who needs to spend nine hours crocheting doilies, only to sell them at a quarter a piece, when the yarn cost $5.50? It doesn't quite add up. I know their hearts are in the right place, but the old girls need to understand that the rest of the world doesn't have that kind of free time. I think Mrs. Pastor understands.

A few weeks ago I volunteered to serve a meal for a church function. I convinced myself that doing this job would show consideration and compassion for the Indian children the proceeds would benefit. I donned my floral apron, took a deep breath, and found myself instantly transported to a world where flambe means fire in the oven. Haute cuisine means red jello with whipped topping. And delectable dessert means-well, red jello with whipped topping.

When the meal was nearly finished, and the pastor was winding down his program in a meeting room, I was instructed by the head "Circle Lady" to phone Mrs. Pastor at home and inform her it was time to eat.

"Hello."

"Hi, Ellen. I'm supposed to let you know that the crusted salmon loaf with gravy, peas, and creamed potatoes are ready to be served."

"Oh?"

"Yes, the "Circle Ladies" are certain you want to fly right down here and eat."

"Well, um, my dishwasher is running and I don't like to leave the house with the appliances on."

"Gotcha."

Upon re-entering the kitchen, I was immediately questioned about Mrs. Pastor's whereabouts.

"Is she on her way?"

"How many peas do you think we should put on her plate?"

"Give her extra red jello with whipped topping."

"She's not coming."

Silence.

"What do you mean she's not coming?"

"She's not coming. She's staying home."

"But she has to come."

"Why wouldn't she come?"

"I can't believe she's not coming."

If "Circle Ladies" were dominoes, they'd have toppled in a row. One after another they exchanged glances of complete and utter disbelief.

"She's really not coming?"

"Really."

And so began the little whispers and rumors one might expect from "Circle Ladies".

"I really thought she'd support everything her husband does."

"Can you imagine not coming for the Indian Child supper?"

I secretly wanted to rush to the Parsonage and pat Mrs. Pastor on the back-thank her for being her own person, and warn her of the perils of crusted salmon loaf.

In time I'm sure she'll quell the myth that pastor's wives are mere extensions of their husbands. As a successful real estate agent, she will undoubtedly miss more than a few Indian Child suppers with red jello. And that's just fine. In fact I think it's a wonderful thing. In addition to preserving her gastro-intestinal tract, she'll help to shatter the image of the stereotypical pastor's wife that's firmly engrained in the minds of the "Circle Ladies".

Now...if only she could convince them to try a different dessert.