A while back our next door neighbor rang our doorbell around ten o’clock at night. We generally don’t have visitors that late, much less unexpected. My husband opened the door. Our neighbor quickly told my husband his cat had been ran over, and wondered if he could borrow a shovel to bury the animal in his backyard. My husband complied, and as far as we know the dead cat rests peacefully in our neighbor’s backyard. my guess would be it’s illegal to bury an animal in the city limits of Lexington, Kentucky, in which we reside. But, I didn’t call the authorities and report them. At least not this time. . . . .
Our family has lived on Lansill Road for almost six years now. It’s been colorful to say the least. The residents of the above mentioned house have changed three or four times since we moved in, and they never cease to surprise us in their behaviors. But, before we get into that, I suppose I should explain how we got here. Really, there’s a story behind how everyone arrived where they’re at today. Where you live is a composite of your life leading up to the point. So, I’ll do my best to detail that.
Our arrival on Lansill Road happened via quite a few stops along the way. I don’t feel compelled to explain each of them now, but I’ll say this: We moved to Lansill Road in Lexington, Kentucky, because my husband Chip accepted a pastorate at a Lexington church. Therefore, we (as in me, my husband and two kids) became the pastor’s family. Ergo, I became the pastor’s wife. Interestingly, people introduced me as a pastor’s wife, or the pastor’s wife, or Chip’s wife, even outside the church walls – at my job, at the places I volunteered, etc. Well, my husband resigned and left his job as pastor at the end of August. So, after 5 plus years, I’m now a wife (no preface) or I suppose you could say ex-pastor’s wife, but not ex-wife! Incidently, during his job transition time, my husband worked briefly at Kroger. No one introduced me as the Kroger stocker’s wife.
Besides the whole wife title situation, I recently became a new type of mother. I transitioned from elementary mom and middle school mom to high school and middle school mom. Now I’m a band parent, as in high school marching band which constitutes a new lifestyle. I’m four short years away from college mom and one of the those bumper stickers: My son and money go to ______________.
So at this point I feel I must say, “Pardon my mess, I’m reidentifying myself.” People talk often about identity theft. My identity hasn’t been stolen. I’ve heard of going through an identity crisis. I’m not in crisis mode (yet!). But my identity has changed. And that can be a bit frightening. Roles I’d become accustomed to are no longer an option. Little League games, grade school chorus concerts, and kids’ menus at restaurants are behind me. Sitting on the second pew and listening to my husband preach isn’t part of my Sunday routine right now. It might never be again. These things mean we’re progressing on, growing older, following what we hope and pray is God’s plan. But they also mean change and looking ahead. And they mean that I have the opportunity to reidentify. And opportunity beats the alternative.