Dear Ministry Wives,

I have many things to say to you, and in a not-so-subtle way, to any others who may be reading this.

Thankyou.
Thankyou for the work you do – the seen and the unseen. Hopefully you get thanked plenty for all the seen stuff. But for all the unseen – thankyou. I know you carry sorrows and knowledge that’s been entrusted to you by those that need a safe place to be, including your husband. I know you are sad from much of that, and potentially frustrated too as it’s not always open to you to speak or act in the things you know so I figure you pray a lot so I thank you for that too.

I thank you for the way you support your man. The hours you spend doing things for him that he can’t or forgot and that someone is relying on. Thankyou for letting your day get bumped and reshaped 87 times an hour and somehow keeping on going.

I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for the times I looked through you or past you and didn’t have a clue what was going on for you. I’m sorry if you felt I didn’t want to know you, or I judged you for something. I’m sorry that sometimes in my own busy – I didn’t stop for you.
I’m sorry I assumed you didn’t want to be friends with me either. I’m sorry, so sorry that we missed out on knowing each other well.
I’m sorry for the jokes you’ve sat under from the platform that made you want to run for cover or roll your eyes or hoik a coconut at his head – none of which were appropriate because folks is always looking for your reactions.
I’m sorry for the Sundays you came to church crying. Or having to press the pause button on seeing out a disagreement to conclusion. I’m sorry your own tears get put on hold while he goes and tends to the sorrows of so many others.
I’m super sorry that your kids are always on show. That there rarely seems to be a safe place for them to mess up like every other kid who has ever lived and not been glared at, told off, gossiped about or mmmhmmmed knowingly by the community within and without.
I’m sorry that no matter how much you do, there’s not enough of your person to get to everyone or everything or to their satisfaction.
I’m sorry you get treated like a commodity that others come to for you to fulfil their needs without seeing you. Really seeing you.
I’m sorry that people expect perfection from you in 1000 different flavours of opinion on what perfect is.
I’m so sorry that while your days are filled with people, you, might actually be lonely. I’m so sorry.

I hope.
I hope you have Teflon coated skin, no peripheral vision nor eyes in the back of your head.
I hope someone invents quiet and invisible little electric buzzers to give your kids a long distance poke when there’s trouble coming their way.
I hope you find your rest in your Saviour who walks beside and hears and sees the whole bang lot. I hope there is peace aplenty and stillness for your tears and balm for your wounds.
I hope that you find space to grow. Space to follow the Lord for the answers you need for YOU and not just others.
I hope that you have space to laugh and be who God made you.
I hope the lover in your bed sees you as wonderfully made as the Lover Of Your Soul does. I hope he sees your million extra miles and looks you in the eye to thank you.
And I hope you have friends.
Heart friends.
Friends who can handle what you need to say AND what you cannot say and regardless of which can never fully understand.

Next time you’re shopping, buy yourself a coconut and enjoy the secret purpose for which it will never be utilised.

With love.
All of us.