I recently wrote this article for a friend of mine. She shared it on her blog which is totally dedicated to encouraging Preacher's Daughters. You should check it out----> mailto:http://thepastorsdaughter.weebly.com/blog
One thing that I struggled with as a PK, was identity. To a lot of people, I was “The Preacher’s Daughter”. Which is okay, but that title became my identity, which, if I was not careful, it could have become a purpose that I sought after. I went to a public school, and most of the kids there knew that I was the preacher’s daughter. So, if the kids would say a curse word, they would ask me to forgive them. If they were going to tell a joke or discuss something that wouldn’t be “appropriate” they would normally leave me out of the group. This used to bother me. Until I began to realize, it was really okay.
PK’s struggle with identity because EVERYONE has their version of YOU that they think you should be. Some people like to keep you under a microscope. If you do one little thing wrong, those carnal gossipers go to town. They are just waiting for something to happen so that their boring life can be interfered by your mistakes. Shame on them, if anyone has hurt you in this way. There are also some people that tend to be awkward around you, because they think you are this different kind of human because you are a PK. Maybe they draw a picture of a cross for you or share Christian stuff on pinterestwith you because you’re a PK. They are glad that you are the girl that could be deemed the driver on party night, but they don’t want anything to do with your religion.
Then, we have the Debbie Downers who let you know “What happens to all the PK’s when they grow up”. I specifically had 1 kid in my class, who reminded me often that I would probably turn into some kind of crazy partier in an effort to abandon my stranded tower like repunzel or something. Bless their heart. (; LOL Proud to say, that did not happen to me.
Here’s the dealeo. Yes, we are Preacher’s Daughters. No, we are not perfect. We, like everyone else, have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. No, I will not win every sword drill in Sunday School. No, I do not have all of the answers to your Bible theology questions. Yes, I understand that there are many little girls in my church and family who are watching me. This is part of my motivation to be the girl God wants me to be. Yes, I chose Christ for me. Not because my parents MADE me. But because I wanted to! Yes, I have been raised in a house of respect, where we honor something called rules. Yes, I know all of the veggie tale songs and songs from “Now That’s What I call Worship CD 2003”. I am a Preacher’s Daughter. I am fulfilling a purpose given to me by God. I know my identity is found in Christ. Not my earthly father, nor by my peers, nor by the congregation of my church. Because I know who I am in Christ, I know what I need to do. No, I am most definitely not perfect. Yes, I have made mistakes and that is okay. God has much more grace for me than I could ever deserve. Yes, I love my church family because they are MY FAMILY. Don’t mess with them. Or you will be rebuked in Jesus’ name! I hope this has been an encouragement to you!
Much Love, Fayth <3
So, for all of the Preacher’s Daughter’s out there, this post is FOR YOU!!!
My Dad has Pastored for 20 years. Up until January of 2014, my Dad was the only Pastor I had ever had. It was then that God began calling our family to launch into a more evangelical type of ministry, specifically in music.
I LOVED being a PK. The church was my comfort zone. The congregation became my family. 7th Street CBC was where my walk with Christ first began. Certain ladies in the church would bake special cookies for the Pastor’s family. On Pastor appreciation day, I got like $10! It was great! Every year on my birthday, Sister Willis would find me some type of notebook, angel or other doo-dad that had “faith” engraved on it. She would be so excited to have found something with “my name” on it. Even though my name is spelled F-A –Y- T-H. It’s the thought that counts anyway.