A Day in the Life of a PK

I was a preacher's kid growing up. From a very early age I was able to recite Bible verses from memory, knew all the stories, and was at church every time the doors were open. It quickly became very routine for me and as I grew up the fascination I once had for God was fading. I did all the things preachers kids were "supposed" to do. If I wasn't in church, there was some type of youth group function going on. Youth group ski trips every spring break, church camp every summer, church functions Sunday morning and night, then again on Wednesday night. I can't really recall many times I didn't go. Maybe it's because I was expected to be there. Maybe it was the image I felt I needed to live up to. As a PK (and the oldest child), I always felt like I was under a microscope and when I reflect on those days, I suddenly realize why I now have such a struggle with being overly self-critical.

We did move several times, each time requiring me to start over. New friends, new church, etc. This was very hard for me. I am not an extrovert in any way, so the older I got the harder it became to rebound. I became more introverted and really began to enjoy just being alone. There was one town we lived in where things started changing, and not for the better.

When I was young, I wasn't a cute kid. I wore really thick glasses and had messed up teeth which landed me in the orthodontist's chair wearing braces for over six years. Let's just say I was an easy target for the cruelty of other kids. My self esteem was zero. I did all the things nerdy kids do. I made straight A's, was always on the honor roll, took piano lessons, and read lots of books. During our stay in this particular small town I have never experienced so much hurt. Every day was a challenge. Kids are mean. And this was slowly killing me on the inside. I was a quiet kid and had no idea how to defend myself from the cruel verbal insults hurled at me on a daily basis.

Not only did I struggle in school, the struggle filtered over to our church which was, ironically, directly across the street from school. Being the PK, I was obviously involved in the youth group and the same kids that made fun of me at school would continue their relentless heckling at church. It never ended. On top of that, there were some things that happened at the church that affected my family in a way that still haunts me to this day.

When one thinks of church, this should be a place of refuge. A place where you can go to be safe and loved. I didn't feel love and I certainly didn't feel safe. I knew that every time I stepped through those doors I would have to put up with the same crap I dealt with at school. I honestly can't tell you how many times I went home in tears. And I was not the only one that experienced this hurt. My parents, who are my heros, were treated in a way that no one should ever be treated. There is no need for details, but the day we moved out of that town was the best day in my life.

Over the years, I have kept all that hurt buried so deep down that I sometimes forget it's there. I started to become somewhat bitter and learned not to trust people so easily. My views of the church were slowly starting to sour...not just that one church, all of them. They were all the same to me.

At a young age, I started wondering where God was in all this. I slowly began turning my back on the one thing I'd always had. My faith. As difficult as it is to relive all those experiences, I now know that this is the time to share my story.

To be continued...