I felt special because:
- My parents really walked with God and practiced what they preached.
- I daily saw God's faithfulness in answering prayers and providing all our needs.
- I had the opportunity to meet wonderful Christians from around the world and to see people saved and transformed through my parents' ministry.
- Many people loved my parents dearly, and I glowed in that atmosphere of love and appreciation.
- Family life was stimulating, fun, and full of healthy activities.
- My parents' standards were higher than most of my friends.
- Dad and Mother had to be away from home frequently. Often I was very lonely.
- Sometimes my parents received cruel letters and hateful treatment because of their stand for Christ.
- Occasionally I felt "left out" because of my parent's commitments and limited finances.
Having been a P.K. for nearly twelve years, I can tell you that P.K. stands for more than just Preacher's Kid. I was born a Preacher's Kid. I was also the last of six children—the "baby" of the family. That made me even more special. As I grew, I grew to love my dad's church—and they loved me back. They made me feet very special. I soon came to learn that P.K. also stands for Privileged Kid.
Growing up in my dad's church was one of the greatest experiences I can recall in my childhood. I loved the attention that the church family lavished upon me. I was the center of attention in every activity. I was always picked first for church plays, children's choirs, and as learn leader in Awana. I soon became accustomed to being the life of the party.
I soon learned that P.K. also stands for Perfect Kid. There is always a little more expected of a P.K. because we arc believed to be perfect. How could we not be perfect? We have perfect parents and a perfect upbringing. Right? People put P.K.'s on sucha pedestal that no one could possibly fulfill every role we are expected to play. Of course I would become a great pastor's wife or church musician or have some other ultimate purpose in life. Even with this great weight upon my little shoulders, I tried to keep up my end of the bargain. It was my price for being a P.K.
Although I was very mischievous, I alv+iays managed to win the prizes for memorizing verses and selling candy. After all, I was supposed to be the role model for all the other children in the church. And because I was the P.K., some people let me get away with a little more than other children. Everyone in the church was my friend and they all enjoyed the entertainment I brought them.
All this came crashing to a halt when I was almost twelve. My father sat me down in the kitchen and informed me that in order to take a higher position at the university where he taught, he would have to step down from the pulpit at our church. And we would now attend another church.
I couldn't believe my ears. I was dumbfounded; I hadn't known anything else but being a P.K. How could I make such a drastic change? I would now become just a regular kid. A nobody, and certainly no one special.
As it turns out, I would not only be changing churches, but changing schools also. It was a drastic change for me. One I was not really prepared for. And on top of all of this, I had just become a teenager. It was a devastating time for me. As I look back, I can mark that time as the beginning of my troubles as an adolescent. It was very difficult for me to say good-bye to my friends at church whom I had grown up with and grown close to. I would no longer see them except on special occasions.
Although I eventually made new friends at my new church, I was never quite as popular as I was at my old church. I was just an R.K, now—a Regular Kid. I was no longer the center of attention—no longer special.
I still remember the first time I returned to my old church to visit. It was very strange. I saw and spoke to the same people, but there was no connection with them now. They had new P.K.'s to enjoy. I was no longer needed. I guess I thought when I returned, everything would be the same as when I had left. I was wrong. It was time to move on. Grow up. Be content without my title of P.K.
I still have rich memories of my dad's church and my experiences there. There is one thing people need to remember when dealing with P.K.'s. We're not perfect. We are only human beings. Never put a P.K. on a pedestal. They should be involved in church activities, but never expected to perform more than a regular kid is able to. Being a P.K. can be a wonderful experience and believe me, I enjoyed it to the fullest!
But life always brings changes —and with God's help, I eventually came to appreciate the blessings of being an R.K.— a Regular Kid! Like Paul, I'm learning to be content, "in whatsoever state I am . . (Phil. 4:12) whether a F.K. or an R.K.