I’m a big fan of Lutheran pastors. I’m also a big fan of Lutheran pastors’ wives.

Being married to a pastor must be like being married to a doctor or a paramedic, never knowing when your husband might have to dash out, dash off, dash in.

Your phone rings a lot. Your doorbell rings a lot. Your ears ring a lot.

You get frustrated. You get exasperated.

You get free peaches, free sweet corn, a free side of beef.

You smile. You laugh. You shake your head.

You got your husband’s back. You’re at his side. You hold up his hands.

At least, those are the pastors’ wives that I’ve seen, the ones I’m blessed to be friends with and learn from.

My sister is the wife of a pastor. So is my best friend. So are some of my closest acquaintances.

And they don’t complain. They don’t melt down. They don’t whine about their kids and roll their eyes at their congregations.

They endure.

In faith.

They pray for their husbands. They laugh off the craziness. They move forward.

They put fresh peaches, fresh sweet corn, fresh beef on the table.

They talk theology and history and humor.

Their lives are big and full and stout, despite the suffering, despite the frustration, despite life.

I am a big fan of Lutheran pastors. But I’m also a big fan of Lutheran pastors’ wives.

Because they stand firm when they could melt down. They are faithful when they could give up. They are content when they could complain.

And I am thankful for it.