Preacher’s WIFE — Keeping it Real
“Iya YARD” is the nickname given to the wife of a clergy here in my home Country Nigeria, because of the care and attention they give to the upkeep of the Church yard and the Church community in general. I have had a few people fondly call me Iya YARD with a glint of unmistakable mischievousness in their eyes.
To be honest, I had a love relationship before I became Iya YARD aka Preachers Wife (“PW”). It was quite an intimate affair. The hot and spicy type. The type you never quite recover from, that makes you smirk often, asking; — “Is this for real?” If I am to be completely honest, often when it becomes very challenging being a PW, I still go there. I trace my steps right back there. Like in those dreary nights when you can hardly see any stars in the cloud. Those days when you are put on a stand or when you put yourself on the stand and you feel awkward. Those days when someone unwittingly twists the knife on a stab wound that you thought had healed and you feel the pain all over again. Those days when a thousand demons seem to be mocking you and chanting, “go up, bald head,” “go up, bald head.” Those times when it feels that solace is elusive. At those times my fallback is that affair I had at twelve. I go there and when I go there, I bounce back. I revive. The power to go forward comes to me.
You see, my journey is a bit different. Everybody’s journey, no matter how similar, is different. You must respect that. At twelve, I was the sweet and innocent Joy, with the constant simple “didi” hairdo. I do my “kpatewo” or “all back” hairstyle and I sit where I am asked to sit. However, I had a secret life which I could not share. One with the bully Viviana Dikenna in it, who can get the shoes off my feet just by asking and I will lie to Mom that it was stolen on the school field. One with Kachi Onugwaem in it, the 17 year old neighbor who was gradually luring me into sexual activities. One with that clerk in the bursar’s office that I needed to avoid, the one with long distasteful manicured nails, constantly inviting me to his office. In my normal life, I was in NNSS grappling with school work, trying to cope with my “burgee” (bourgeoisie) friends and with Mom who always insisted we are at Church three times a week.
Reminiscing, I had a full life at 12. Then Kachi Onugwaem got sick and died suddenly. I learnt for the first-time what death and fear were. You see, we had become close. To console myself and fill the void, I gradually slipped into masturbation. Mom who had been ill of acute ulcer (who we would watch rolling on the floor, writhing in pain, in constant fear of losing her) became born again — she took the decision to complete dedicate her life to the Lord Jesus Christ and she got healed miraculously. Till this date, Mom’s before and after are still very clear in my mind.
That was when it happened. I met him. I really met him. There was no go between. It was just us. Lying on my bed in the middle of the night. I saw an apparition. He introduced Himself as Jesus of Nazareth. I knew about Him. I had 5 years of Sunday school under my belt. He showed me His wrist, pierced — a hole through it. Showing it to me, I will never forget, He said, “See, this is an eternal proof of my love for you.” I felt so much light and love pouring through me. That was the night on June 23rd 1983. I went on my knees beside my bed, alone, weeping uncontrollably and gave my life to Jesus Christ. Handed control over to Him. I was not led by anyone. After doing that, I laid back and slept. I woke up the following morning, with a completely different feeling, outlook, and determination. I was only 12. Till today, I do not underestimate 12 year olds.
Mom did not need to force me to go to Church anymore. I took my Assemblies of God Sunday School classes, Christ Ambassador and Missionnette Bible schools very seriously. I spent the next 4 years in intense pursuit of God. On my back, on my knees, mostly alone with my William Schamback, Mary Mckee tapes and my Bible. At 16, I was already in the University as a Student Christian Union leader.
The Role of an African PW?
Being a PW in an African Church can be very demanding. More so if you have a career separate from Church work, like Priscilla in Scriptures. Church ministry itself is a demanding job. Suddenly, everyone is calling you, “Mummy,” even people that are much older than you, which in my view is added pressure. You are expected to be everyone’s Mother, Sister, friend and maybe confidant. You are expected to model perfection but you are not perfect. Below are a few advisory from my journey so far –
One, understand and accept that you are not perfect yet. You are not the perfect wife, mother, daughter, sister, prayer warrior, singer, teacher/preacher, administrator, counsellor, etc. You are a good work in progress. You struggle. Do not be afraid to show you are human. I know I am not the best cook or housekeeper. I know I am not the best manager of time. I know I am not the most diligent. I am trying to be. Just bring your best self to the job.
Two, do not take on stereotyped roles that you know you are not good at. That you are the PW does not mean you must be the Women leader and a Pastor too. Play to your strengths. However, “to thyself be true” is not an excuse for mediocrity. You must be constantly learning, up skilling and updating yourself. You cannot compromise on prayer and the word. You cannot be a novice either. Be teachable. Be creative but be You, not someone else. Be a great listener. Learn to love people sincerely. You will need a large heart to contain many tales. Develop your people skill. Learn to give counsel but be ready to point them to the right person or place when you do not have the answer. I have been a PW for over 20 years and do not have all the answers, believe me. I have more questions each day.
Three, be very careful of accolades. Sometimes you get so much honor that you do not know what to do with it. It is not really because of you. It is because of the office you occupy. It is because of the job and our culture of respect. That is when you should be more careful and practice humility. You will also meet people who do not believe you qualify for the job and as much as they may try to hide it, it may show in more ways than one. Either way, they do not matter. Focus on the one who has called you — God. One of my favorite scripture, Hebrews 5:4 — “and no one takes this honor for himself, but only when called by God, just as Aaron was.”
Four, do not cast away your confidence. You must be a very secure and confident person to thrive as a PW. You will face fears. Fears that you must confront and subdue. — Fear that you are not good enough. The messages are not powerful enough. People are leaving Church. The ministry is not growing and it’s your fault, etc. Trust me, I am a recovered addict of self-blame. So take a deep breath and exhale. The responsibility of the growth of any Church is not yours. It is God’s. 1Cor 3:16 “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth.” Do your bit and leave the rest.
Five, protect your privacy. As a PW do not live your life in the eye of the public. Prioritize your children. Support your husband. Be his best fan. He is under tremendous pressure. Pray for him always. Learn to always speak freely with your hubby — choose a good time though. Don’t call him a title or Daddy (my 2 cents). Please call him the names his parents gave him. If you get a kick out of daddifying him and calling him those grand titles, by all means do. Only keep it real. Tell him how you are feeling and tell him to behave properly if he is not.
Six, find your own “joint.” PWs should know where to go to have their fix. It can be a book. Your prayer spot. A good friend that can allow you unveil. Just make sure that you are not dosing on the wrong thing — on poison. No man is an island. Like everyone else, PWs are not Islands. They do have bad days too. When I do, I go back to my love affair. You know the one I talked about at the beginning. I close my eyes, lean back and see those wrists again, with the scars — nail pierced — the holes through them, and it softens even the hardest day for me.
Joy Harrison-Abiola
