Pastor's wife…..or sailor?
I'm a pastor's wife. I love Jesus. But I also love to cuss. Now, I don't cuss all the time. In fact, I don't even cuss most of the time. Occasionally, however, a dirty word is the the right word.
I've loved dirty words since I was a child. As kids, my brother and I were allowed to use curse words, but only in their proper context. Like we could use the word "damn" in pretend cursing but we could only do it if we were driving by a lake with a dam. Or we could use the word "ass", but only if we were referring to an actual donkey that was nearby. I think my parents knew they couldn't really argue the point that those words were inappropriate for the situation, plus they seemed to find our enthusiasm to be hilarious.
As I got older, cursing was my one area of rebellion against the adults in my life. I was too pragmatic and moral to drink, smoke or have sex outside of marriage. I'm an adult and I still don't do any of those things. I don't even drink coffee or enter buildings through the exit door. Cussing privately or with my closest friends is my one tiny area of being a "bad girl".
And let's be honest here…sometimes, curse words are the only words that fit a situation. For example, the boy who cruelly breaks my daughter's heart is most certainly a "jackhole". No one will convince me otherwise. Or think of how you feel when you get all the way to work and realize you've left your lunch sitting on the counter at home. It feels good to yell something at your own forgetfulness. Try it. Yell: "Son of a biscuit!" It feels good, doesn't it? And don't pretend you don't have a go-to curse word when you stub your toe or smash your finger with a hammer. We all do, even if we don't say it out loud. Sometimes my husband and I even jokingly come up with socially-appropriate curse words to use in public. We both like "Nottafinga!", which is the nonsensical word uttered by Ralphie Parker's dad in "A Christmas Story".
Some people might find this all inappropriate, especially for a pastor's wife. When I was a young Christian, God promised me that I didn't have to be perfect to be used by Him. I remember that conversation with God vividly. It was shortly after a missionary visited our church for her annual support-raising tour. She was the kind of person who could make even Pollyanna look like Grumpy Cat. That missionary was chipper and cheery and smily and it seemed from her stories that every conversation she ever had with anyone ended with them turning their lives over to Christ. I half-imagined her sharing Jesus with her gynecologist during a pap smear. Her level of cheerfulness came across to me as impossible. If that's what it meant to follow Jesus, then I couldn't do it. And I didn't want to do it. As lovely of a person as she was, I didn't want to be like her because that simply wasn't me. And as I struggled with my faith in the days that followed her visit to my church, I remember God telling me that He was calling me to be like Jesus, not like that perpetually smily missionary.
I opted instead for embracing my quirky sense of humor. Instead of perfection, I minister best by being real and approachable with my foibles and failings. The occasional curse word or sarcastic joke is proof that I'm no different than anyone sitting in the congregation who might be struggling -- and they know I'm not going to meet their struggle with judgement or scorn. Judge my potty mouth if you must, but I doubt that will be at the top of God's list on Judgement Day.
And please note that this isn't for everyday, all-over-the-place conversations. I reserve my potty mouth for just the right situations and people. I suggest you think hard about your audience before you take on a sailor's tongue.
I've loved dirty words since I was a child. As kids, my brother and I were allowed to use curse words, but only in their proper context. Like we could use the word "damn" in pretend cursing but we could only do it if we were driving by a lake with a dam. Or we could use the word "ass", but only if we were referring to an actual donkey that was nearby. I think my parents knew they couldn't really argue the point that those words were inappropriate for the situation, plus they seemed to find our enthusiasm to be hilarious.
As I got older, cursing was my one area of rebellion against the adults in my life. I was too pragmatic and moral to drink, smoke or have sex outside of marriage. I'm an adult and I still don't do any of those things. I don't even drink coffee or enter buildings through the exit door. Cussing privately or with my closest friends is my one tiny area of being a "bad girl".
And let's be honest here…sometimes, curse words are the only words that fit a situation. For example, the boy who cruelly breaks my daughter's heart is most certainly a "jackhole". No one will convince me otherwise. Or think of how you feel when you get all the way to work and realize you've left your lunch sitting on the counter at home. It feels good to yell something at your own forgetfulness. Try it. Yell: "Son of a biscuit!" It feels good, doesn't it? And don't pretend you don't have a go-to curse word when you stub your toe or smash your finger with a hammer. We all do, even if we don't say it out loud. Sometimes my husband and I even jokingly come up with socially-appropriate curse words to use in public. We both like "Nottafinga!", which is the nonsensical word uttered by Ralphie Parker's dad in "A Christmas Story".
Some people might find this all inappropriate, especially for a pastor's wife. When I was a young Christian, God promised me that I didn't have to be perfect to be used by Him. I remember that conversation with God vividly. It was shortly after a missionary visited our church for her annual support-raising tour. She was the kind of person who could make even Pollyanna look like Grumpy Cat. That missionary was chipper and cheery and smily and it seemed from her stories that every conversation she ever had with anyone ended with them turning their lives over to Christ. I half-imagined her sharing Jesus with her gynecologist during a pap smear. Her level of cheerfulness came across to me as impossible. If that's what it meant to follow Jesus, then I couldn't do it. And I didn't want to do it. As lovely of a person as she was, I didn't want to be like her because that simply wasn't me. And as I struggled with my faith in the days that followed her visit to my church, I remember God telling me that He was calling me to be like Jesus, not like that perpetually smily missionary.
I opted instead for embracing my quirky sense of humor. Instead of perfection, I minister best by being real and approachable with my foibles and failings. The occasional curse word or sarcastic joke is proof that I'm no different than anyone sitting in the congregation who might be struggling -- and they know I'm not going to meet their struggle with judgement or scorn. Judge my potty mouth if you must, but I doubt that will be at the top of God's list on Judgement Day.
And please note that this isn't for everyday, all-over-the-place conversations. I reserve my potty mouth for just the right situations and people. I suggest you think hard about your audience before you take on a sailor's tongue.
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