They sat in my living room last night, all seven of them. And they listened to me as I shared one way I need to grow as we prepare to start this new campus.

Drew gave us that question as our homework last week, and honestly I hadn’t thought it through until sitting there. And, when it was my turn to share, it was all I could do to keep from bawling on the spot.

So, I reminded him that when I got married, I didn’t want to marry a pastor. I just wanted to marry Drew.

And here he is starting this new campus for The Chapel. And I’ve spent the past 4 months saying “This is Drew’s dream. This is Drew’s baby. This is Drew’s project.” And it is. But I think I’ve been using those words as a buffer; as a way for me to separate myself from what it means to be a preacher’s wife.

I’ve been in denial.

And this whole process feels a lot like standing in front of a mirror and finally seeing myself. Or like walking into a party painfully underdressed. And now here we are meeting each week and gearing up spiritually and mentally, and people are calling Drew their pastor and they are our parents’ ages, and I just want to slip out of the room mumbling “I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

Because I’m not ready.

I’m not even ready for church from Sunday to Sunday right now. And I’m certainly not qualified to be a pastor’s wife. And there’s this tiny curled up part of me that is scared he’s going to figure this out soon and tell me I need to get it together. But I know better. He never will. He knows I don’t like me, either.

But I love him.

And that is my confession. And it is enough. For now.

Do you have anything you need to confess?