anniversary getaway.

David and I celebrated 17 years of marriage back in May, but decided to save a trip for sabbatical. We spent three nights at a lake in Georgia this week, and it was perfect.

Well, it ended up perfect.

We kicked off the getaway with an argument in the car. Of course!

We are still trying to feel out Sunday worship for this season. David wanted us to start our anniversary with a visit to a church in Augusta, and I thought that was a terrible way to begin a romantic anniversary getaway. Not terrible to be worshiping God, but I just crave to step outside the identity of “pastor and pastor’s wife” for a bit. Even visiting different churches, it feels like we can never escape it fully.

That’s how I feel. But David feels differently. For him, it’s restful, healing, and encouraging to show up and sit in worship at a church where he has zero responsibilities. He can just sit with his wife and receive.

When he explained it that way, it made sense to me.

So we went to the church, and it was a beautiful experience. It was a large church and we knew only a couple of people there, so I relished the blessed anonymity of walking the halls, taking our bulletin, and sitting down just like any other person. We soaked in the liturgy, in kneeling for confession, and singing hymns with the soaring organ. We soaked in the sermon on Ephesians 5:15-18, and taking the Lord’s Supper for first the first time since the pandemic with the real trays of bread and tiny glass cups of grape juice. And then, after the benediction, we just walked away, found our car down the block, and looked up a downtown cafe for lunch.

I realize that I wouldn’t want anonymity all the time.

I love being tethered to one group, one body, who knows if I’m present or absent and will corner me for hugs and to ask me how I’m really doing, with whom I can laugh and cry and even be tired. I miss that one body, even two Sundays in, even with all its responsibilities and hardships. But the experience this Sunday was a turning point for me. God gave me the opportunity to see sabbatical through David’s eyes, as a time to receive.

I can never not be a pastor’s wife. That’s a part of my identity for as long as God sees fit to call me. But that’s only a part of my identity. More than “pastor’s wife” or even “wife,” I’m a child of the living, holy God. I attend worship — at our church or at any other — as His beloved child, whom He has brought near by the blood of Jesus. It’s the greatest privilege of my life.

And so we pulled up at our lakefront hotel with our souls fed and at peace with each other.

It was a lovely three days. We kayaked and paddle-boarded, explored the biking trails, ate garden veggie pizza by the pool, and elderberry French toast by the kitchen garden. We talked and also sat in silence and read books and ended our days with a podcast we both enjoy.

We gave thanks for this gift of marriage and the gift of a sabbatical, and for enjoying one another’s company more than ever after 17 years.