A Preacher's Son by Ricky Garzon

Ricky & Kallie Garzon with their children

I can honestly only write from the perspective of a son, but still from the perspective of a PK.  The church we served in was small so my parents wore many hats.  I think the average church is around 150 - 250 people now so just imagine it being in that camp.  You often hear of the pastor’s or minister’s kids, for that fact the whole family, being in a fish bowl.  Meaning, everyone is watching.  Or maybe a better description is living life under a magnifying glass.  Everything you say, do and sometimes think is watched carefully because the Pastor’s kids are supposed to be “good” kids.  It’s almost, as Barnabas Piper, son of famed preacher John Piper says, “born with DNA that makes you good”.  Pastor’s kids are sinners.  Paul doesn’t leave us out in Romans 3:23.  

I can’t really look back and think of times I out-right rebelled against my parents.  I just remember how it was implied from the pulpit of both the church and breakfast table (of which my parents have both repented of) how God needed us to be good.  It was a pressure sometimes too great to bear.  I knew God loved me but I always felt like he was upset with me or like He didn’t really like me all that much.  There’s one time in particular I remember I had a friend who didn’t really meet my parents expectations.  (He since has completely left the church and lives a life of blatant sin, so maybe my parents knew how to pick ‘em)  My mom and I got in an argument in our living room one night about this friend.  We both tried out-shouting each other so when I saw my arguments were falling on deaf ears, I left.  Walked out.  My mom and dad both had a habit of walking around our neighborhood park before dusk.  They say it was for exercise but I think it was for their sanity.  I ran to a neighborhood friend’s house and sought temporary sanctuary.  After telling him about the match that had just happened at my house, I walked into his room and sat by his window.  As I looked out into his front yard, the sleepy sun sat behind a mother who wanted to see her son.  She sat in his front yard with her hands behind her back and tears in her eyes.  I made eye contact with her and emotions clogged my throat and sank my heart deep into the pit of my stomach.  The walk from my friend’s room to the front yard seemed short but I practiced my speech maybe ten times before reaching the porch and looking down on her.  “Can we talk?” she asked.  “I guess”, I said as I walked past her and stopped next to her so that we wouldn’t have to make eye contact.  “The thing is, people are watching us.  We have to be careful who we spend time with or people will talk.”  she said.  “So aren’t we supposed to hang out with people Jesus would have hung out with”, I said very pharisaically.  “Yes.  If you want to bring him to our house, that’s fine.” she paused.  “Just please know that people are watching everything we do.”  It seemed to be nailed on my heart that night.  People were watching.  I always knew this, it had just never struck a nerve.  

I think my mom would have handled this differently knowing what she knows now.  The spirit has freed her in so many areas held captive by the law.  If I could encourage minister’s wives in any way, it would be, do not preach law to your kids.  Preach grace.  Grace has wrecked my life, in a good way.  Everything I thought I was doing  good for God I now know Jesus already did.  The Father sees me how he sees his son.  Romans 8:1 is a solid seal of “no condemnation” the spirit has placed on my heart from the moment Jesus cried, “it is finished”.  It’s done.  No more work to be done…so now we can get to work.  One pastor says, “you want to make people mad?  Preach law.  You want to make people furious?  Preach grace”.  Grace pays the drunk who shows up five minutes before the day is done the same wage as the the one who has been working all day.  Grace messes up our hair and our plans.  

I’ll end with this story about my dad.  When I was in college I was hired as a youth associate at a large church for the summer.  I was dating a girl who went to the same church and she went to work on staff at the camp we would  head to after a few weeks.  The week crept closer and of course, I had not prepared, financially for the trip.  I called my mom the day before we were supposed to leave and asked her for money.  I lived about an hour and fifteen minutes from my hometown so the drive, even then, would have been too expensive.  “Can I meet you guys half way so I can get some money for camp?”  I inquired.  “Let me talk to your dad.”  The words I dreaded to hear.  My dad got on the phone and asked how I was.  I skipped the pleasantries and asked him for cash.  He asked me a few questions about my paycheck.  After some prying, I confessed that I had spent it, basically on reckless living.  Upon my confessions followed some “how dare you’s” and not so kind words into my dad’s listening ear.  I slammed the phone down and started in on plan B.  A few hours later I heard a knock on my door.  I opened the door and saw my parents standing there.  “Are you hungry?”  my dad asked.  “Yes”.  I replied.  “Let us take you to dinner.”  We drove into town and ate where most college kids couldn’t even afford to buy a glass of water.  Not one word was mentioned about the prior conversation on the phone.  They just asked about the camp and how my girlfriend was doing and how I was liking my ministry.  After dinner, they took me home and as we said our goodbyes my dad handed me two, crisp hundred dollar bills.  “I love you.  Have fun.”  he said.  The words hung heavy over my head as I walked into my apartment.  Not one word about what I had said.  Still to this day.  Not. One. Word.  I asked my mom about this recently and she said, “Your dad knew, in the long run, law makes the wayward run and never come back.  Grace might make the wayward run, but they always come back.”

“Well may the accuser roar of sins that I have done, I know them well and thousands more, Jehovah knoweth none.”

*Are you a preacher's kid?  How did growing up as a PK affect you?

Ricky's parents, Ricardo & Isabel Garzon