Life in a Manse

We live in a manse - the house owned by the church, on the church property, right next to the church, 4 feet from the church building, our back windows looking on the church and its parking lot.

Living in the parsonage has its advantages, admittedly. When our second bathroom floor was rotting away the church covered all the expenses for gutting and replacing. When the heater died in the middle of winter 2006, a new heater was found and paid for within one day.

It's a big house, the biggest we've ever lived in: 4 bedrooms, big bedrooms and 2 bathrooms and a HUGE kitchen. We can eat in the kitchen plus there's a dining room. We've made some cosmetic changes - painting mostly. We do consider it our home.

But, admittedly there are a few drawbacks to living 4 feet from the church. If anything is happening at the church, we know about it. If anything is needed at the church, we know about it. People come to our door expecting all kinds of answers to questions: food, money, a place to sleep. One Saturday morning I walked out of the laundry room into the front hall only to encounter a complete stranger looking for the church office. I stammered, "Uh, no this is our home." (can't you tell but the toys on the floor, the furniture and us in our pajamas!!).

The nicest visitor we've had knock at our door had the most fascinating question. Our deacons change the message on our marquee weekly. That day it read: Coming Soon, Jesus Christ! She was driving through town to her daughter's dentist appointment and had to stop after reading the sign. She asked, "Does you husband (the pastor) know something I don't know? Has he heard from God that the second coming is soon?" Her pastor apparently had preached on the second coming that Sunday and she was all a-tingle over our sign and thinking something was going to happen -- soon! We had a pleasant conversation discussing no one knows the hour or day, etc.

But the most interesting knock at out door happened last night. It was about 1:30, maybe 2:00am. Both Dave and I were startled out of our slumber by the dogs barking and a scratching at the door. Dave got up (brave man) and went to put the Annie (Australian Shepherd about 45 pounds) and Sirius (German Shepherd about 75 pounds) out because a wandering dog was in the frontyard. Our dogs kept barking outside and then we heard it again...and again...and again...scratching, whimpering. A punk mutt dog was wanting to lay down his head in our warm abode. Neither one of us being Francis of Assisi, we ignored it. But he kept scratching and knocking. Why did he pick our house? What was it that drew the cur to our door? We'll never know. He was gone in the morning. Morbidly I was half-expecting to find the frozen corpse of the canine (it was cold last night). We told the story to Emma and she rebuked us severely for showing no mercy to the animal. I promised that if I heard the pup knock on our door again he is more than welcome to share a spot on the carpet with Annie and Sirius.