I rushed down the aisle to the front row pew with Bible in hand. Did I iron my skirt enough? I thought as I reached back to straighten it. Are my kids going to behave today? Did I remember to tell Mrs. So-and-so happy birthday? Did I greet Mr. So-and-so with enough enthusiasm? Did I say the right words when I prayed with that hurting congregant a few minutes ago? As the opening hymn began, I caught myself daydreaming these things instead of worshipping. A twinge of guilt surfaced, but it was quickly overtaken with intense feelings of frustration, even sadness.

The pressures to perform for a ministry wife can be daunting. We feel them because people are, in fact, watching us. After all, people come to church looking for hope. And while hope ultimately comes from Christ alone, church goers do watch their pastor and his family because they want to know that a family can actually exist who loves each other. A marriage can exist that is good and mutually respectful. Parents can exist who raise children well. Joy can exist. It can co-exist, rather, in the midst of a pain-filled and imperfect world. For so many, that equals hope.

For us to offer such an example of a “good life” in Christ to our congregations isn’t necessarily a bad thing either. But if we’re not careful, the weight of this reality of performance (notice I did not use the word “responsibility”) as a ministry wife can lead us away from authenticity. It can hijack our ability to be our true selves and bring us into the realm of a “performing monkey.” Let me explain what I mean.

A Little History About the Performing Monkey

A “performing monkey” is a term that dates back to the mid-1800s when it became popular for amateur organ grinders (those who played a portable organ) to gather on street corners in major U.S. cities and panhandle in hopes of making money. In order to increase their revenue, these desperate players would find and bring a monkey along with them. They would tether this exotic animal like a dog with collar and leash. They wanted to control it, to make the monkey scamper back and forth making noise and doing so-called tricks. The monkey’s sole purpose, of course, was to draw the attention of onlookers and passersby. The monkey was meant to not just garner a crowd but to please them long enough that they offered up a few copper coins from their pockets onto a bucket.

Two things, as ministry wives, we can draw from this. First, performing monkeys were sad little creatures. Their whole existence and purpose involved being enslaved to their performance (and to their handlers). Their worth relied on how pleasing they could be, how attractive they were to a group of strangers, how much money they could make. The second thing to note is even sadder. The monkeys couldn’t escape this paradigm. They were being used and abused without the hope that we have. They had no freedom, but we do. Don’t forget that.

Ministry life can, at times, feel like a performing monkey with that tight leash around our necks. However, when these feelings arise, we have the ability to be self-aware. We can go to Jesus and ask Him to disentangle our identity from our performance. We can ask Him to speak life and freedom back into us. We can receive His love afresh, even if it means taking a Wednesday night or Sunday off once in a while to do so. Unlike those monkeys, we do have a choice. We may feel enslaved, but we don’t have to trust those feelings. We can choose instead to let our identity be in Christ and not in what others think of us. We can choose to radically accept this privileged position of influence without letting it become all that we are and without letting it be all that we do.

A Little Encouragement from a Recovering “Performing Monkey”

This summer I’ve been reading Lysa Terkeurst’s book Uninvited: Living Loved When You Feel Less Than, Left Out, and Lonely. While it has many great insights, I keep coming back to one—the importance of “living loved.” To live loved, as Terkeurst implies, is not a catchphrase or silly slogan or funny bumper sticker. It’s not a passive notion either. In fact, to live loved, especially in ministry, requires great courage, deliberateness, and some strategic mental planning on our parts. Still, it’s a game changer when we truly put it into practice.

To live loved, in essence, means to walk every day, even on Sundays, in the full knowledge that we are loved by God wholly, lavishly, and unconditionally. In the midst of every conversation, you are loved. During every church service, in every interaction, you are worth everything to Him, and He doesn’t care if your skirt is ironed perfectly, or your children behave like little angels all the time. You are loved just as you are—your personality, quirks, likes, dislikes, strengths, and even your weaknesses. You are loved, all of you—all of the you that you are right in this very moment not the you others might want you to be or even the you that you think you should be. Just you. Plain ole’ you is perfectly lovely and perfectly loved.

When you and I can get this, when we can live it, we can live free. We can ingest the antidote to the plague of performance. We can slather that soothing balm on past wounds performance has created. We can cover our hearts with a blanket of acceptance, reassurance, and grace. Living loved is a simple concept, but it’s not easy. It takes practice. Consider trying a little practice right now. Grab your Bible and read through Psalm 103. Go slowly line by line. Personalize it. Soak in its truths. And as you do, as God to lead you onto the path of living loved instead of living a life of spiritual performance.