“Preacher’s Kid” 6.25.21

I have an excellent long term memory. When I was almost two years old my dad heard God’s call. We departed from Georgia and made our way to Virginia Theological Seminary. We lived in Alexandria where my first little sister, Jessica, was born in December of 1989. My parents had their work cut out for them. As my father obeyed his call to the church, my mom worked as a nurse and as a mom to keep us afloat. I remember riding on my dad’s shoulders as we walked the path toward my day care center, which was on his way to class. He would pick me up from day care at lunch time, and we ate in the cafeteria at the seminary. Dad said I could drink whatever I wanted from the fountain, and I always chose orange soda. Life is in the details.

Most of the time, when a priest graduates from seminary, he or she takes up a position as an assistant rector before they have their own church. When Dad graduated and first began his career as a priest, he skipped the assistant bit and took on two churches at the same time. We lived in Calhoun, Georgia in a little yellow house with our church nearby, and Dad also commuted to his church in Jasper, Georgia. How did my parents find time to sleep? I have no idea.

My sisters, Kimberly and Amy were born in September of 1993. We needed a bigger house, and we found the coolest house in Calhoun, with a wrap around porch, two bedrooms and a loft, a huge back yard; and it was close enough to our church so Dad wouldn’t have quite a long drive to work. We were happy there. Then, we moved, as preacher’s must. One of the hardest parts about being a preacher’s kid is keeping the secret that you are moving, before the church is informed. It was the duty my sisters and I had to uphold. Even at a young age, I understood this. It was still hard. We moved to Toccoa, Georgia, where we stayed for eight years at St. Matthias. This was my childhood.

We moved again after that. We went south to Savannah, Georgia. We spent thirteen years there. Dad had by then matured as a priest and gave killer sermons, helped people in need, stayed by sick beds, prayed with the dying and those who loved them, read rites, baptized babies, married couples, and led youth groups, as well as many outreach programs.

When Dad was called to Grace Calvary in Clarkesville, Georgia, he felt he was “coming home.”

Now, after a marriage that has lasted almost forty years, four daughters, several furry grandchildren and a career that has consumed him for most of his life, Dad is retiring in two days. People love “Father Sam.” I love my dad. While others are suffering the loss of a great priest, I celebrate the next chapter of my dad’s life and all the joy it will bring. I will miss sitting on the front row with my mom and sisters. I will cherish the memories of reading books and coloring during church before I learned to pay attention, and laying my head in my mom’s lap when I got bored or too sleepy. I will miss his voice during the celebration and communion on Sundays, as I have attended church for thirty years. Time passes so quickly and it’s hard to keep up. Where does it go? The days are shorter when you grow older, so we must cherish every moment spent together.My dad is my light in the darkness. He gives me hope for a brighter future. I will always be a preacher’s kid, and proud to call “Father Sam” my dad.

—SJB