Holes in my Umbrella
When Bob died, just a short time ago, I said to someone, “The holes in my umbrella are getting too big. There’s not much left of it.” My parents’ generation was like a protective umbrella over me. They were my prayer warriors and spiritual mentors. They were the ones I would call when I needed some advice, or some extra prayer support, or to just give me a listening ear when I needed to vent. But the umbrella has developed some serious holes in it and there’s no way to repair it. Bob’s death was a wake-up call for me. I remember when the first significant hole appeared. Before I could join my husband in the pastoral ministry, I was told I needed to develop a prayer warrior foundation. Ministry is not easy, and our director knew I would need support if I was going to make it as a pastor’s wife. I presented our ministry in my home church and asked for people who