The Preacher Boy  and the Pastor’s Daughter

bruce and polly gerencser 1978

It seems like yesterday…

The early days of fall have arrived and the young preacher boy busily loads his possessions into a dilapidated, dented Plymouth. It’s time for me to go, he says to his Mom. I wonder what she thinks, her oldest son headed off to college, the first in their family to do so. They embrace, a rare expression of emotion,  and the preacher boy quickly turns away, not wanting her to see the tears running down his face.

Soon the preacher boy is headed north and then east of Bryan. Several hours later he arrives in Pontiac, Michigan, the community he will call home for the next few years.  Midwestern Baptist College, A Character Building Institution, says the sign along Golf Drive. The preacher boy had planned to attend Prairie Bible Institute, but God had other plans for him.

The preacher boy parks his car in front of the dormitory, John R. Rice Hall, and quickly unloads his meager possessions. Tall and lean, the red-headed preacher boy, wearing a blue shirt with the number 75 and the name Rev. on the back, moves his possessions into room 207. The dormitory has two floors and a basement, with wings on either side of a common meeting room. The top floor houses the women. The first floor has two wings, one to each side of the meeting room. Students call one wing the Spiritual Wing, the other the Party Wing. The basement, for obvious reasons,  is called The Pit.

The preacher boy lives on the Party Wing. There, he soon meets like-minded young men, filled with God, life, and recklessness. The preacher boy settles into the rhythm of dorm life at a fundamentalist college. Rules, lots of rules, and just as many ways to bend the rules to fit the desires of a youthful heart. The preacher boy would live in the dorm for two years, and in that time he would repeatedly run afoul of the rules. Told he is brash and rebellious, a fitting description, those who know him would say, the preacher boy does his best to outwardly conform to the letter of the law.

The blue shirt the preacher boy wore when he arrived at the college was given to him by a girl who hoped he would remember her while he was away. Not long after, the shirt disappeared, as did any thought of its giver. If there is one thing that the preacher boy loves almost as much as God, it is girls. And here he is, enrolled at a college that will provide him ample opportunity to ply his charm. Little does he know that fate has a different plan.

The week before the official start of classes, a young, beautiful 17-year-old girl from Newark, Ohio moves into the dorm. The preacher boy mentions the girl to his roommate. Stay away from her, the roommate replies. Her father is Pastor Lee Shope. Unfazed by the stern warning, the preacher boy decides to introduce himself to the dark-haired beauty. He quickly learns she is quite shy. Not one to be at a loss for words, the preacher boy takes the girl’s backwardness as a challenge, one that he successfully conquers over the course of a few weeks.

Soon, all thoughts of the field fade into the beauty of the pastor’s daughter. The preacher boy quickly finds himself smitten. Come spring, he proposes and she, despite her mother’s disapproval, says yes. Having known each  other for two months short of two years, the preacher boy, now 21, and the pastor’s daughter stand before friends, family and strangers and promise to love one another until death severs their bond.

Thirty-seven years have passed since the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter  pledged their troth. Under the proverbial bridge has flowed a shared life, one that has blessed them with a quiverfull of children and grandchildren. The grand plans of an idyllic pastorate, two children (a boy named Jason, a girl named Bethany), and a parsonage with a white picket fence, perish in the rubble of the hard work necessary to parent six children and pastor churches in Ohio, Texas, and Michigan. Twenty-five years of working in God’s vineyard have left the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter with deep, lasting scars. They have learned what it means to do without and suffer loss. Yet, they have endured.

Stoicism now defines them. As life has poured out its cruelties and left them wondering why, the preacher boy and the pastor’s daughter continue to hold one another tight, refusing to let adversity win. When their love for God wavered and then died a death of a thousand contradictions, the preacher boy and pastor’s daughter, now aged friends and lovers, joined their hands once more and walked into the dark unknown.

The full moon sits high above his home on this cold winter’s night. The clock on the nightstand clicks as each second passes by, a reminder that life is fleeting. The preacher boy, now a 58-year-old atheist, turns his thoughts to the beautiful, dark-haired girl he met so many years ago. Who would ever have thought we would be where we are today?, he says to himself. Yet…here we are, survivors, taking each and every day as it comes, without a prayer or a God to smooth the way. He wonders what tomorrow will bring, safe in the knowledge that whatever might come their way cannot defeat the enduring love of the preacher boy and the  pastor’s daughter.

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17 Comments

  1. Karen the rock whisperer

    Lovely story, but… it troubles me that Polly is defined in terms of her father. I understand that was normal then, in the Evangelical mindscape. It just… she’s long past being just the pastor’s daughter. It’s a subtle habit of the patriarchy that we need to reject, for women to really come into our own!

    Reply
    1. Bruce Gerencser (Post author)

      I wouldn’t read too much into it. It is a literary convention used to tell a story from a certain perspective.

      Reply
    2. Brian

      What astounds me about the survival of bipeds who are put through the God-grinder is the inexhaustible spirit of the human spirit. I know that sounds religious but that is only because Religion has co-opted many words and to use them seems to put you on the side of woo-woo. But I refuse and have long been a Refusenik in that regard. I am, at 63, still reclaiming the English language from the church and am happy in the work!
      Bruce does indeed use the old language of woo-woo while being well outside the fold and you have noted one instance. The onion peels…. Language, thankfully is malleable and alive… It follows our lead!

      Reply
  2. Anne

    Beautifully written tribute to the life & love you and Polly share! Thank you!!

    Reply
  3. Tara

    I always wondered about the details of how you two met.
    The family history/misc stories are my fave posts of yours.

    Reply
  4. Sylvia

    Such a beautiful post. Love it.

    Reply
  5. Zoe

    Beautiful and tender. <3

    Reply
  6. another amil

    This brings tears to my eyes this morning, It is a beautiful tribute to the love you and Polly share. In my theology, that love is just as “godly” as any ever experienced and much more “godly” than what passes for love in the fundagelical world. I’m sure that a gentle squeeze from Polly’s hand holding yours is more comfort than a thousand prayers. May that love continue to comfort and sustain you both.

    Reply
    1. another ami

      Good grief– I can’t type this morning. I misspelled “ami”, adding an “l”, so my comment went to moderation. Missing the obvious error, I sent a long email to Bruce, asking if I had offended or screwed up somehow. I sure did– I can’t type worth a damn.

      So here is my comment and Bruce can disregard my panicked email.

      This brings tears to my eyes this morning, It is a beautiful tribute to the love you and Polly share. In my theology, that love is just as “godly” as any ever experienced and much more “godly” than what passes for love in the fundagelical world. I’m sure that a gentle squeeze from Polly’s hand holding yours is more comfort than a thousand prayers. May that love continue to comfort and sustain you both.

      Reply
  7. Michael

    Never heard the story…thanks for sharing.

    Reply
  8. Clay

    That was truly beautiful and very touching. I’m glad you shared.

    Reply
  9. Becky Wiren

    Very sweet. It’s nice to know you both have each other.

    Reply
  10. Dale

    Dammit, you’re gonna make me cry again. Beautiful, man.

    Reply
  11. Bill Wald

    Doesn’t “stuff” seem to happen randomly to good and bad people, lazy, normal and hard-working people of every sort of religion from zero to “saint?” Does the Christian religion teach that God will grant “special deals” to “believer’s” according to the quality of faith or quantity of monetary/fiscal sacrifice? The Christian Bible ony promises peace of mind during hard times. I have no complaints.

    Reply
    1. Bruce Gerencser (Post author)

      It may promise it, but most of the Christians I’ve met over the years don’t have it. They are every bit as distressed as the heathen.

      Reply
  12. Bill Wald

    (Personal observation) It is a denominational problem. The “health and wealth” gospel does not “work” for most of the people who subscribe to it. Of the people in my local church over 65, the only consistent complainer would be unhappy if he won (only) ten million bucks. I am thankful that we got “Reformed” before it was to late.

    Reply
  13. Jada

    Speaking of Polly, here’s a song you might like.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAL1fSBmpRA

    They’re kind of an odd pairing, but it works.

    Reply

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