Introductions

My name is Ryan Wilson, and I grew up in a pastor's home. My father, Mark Wilson, is the pastor of a Wesleyan Church in Hayward, WI. The town sign says, "Population 2381"; the church has about 550 people. So basically, a fourth of the town goes to this one church.

I'm going to be writing some stuff on this blog to help pastor's kids work through some of the junk that probably only pastor's kids understand. I want you to understand that I had a great childhood, and I'm happy for the way my family is. I love our church, and I love our town. In fact after college, I moved back to Hayward, and I am now working at a Boys and Girls Club on the LCO Native American Reservation. Some of what I write may sound like being a pastor's kid is the worst, and sometimes it can feel that way, but I hope you realize that there a lot of good things about being a PK too. But I'm writing this blog to be helpful, and so I am devoting these flickering pixels to addressing the unique challenges that accompany life as a PK.

With that said, I hope some of my experiences may be helpful to you. I hope that if you are a PK, you will realize through this blog that 1) you're not alone, 2) you're not a terrible person for feeling the way that you sometimes do about the church, and 3) you may choose your own path.

I will conclude this inaugural post with a poem by Robert Frost, with which I have no doubt you are familiar (probably from a sermon your parent preached!). Familiarity breeds unfamiliarity, however, so with new eyes, soak in the wisdom from Frost's words.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day! 
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.