It was a Sunday afternoon when I visited a friend's home for a meal. Her kitchen was small but neat and warmly decorated. On the table sat a pot of freshly cooked red bean soup, while several young people from the church gathered in the living room, chatting and laughing softly.
"Is this your family gathering?" I asked. She smiled gently and replied, "Actually, my home feels like a church every day." She is both a pastor's wife and a mother. Over the years, she and her family have never stood on the pulpit, yet they have always been the quiet, steadfast support behind. In this "calling," we often focus on those at the forefront, while overlooking the group standing silently behind them—their families. They have given up personal boundaries, private space, and the leisure of ordinary family life, yet in return, they have found a rare and often unspoken warmth.
1. She is not a pastor and is always called the "pastor's wife".
Sister Li, 48, is the wife of a pastor serving at an urban church. "When we first got married, he hadn't officially entered ministry, and I thought we would just be an ordinary Christian family," she recalled. "Gradually, our home turned into a reception place—at first, church members would occasionally come for meals, then it became four or five times a week, and some even stayed overnight."
She shared that although she doesn't resent serving others, she was never prepared to live as a "public figure." "Every time I walked into church, someone would ask, 'You don't look joyful today; is something wrong?' I'd smile and say, 'Nothing,' though in reality, my husband and I might have just quarreled." The hardest part, she said, is "always having to appear okay." "Just as an actor must always remember their lines, a pastor's family must always remember their roles."
One year, she was invited to speak from the pulpit before hundreds of people. For the first time, she cried. "I said, 'I'm not a pastor. I've never been trained. I don't even think I'm particularly spiritual. But I pray for your children every morning, and every meal I cook is for the Lord. I didn't go to seminary, but God has been shaping me in the kitchen for 20 years.'" She wept, and so did the congregation. In that moment, she realized that her quiet dedication had never been unnoticed; it had always been remembered by God.
2. "My dad is a pastor, and my mom is the church's all-in-one fixer."
Xiaowei, a 25-year-old preparing to pursue graduate studies abroad, says his most vivid childhood memory is that "there was always someone at home for a meal."
"Other families ate behind closed doors, but in our house, we always needed extra bowls and chopsticks. There were always unexpected 'aunties' or 'uncles' dropping by to eat." As a child, he often felt frustrated. "My parents never had time for me, as they were busier than any boss," he recalled.
But as he grew older, he began to recognize the love hidden within that "unfreedom." "Once, my mom was repairing a water heater, and a brother said, 'Auntie, you're so capable.' My mom smiled and replied, 'If no one else does the church work, I have to.' At that moment, I suddenly understood it wasn't that she couldn't rest, but that she found meaning in serving."
Xiaowei says he never felt his family was "incomplete." Though he missed many parent-child activities, "My dad taught me to play guitar, and my mom taught me how to pray. My personality was actually woven by them, thread by thread." He added, "I don't think my family was deprived by the church. Yet, we grew up together with the church."
3. "We don't have big holidays at home, only Sundays."
Linda, a mother of three and the daughter of a pastor, recalls a question she dreaded asking as a child: "Will you be with us this Christmas?" Her father would always reply, "Christmas is the church's busiest time, and we have to prepare events for so many people."
Back then, Linda said she hated the word "church," thinking it was a monster that would always steal her father away. "Other families spent Christmas opening gifts, but we were rehearsing programs. Other families had reunion dinners on New Year's Eve, but we were visiting orphanages."
Even so, her childhood was filled with moments others never experienced. "The first time I saw my dad cry was when he prayed for a brother with terminal cancer. In that moment, I realized his heart didn't belong only to me; it carried the burdens of many."
Now a mother herself, when her children ask, "Where are we going for the holidays?" she replies, "Let's go see Grandpa preach at church." She doesn't force her children to love the church, but she hopes they'll understand that some absences exist because of a greater presence.
4. "I'm a pastor's younger brother, but I don't believe in God."
In these stories, not every family member shares the same faith. A Ze, the younger brother of a pastor, works as a creative director at an advertising company. He openly admits that he has no faith. "My older brother became a Christian very early and later became a pastor. I respect and admire him, but I just can't believe the way he does."
Even so, A Ze holds deep respect for his brother's choices. "Our family was very poor. He could have gone abroad to study, but instead he chose to stay in China and attend seminary. I couldn't understand that at the time. But later, when I saw him accompany people in drug rehabilitation, care for the dying elderly, and rush the injured to the emergency room in the early hours of the morning, I gradually began to understand his inner world." Though he remains an unbeliever, he reflects, "I don't understand God, but I believe some people truly live for others, and my brother is one of them."
Sometimes, "a whole family believing in God" isn't merely a group portrait of shared faith, but a quiet respect and companionship that endures even amid different beliefs.
5. "I'm a pastor's mother. I'm not God, but I will pray for him all my life."
Anut Li, 72, lives in an old house in a small southern city. Her son is the senior pastor of a large urban church and is often invited to preach, lead seminars, and give lectures abroad. Yet she admits she doesn't fully understand "sermons" or "visions." "I only know one thing," she said softly. "I pray for him every night."
She shared a touching memory: "When he first entered seminary, I once dreamed of him walking alone in the rain. I tried to catch up to hold an umbrella for him, but I couldn't. I woke up and started praying, asking the Lord, 'Is it really right for him, who is so young, to choose a path that's unprofitable, unstable, and often misunderstood?'" After that prayer, she wept and wrote a letter to her son. It said simply, "Go. I can't walk beside you, but I'll always hold an umbrella for you, even when you can't see me."
She said her greatest hope in life is not how many sermons her son preaches, but that one day she might hear the Lord say, "The child you raised has been faithful."
The Hidden Order Between Gains and Givings
These stories reveal not the heroism of a single individual's selfless sacrifice, but the quiet resilience of the pastoral family. They are not the ones speaking eloquently from the stage, but those working behind the scenes, polishing every lamp. Their lives have no "closing time," and even the kitchen, bedroom, and backseat become extensions of their ministry. Not every family member may have perfect faith, nor do they all find joy in this life. Yet their choice to stay, to accompany, to pray, to cook, to welcome, and to wait—each act is itself a spiritual journey. Ask them if it is "worth it." They would not use that term. This journey is not for measurement but for response.
In many pastoral families, there is a hidden calling: not declared in words, but lived through an entire life. A bowl of soup prepared in the kitchen, a patient conversation in the car, a hand that answers the phone at 2 a.m.—these are all "sermons." The acts of giving and receiving in a pastoral family are not mere spiritual terms; they are the late-night tears, the public smiles, and the quiet order of faith maintained behind closed doors. What is gained is never applause from the world, but rather the reward promised in Scripture: "Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you."
Originally published by "Career Survival Guide." All the names in the above article are pseudonyms for security reasons.
- Translated by Poppy Chan
