"I guess I'm not an ordinary pastor's wife," I had said. The couple looked back blankly. Not a good sign, I thought. I obviously didn't fit their mold. “It was very nice to meet you," I said, leaving them to my gentle husband. Some people are too disagreeable to hang around, but Bob puts up with pretty much everyone. I love Bob.
I don't consider myself rebellious, I would just rather live the remaining years of my life according to God's expectations, not people's. People want perfection. And I can't deliver.
Besides, Perfect People are admirable on one hand and irritating on another. Take the Perfect Family that occasionally comes into the office where I work. The children are home-schooled, over-achieving violin players who make straight A's, play sports, and are headed to expensive private schools. That's admirable. But they talk incessantly of one another’s accomplishments, good deeds, and noble plans, and after five minutes, my eyes are glazed over, my mouth is frozen in a thin line, and I have mentally made a grocery list. It's irritating. Mom, who needs a smile, probably wouldn't like me if she knew me very well. My bed is unmade, my laundry isn't done, and the other day I turned off the ceiling fan and my daughter asked me why I decorated the blades with fur.
In a word, I'm not perfect. Maybe that makes me an ordinary pastor's wife after all.