In an old farming community in north central Pennsylvania there’s a white schoolhouse on a mound next to an old stone church. That house is my home, and will always be my home. I lived in the converted one-room schoolhouse, with its four small bedrooms and single bathroom accommodating seven people, from the age of three until I left home after college.

You don’t hear about us often, but there are hundreds of us in this denomination. I am speaking of “children of the manse”—preachers’ kids. PKs are affected in many ways by this status, and, whether positive or negative, the impact on them will be profound.

My childhood and even adulthood were shaped by my father’s 35-year pastorate in one location. Though my parents are now with the Lord and my siblings and I moved away decades ago, I can still go back and be treated as family among those saints, and treated with honor. My dad and mom invested sacrificially there, with the best and most productive years of their lives. The saints have not forgotten.

I loved it. I loved the normal. There was no separate home life and church life and social life. People who were stopping by the church also came to our back door to chat. I loved the continuity and security of growing up in the same school system and staying with the same group of friends, many of whom went to my church. Neighbors blended into our beautiful patchwork quilt. It set an example for me of how to make long-term commitments work, when you know that such commitments involve greatly flawed human beings and the impact of a fallen world. Some people see such trouble in the world and conclude that long-term commitments are impossible, but I have seen something different with my own eyes. Without realizing, I think I gained a “bloom where you’re planted” mentality.

A couple of times my father and mother seriously considered calls to other congregations. For one of those, the manse was large, and I envisioned what it would be like to have my own bedroom. In the end, their desire to stay and cultivate the fields they had planted, despite all the known weeds, was much stronger than the call to leave.

Had God called them to a different place, that would have been right and good, of course. Many a preacher’s kid has gained valuable life benefits from being a part of different groups of saints. But my lot was to learn the lessons and benefits of “a long obedience in the same direction,” to learn to weep with my parents at the long-term frustrations and rejoice in the fruits of ministry after long periods of waiting and praying.

In this issue I’m very pleased to highlight Reformed Presbyterian pastors who have served over a quarter century in one place. I hope we will learn from their insights and experience. And my mind goes to their children as well, and to the saints in those places, who are truly blessed.