life. faithful.

I've debated whether or not to write this post. Even now as I type, I'm not entirely sure I'll hit that "Publish" button. You see, I'm not an expert on anything I'm about to say. I'm not a pastor, and I'm not a mental health professional. Thankfully, I have very little personal experience to draw from when it comes to the indescribably painful and messy thing that is suicide. When that suicide involves a pastor, I'm at even more of a loss. What I am, though, is the daughter of a pastor. So for just a minute I want to talk to you from that unique position. I became a "Preacher's Kid" the summer before 6th grade, when I turned 11. You know, that super peaceful time in a girl's life...right there on the verge of losing her mind in the preteen years. I had always been (and will always be) a daddy's girl. Pop was the pastor of a wonderful church in Bonner Springs, Rehm's Park SBC, until the middle of my junior year of ...