Parents having become volunteer home missionaries (Biblically described as carpenters, today known as church planters), I was raised much like a preacher's kid ~ among preachers, evangelists, missionaries, summer workers, and such. In fact, dad was a licensed preacher, too. Only, not feeling called to lead a church in
pastorate position, dad chose not to magnify that office, by way of ordination, so as to not lose his position as a church deacon; as would have otherwise been a requirement, within our given denomination.Additionally, our home was 'Home away from Home' for countless people in spiritual need and hangout of teen preference. So, we experienced 'church', every day.
Mother also having gift of teaching (for which there was always one more lesson to learn) and being best example I have ever been blessed to witness of someone who truly walked in Spirit, I was not ignorant of such things. In fact, I was mother's pen. Whenever God would give her a new song, poem, or other words to share ... my job was to run and grab a pen and pad then write, as fast as I could, as words flowed through her. And, even though I hadn't first clue as to shorthand, I was best available; for which we, thereafter, would manage to make out all scribbles.
But also, while growing up, my service was welcomed in church. Though it might not have happened that way had we had additional mature laborers, there was no forbidding of literal or spiritual children in serving our Lord ... only a general avoidance of passing on information to one who gossiped.
At age 12, I became church pianist of choice. Serving beside mom, we transformed unwanted nursery duty into a real ministry. On occasion, I taught a children's class and once directed children's choir, always worked in VBS, and many etceteras. And, I must have had some wisdom even then, as adults would come to me for advise.
Among other things, when an adult suddenly resigned from their elected duties, I revamped church library and served as church clerk.
Younger sisters being welcomed to serve also, we improvised a bus ministry. Joining forces, we went on visitation, most every Saturday (except when we used phone), and built our youth into largest group within church. Then, with dad's driving assistance, Sunday mornings were busy picking up loads of children and teens in our family station wagon.
Though, however we served, it was often said we did a better job than adults ... not just better but 'way better'. In fact, at one time or another, I've served in most every church elected position except preacher, deacon, music director, and treasurer.
However, even though not elected for such, I once discretely did hubby's job as church treasurer, too ... mostly because I liked doing it. Though, it was dad who warned me to keep a low profile on that one, due to other's fears regarding church's money.
So, while we females did let men take occasional bows for our service, for a greater good, we never heard of such a doctrine as people supposing to live balanced lives between church and family. That's about same as separation of church and state. The church was our family and our life! Thankfully, our service was never belittled, disregarded, disrespected, or under valued; regardless of age or gender. Had that happened as children, we might have thought God to blame.
All this is to say I received 'what now appears to be' a rarely given opportunity to serve (apart from acceptance of gift of prophesy, which was not then recognized or understood); sheltered from prohibiting doctrines of men.
Only, as one grows up, moves away, finds a new church home, then moves again ... my service became less and less welcomed, my family name further not known (sometimes elected into assistant positions for purpose of training men for those roles) until, one day, I looked around only to discover I was a nobody. Having been stripped of identity, I was no longer a preacher's kid or any variation thereof. All referenced childhood training was spat upon. I was not right gender, not thought good enough to serve for whatever legal reason was invented next, and certainly not of qualified substance to teach a man anything.
Even so, I would have met guidelines for privilege to serve. And though I tried, ever-changing rules of acceptance never did end.
Though, occasionally, under false pretense, request would be made for credentials or some other form of infallible proof as to my calling. I'm a Christian! That's it! Would anyone like to say, "Duh?" And, since when did anyone have to prove good enough, at anything, to serve God? Can't you see Spirit compelling me? The Spirit doesn't lie. So what if God didn't give me an eloquent speech. I don't like limelight, anyway.
All I really wanted was for people to stop running interference, second guessing God's heart when He'd show me people that needed love. Then, if people couldn't do that, to give me a title wherein I wouldn't have to explain every time I breathed in church building.
Little is always much, when done for our Lord. Psalm 37:16, 1 Cor. 5:6 (And, having been welcomed while only children, we proved it to be true.) Faithful is he who calls you who also will do it. 1 Thes. 5:24
What was matter with these people? There were holes in their bags! Blind guides, I guess. (But no, I didn't shout ... even though I could provide a good sermon for them, now.)
There was no way I could doubt in my heart but what such doctrines were wrong. After all, I had been an eye witness and testament against such fallacies. But besides that, regardless of their lack of acceptance, God never stopped calling and that was torment of it all ... to hear cries of God's wounded, to know plight of their souls, to see destruction in making ... without any consideration that God might actually be capable of speaking to me, too; a female, of all things! Only God knows how many times I stood in gap and sobbed in intercession for His wounded saints.
