"You can be a minister. Just don’t marry one,” I heard myself telling a little girl in my church. And then I wondered where that came from. I suspect that I meant it as a compliment to my husband, who was standing nearby. Perhaps I had been short-tempered, as I sometimes am on Sunday mornings, fueled by the adrenaline induced by a strong sermon or the anxiety caused by a weak one. So my comment to the girl was really a comment to my husband—my way of saying that I know it is not always easy to be married to a minister.