I could write an entire book about the myriad times Ladd has pushed, pulled, encouraged, nudged, or prodded me to do something that I otherwise would never have chosen to do if left to my own devices. I am very comfortable right where I am, thank you very much, and he knows that if he doesn't occasionally light a fire under me, I'll just stay in my delicious comfort zone forever, happy not to have to mess with or factor in anything new. Ladd is my husband, but he's also a human match in that regard. (Blowtorch is more like it.)
Ladd and I tried our hand at an evangelical church for the first two years of our marriage, but we would eventually put down our roots at First Presbyterian Church and have been worshippin' and tithin' and fellowshippin' there ever since. The congregation is comprised mostly of ridiculously sweet retired people who've lived in Pawhuska their whole lives, and we were the youngest family there (by far) for quite a few years. Like most small churches, ours relies on the support and participation of congregants when it comes to the various aspects of carrying out a Sunday service, and our pastors through the years have always encouraged members to volunteer to be lay readers, greeters, and the like. I never sign up for anything, because I just want to go to church, be blessed, have a cookie and a mug of punch, then go straight home, where my comfort zone is waiting to welcome me with open arms and a soft pillow. But I'm always grateful for the kind souls who throw their hat in the ring and help out.
During one Sunday service when the kids were all young, our minister at the time, Pastor Judy, exhorted those of us in attendance to please consider jotting down our names on one of the sign-up sheets after church. There hadn't been many joiners lately, she explained, and she just wanted to reiterate how much she'd love for others to jump in and help. Of course, "others," to me, meant "everyone but me," so after the blessing and benediction, I walked right past the sign-up sheets and straight out the white double doors of the church without even glancing in the direction of the bulletin board. There were no cookies that Sunday, and I needed to get home and make lunch (and cookies!). I couldn't get on my way fast enough.
Over our BLTs at home a little later, Ladd dropped a bomb on me. "Oh," he said, as if it was just a frivolous afterthought, "I signed you up for children's time."
Funny, Ladd. "Ha ha," I responded. "Right." Obviously, he was kidding, as he would never do that to someone he loved.
"No, I really did," he said. "You're signed up for four Sundays in a row starting next week." He took a big bite of his sandwich and grinned. He wasn't kidding after all.
"You...what?" I said. My cheeks immediately turned hot.
I should take a moment to explain children's time for those of you who have not attended a mainline Protestant church in the last seventy-five years. In many Methodist, Disciples of Christ, and Presbyterian church services, ministers will welcome the younger children to the front of the church for a few short minutes, where they will chat with the kids, ask them thought-provoking questions, and ultimately impart an easy-to-comprehend lesson about life and faith. It's not a children's sermon (it's more interactive than that), and it's certainly not a craft activity (responsible ministers don't allow glitter in the sanctuary)--it's just, as the name suggests, time with the children, before the real meat of the service (prayer of confession, the sermon, and communion) happens. In recent years, the various pastors at our church had started inviting parishioners to assume the children's time role, but there hadn't been many takers. Seems children's time was at the bottom of the list of things any adult in our church wanted to do.
I, for one, had certainly never volunteered to do it. This was well before I'd started blogging, let alone published any books or done speaking engagements. I was terrified of public speaking to the point of it being a phobia, having had a couple of uncomfortable experiences in both junior high speech class (I said "whole nother" and heard snickers in the back) and a friend's wedding (I lost my place in the scripture, then said "amen" in a panic and quit), and if I never got up and spoke in front of a crowd the rest of my life, I would be so happy. And that's what's so daunting about doing children's time in church: You're speaking directly to a group of little kids, but you're also doing it in front of the whole dang church. So you have two intimidating audiences to face.
"Well, our kids make up most of the crowd, anyway," Ladd continued. "And I thought you'd be really good at it."
Oh, nice try, honey. The ol' flattery trick won't work for you this time!
But it did work. In the spirit of Martin Luther, I protested and protested again, but I could tell Ladd really wanted me to try it, and besides that, my name was already on the sign-up sheet. In order to renege, I would have had to call the church secretary the next morning and say, "Never mind, take my name off the list," or worse, break into the church in the middle of the night and scrawl out my name with a black Sharpie. Back then, a local paper was regularly publishing mug shots from the town's weekly arrests, and I really wanted to avoid making an appearance in that column if I could help it. I was trapped.
The following Sunday, with my nervous system in high gear, I walked slowly to the front of the church, ten minutes after the church service began. It was time...for my first children's time. At Pastor Judy's invitation, the kids in the congregation---mine, plus three others---walked, crawled, skipped, stumbled, somersaulted, and/or sprinted to the front of the church. "Hey, kids!" I said nervously, as we all sat down on the steps that led up to the altar. As for my message, short of having anything brilliant to say myself, I had tracked down a lesson called the "Five Finger Prayer," a commonly used, nifty tool designed to teach children how to remember the different kinds of people they can pray for.
My heart pounded and my voice shook as I explained the concept of the prayer hand, pointing to each trembling finger as I explained: The thumb is closest to us, and reminds us to pray for our family and friends. The pointing finger tells us to pray for those who instruct and point us in the right direction: our teachers, coaches, and ministers. The middle finger is tallest, I told them, and prompts us to pray for our president and other leaders. The ring finger is our weakest finger, I explained, and should remind us to pray for those who are sick, sad, hurting, or oppressed. And finally, our little finger represents ourselves, in the vein of "The least of these shall be the greatest among you." If we routinely pray for others first, I told the kiddos, we are more equipped to pray for ourselves. The message was wrapping up and I was still a nervous wreck, but by some miracle, I'd gotten through it in one piece. I glanced at Ladd in his pew and he gave me a sexy wink, which he really shouldn't do in church. But it did make me feel more at ease.
My message drew to a close and I held hands with the kids and said a short prayer, which is customary. Then, just as I was about to make a clean getaway, five-year-old Alex raised her hand out of the blue.
"Yes, Alex?" I said, just as a teacher would call on her pupil.
"You should never, ever, ever do this!" she loudly announced, shooting her middle finger straight up in the air, basically giving me the bird in front of everyone. A couple of people in church laughed. A couple more chuckled in an "isn't that cute" way. But most were dead silent. Please don't ever be silent if a young child flips off her mother in front of everyone during children's time. Please laugh, or start singing...or something. That poor mom needs your support.
That kicked off what has now been about eighteen years of my doing children's time in our little Presbyterian church, all because my husband signed me up one Sunday when the kids were small. There were some pretty rocky moments that first year: One time I accidentally attached the clip-on microphone to my shirt with the tip facing in against my skin instead of out. So rather than amplify my voice, it amplified my nervous, pounding heartbeat. Ladd told me he was actually worried about me and almost called 911.
Then there was the little girl who shouted "Jesus!" in answer to every question I asked.
"So, kids...what do you think of when you think of God?"
"Jesus!" the little girl replied. Okay, that worked.
"Hey kids...what's more important: being right? Or being nice?"
"Jesus!" Hmm. Well, if you believe Jesus is the answer, I guess she has a point.
"Hey kids...who are you cheering for in the Super Bowl: Patriots of Giants?"
"Jesus!" No, sweetie. You have to pick a team.
"I have a question, kids: What's your favorite dessert in the whole wide world?"
"Jesus!" Um...
Bless her. I guess she was working on probabilities. Jesus worked for about 40 percent of the questions I asked, so it was probably a great approach. There were restless boys, shrieking toddlers, kids who were too shy to speak, kids who wouldn't stop talking, and lots of awkward moments that made me cringe. But overall, I'm so glad Ladd kicked me out of my comfort zone and shoved me into the world of children's time. It's kept me from being too lazy at church, and in a nice twist, I can see where it set the stage for my being able to survive the speaking engagements that lay in my future. (If I can survive an auditorium of women!) I usually try to come up with fun messages for children's time, ones that wind up giving the congregation something to think about as well, and they're often peppered with pop culture references that appeal to both my and my older members' generations. (I told the kids all about Elvis Presley once, and a couple of older ladies hooted and hollered in the back.)
Best of all, my daughter Alex hold the record of being the only child who ever gave someone the finger inside our Presbyterian church.
Amen.
Ree Drummond is the founder of The Pioneer Woman and a lover of butter, basset hounds and life on the ranch! Ree started her blog in 2006, and now millions visit ThePioneerWoman.com every month for her trusted recipes and fun family stories. Here’s what she has been up to since it all began:
New York Times Bestselling Author
Ree has written two memoirs (Black Heels to Tractor Wheels, and Frontier Follies) plus nine bestselling cookbooks:
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Recipes from an Accidental Country Girl (2009)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Food from My Frontier (2012)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: A Year of Holidays (2013)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Dinnertime (2015)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Come and Get It! (2017)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: The New Frontier (2019)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Super Easy (2021)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: Dinner’s Ready! (2023)
The Pioneer Woman Cooks: The Essential Recipes (2025)
Food Network Host
Since 2011, Ree has been sharing simple, family-friendly recipes—and the occasional kitchen prank!—on her award-winning show The Pioneer Woman, filmed right on Drummond Ranch. Ree is also a regular judge on Food Network competitions, including Christmas Cookie Challenge.
Founder, The Pioneer Woman Collection
Ree has been creating and selling kitchen and home products at Walmart since 2015 and she’s involved in designing every piece and pattern. The line now includes best-selling appliances (you have to see the floral blender!), plus hundreds of pieces of cookware, tableware, and more. Ree doesn’t like to play favorites but the Agatha print has a special place in her heart.
Restaurant and Hotel Owner
Together with her husband Ladd, Ree has opened several bustling businesses in Pawhuska, Oklahoma, including The Pioneer Woman Mercantile—a bakery, restaurant, and general store that draws visitors from across the country (many come for the biscuits alone!), P-Town Pizza, Charlie’s Ice Cream Shop, and The Boarding House, a charming hotel with eight different rooms decorated by Ree and Ladd.
Media Personality
Ree appears regularly on national TV shows like Today, Good Morning America and more—all while managing to keep flour off her shirt.
Wife, Mom and…Grandma!
Ree’s kids (daughters Alex and Paige and sons Bryce and Todd) are all grown up, and as of December 2024, Ree is the proud grandma of the cutest baby ever, Sofia Scott, born to Alex and her husband Mauricio. Ree still cooks for Ladd (and the kids when they’re home), and she also looks after a few mischievous ranch dogs.
