Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Never Wanted the Pony

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“I bet you can’t dive all the way to the bottom and touch the grate,” he dared me.

I was five years old. A toe-headed, deeply tanned, tiny thing, but boy, could I swim. I wasn’t daunted by the Olympic-sized swimming pool sparkling before me.

“But I got my clothes on,” I answered, waiting to see if he’d take back the challenge.

“If you do it, I’ll buy you a pony,” he replied with a smirk.

And that was all it took. Like a bullet from a gun, I shot quickly into the water, sans swimsuit or not, pointed finger first to touch the drain at the bottom of the pool. Spoiler alert. I reached my goal easily, and broke through the surface of the water, just as quickly, sucking in air hungrily. Almost as hungrily as I ached for his response.

Here’s the thing about five year old me. I really wanted a pony. I asked if I could get one, more than once, not understanding the obstacles that stood in the way of my cowgirl princess dreams, such as living in an apartment, or being dirt poor. I just wanted one, and my father had agreed I could get one. Several times. The poolside promise wasn’t a new thing.

Here’s the next thing. I knew I wasn’t getting a pony. I may had only recently learned to tie my shoelaces, but I understood a thing or two about human behavior. The promise of a pony was like wishing upon a star. It worked in Disney cartoons, but not for little girls who changed schools a billion times a year, chasing dad across the country while he sowed his oats. I didn’t even want the pony. Not at that moment.

I was proud of myself, though. I tried to reel it in, but I couldn’t help it. Sure, touching the bottom of the deep end was nothing new for me, but it was for him. And mom knew I could do it, but he didn’t know. He’d been gone when I learned. Where did he go anyway? With just a backpack and the contents of our bank account, for months at a time?

Yessiree, I was proud. I was cheesing, big time, and I waited for his response with anticipation. Wouldn’t he be so proud?!

All I can remember is the chuckle. A half laugh, half “well, I’ll be damned.” He laughed at the sport of a smiling girl, and then he turned and walked away, probably afraid I’d get his smoldering, filterless Camel wet. I guess I remember something else. I remember my heart breaking. It didn’t ache for a pretty pony to keep in the nonexistent backyard, though. It ached for affection. I wanted him to be proud of me.

I can look back on the muddled years of my past, and I can see that same longing. Love me! See me! Make me feel worthwhile! I floated through friendships, relationships, and most facets of my life like a little girl kicking like crazy to reach the bottom. If I could just touch the grate, he’d be proud. Maybe he’d even stay around for a while. If I could just be skinny enough, pretty enough, smart enough. If I wore the right clothes, the other girls would accept me. If I slept with him on the first date, he’d have to like me. If I agreed to be agreeable, then my husband wouldn’t leave me. So many parts of myself I gave up or gave away, just hoping to finally feel the satisfaction of being worth something to someone. Anything to anybody.

I never got that pony, and I never found what I was looking for in the arms of mankind. Don’t get me wrong; I found love. I currently reside in the most fulfilling and joyous marriage I could fathom, but I had to come to a place in life where I realized my self-worth and personal happiness couldn’t be found in the acceptance, opinion, or affections of this world. As the years went by and I scoured the pages of my Bible, I finally understood my purpose and fullness were found therein. A Savior who called me precious, that was what mattered most. A God who became man, to give His life for me, that was what I had been longing for. An unconditional love that said, ‘you can have all of me, and you don’t have to give me a thing,’ that was what had been missing. I didn’t have to perform, fit into a box, or do anything other than just believe that love was there for me. And when I finally realized His great grace was enough, that His strength was sufficient, and that His love never failed, I stopped kicking. I stopped striving to reach the bottom, to obtain the love of the world, or to fill my cup with empty promises. Because, I never needed the promise of a pony. I only needed perfect love.

In Love, the Little Things Are Really the Big Things

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I read aloud the back of a hot pink conditioning mask I had just bought. I was impressed with the catchy phrasing and perfectly placed alliteration, considering it was simply haircare. I briefly daydreamed about writing for the back of shampoo bottles as a career, while concluding the back-package blurb with my own signature flair of intonation.

As if he were getting paid, or a hidden camera recorded a conditioner commercial in our bedroom, my husband replied with glee, “wow, that sounds like the way to go, right there.”

I chuckled aloud, “that is why I love you. I know you have zero interest in me going to deep condition my hair, yet you respond like it’s important.”

“Hey,” he replied, “if it’s important to you, it’s important to me!”

Now, it wasn’t that I was under the illusion that he suddenly cared about the girly things that made me smile, but I did understand that this was simply another example of how much he loved me. It was a little thing, but I’ve discovered that in matters of love, the little things are actually the big things.

The little act of listening with interest at the things that interested me. This small token of respect spoke volumes.

The little signs that he cared, like buying my favorite coffee when I was almost out, or filling up my car with gas when I didn’t even ask. He didn’t have to do these small, insignificant things, but the fact that he did was huge. All the tiny, everyday acts added up to a lot. I never doubted his affections.

It’s nice to hear the words “I love you,” and it’s awesome to get flowers or chocolate. But for me, it’s the way he washes the supper dishes before I get a chance to do it, or how he takes my laundry straight out of the dryer, putting it on hangers to alleviate wrinkles.

Some women like diamonds, but do you want to know the best gift I received lately? In fact, it probably rivals most presents I’ve received!

A nap!

At least once a week, my husband will ensure the perfect environment for me to snooze. He’ll pull back the covers, turn on the sound machine, dim the lights, and corral the children while I sleep. They know to leave Momma alone when naptime comes, and he fields all the really “important” requests for juice or finding a particular show on TV.

This small token is a huge deal to a tired momma!

So, whether it’s sweeping the kitchen, or rapt attention over beauty product descriptions, I never doubt this man’s affections. He doesn’t have to stand outside the bedroom window with a boom box or some other grand, Hollywood gesture. In real love, it’s the little things that are really the big things.

The First Step to a Good Relationship

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I’ve always been one of those gals who likes instructions. I figure most women do, and that’s why we’re a good partner for men. We have no problem following direction, which can be an asset to their ummm, lack of such. I joke, but seriously, relationships are a lot about teamwork. So, as a woman who loves a step-by-step guide, who’s married to a man who figures it out as he goes, we manage to meet in the middle of most things, creating a great balance for this complex thing called life. And since I’m the instruction manual kinda lady, I thought what better way to share some of the relationship knowledge I’ve gained through trial and error, than by giving you all an excellent first step. After all, it’s hard to make it to point C when you’ve neglected A, or even B.

I got the idea for this post this morning when I was reading the Bible. I came across a part when the Old Testament prophet Elijah said to the people, “How long will you waver between two opinions? If the LORD is God, follow him; but if Baal is God, follow him.”

I’m not trying to make being in a relationship akin to serving God (although, lessons are there), and I’m definitely not going to try and over-spiritualize the topic. But many times when I read the Bible it reminds me how it can impact each area of your life. This morning’s readings happened to remind me of a time that changed not only the course of my relationship with my now-husband, but also changed the course of my life. How could I not share that with you all?! It was my very own moment of discovering that if I believed in something, I needed to commit to it already.

It was the day before Valentine’s, approximately 12 years ago. First off, yes, I had waited until the last minute to buy my boyfriend a card. You see, things weren’t the greatest between us. I could blame it on so many things. I mean, I was freshly out of a marriage gone bad, with a husband who had left me. Rejection will make any girl feel afraid to open her heart to another man. I could blame it on my grief. My heart was still numb from the recent loss of my mother. I was living life in a fog, and I honestly don’t remember most days back in that timeframe. I probably drank too much, trying to numb my pain even further, and my fella certainly was no choir boy either. We both succumbed to our individual vices, two broken souls clinging to one another loosely, trying to figure out if we wanted the other person to help save us or not.

Point is, I could go on and on with all the many reasons why we weren’t in a fabulous place in our relationship, but for the purposes of this post, I’m just going to discuss the pivotal decision that started to change things for the better.

So, back to the Hallmark aisle. I love cards. Always have. It must be my love language or something. I’m a writer, after all. I love words. I love how you can take feelings and put them into words, and then gift those words. A card is an amazing way to say, “this! This is a piece of what I feel, and what you mean to me.”

So, there I was in my favorite place, and I had found the perfect Valentine’s Day card, despite waiting until the last minute to buy it. I read the words, knowing they were a perfect declaration of love, but it was some unwritten words that really shook me.

I can’t say I’ve ever heard the audible voice of God, and at the time I hardly heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit to my heart, but when it happened in the card aisle that day I had no doubt it was the voice of God speaking in my head.

“You need to mean it.”

Five words, out of the blue, that caused me to pause before placing the card in my basket, and that began a conviction in my heart. God knew I wasn’t 100 percent in this relationship. I was holding back, guarding my heart, and distrustful of moving forward. The act of purchasing the card for him was just lip service. I was saying “I love you,” but my actions were lacking. The card spun a lovely lyric of commitment, but my heart wasn’t in it. Not really.

Looking back, I wonder if my face in the card aisle reflected the shaking I was under at that moment. It was like I stood at a crossroads. I could keep giving a mediocre effort, kinda gliding through the relationship, indifferent to the eventual outcome, or I could go all in. Yeah, it was a gamble to give away my heart, but I knew I’d never achieve real happiness in a relationship without betting on us. I had all the right words to describe love. Now I just needed to want it and believe it.

The thing is, this world is full of broken, hurting people. When we started our relationship, we were certainly both those things. We had more baggage than a bellhop, but the only way to start unloading it all is to admit it’s there, and then make the decision to do something about it.

A relationship requires give and take. It takes teamwork. It takes both parties willing to work. And the first step to happiness in a relationship is deciding to put in the work. Not halfway, but 100 percent.

Heck, I’ve known people who get married with it on the edge of their thoughts, “this probably isn’t gonna work. Just like all my other relationships didn’t work.”

Well, of course it’s not going to work. Why is the percentage of marriages lower today than thirty years ago? People don’t want to make that commitment. They want a test drive. Let’s just live together and see what happens. There’s no money back guarantee with relationships, and we can’t treat them like there is.

The first step to creating a happy relationship is deciding you can be happy. It’s understanding you deserve happiness. It’s making the commitment to believe in yourself, and to believe in the other person. It’s the decision to actually try and be a better partner. It’s the choice we all make to lay down pride and selflessly serve the person we’re saying we love. Also known as, not just saying the words, but showing them with everything we have.

If you find yourself currently gliding through a tumultuous dating game, ask yourself those words. “Do you mean it?” Are you willing to put in the work? Stand at the crossroads and decide to either go all in or stop pretending just because you kinda crave companionship. Any relationship takes all that both people have to offer. If you’re not ready to give all you got, it may be time to take a step back and see why that is. It’s not fair to the other person if you’re not willing to mean the words inside the card that you’re buying.

How to Have a Happy Marriage

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I receive emails and messages frequently from strangers around the world seeking advice for how to improve their marriage relationship. I can’t say I hold some kind of secret sauce to happily ever after, but I do personally enjoy a very healthy and fruitful relationship with my spouse. If asked our secret, I could mention a handful of things we do or don’t do. If I had to come up with just one word to take to the heart of marriage, it would probably be selflessness, but even that isn’t the key. As I thought about what made our union so blissful, the many key components aside, I realized there was one factor that I believed was responsible.

Even when I speak of selfless behavior, this isn’t something we came up with on our own, or even reached by trial and error. Though, building a life with someone is certainly that. It’s moments built upon days, set up into weeks, with the years racing by, where you do acquire a certain familiarity and ease of being together.

My husband said earlier at our dinner date, “I’ll bet this pandemic showed a lot of people what their marriages were made of.”

Or not made of, sadly. I mean, moments stacked up into weeks, and then passing years can be a dreadful experience if you don’t particularly like the other person. I can honestly say I love my spouse more and more, each and every day. Just when I think I couldn’t love him more… I do. So what gives?

I treat my husband the way I would want to be treated, and he is the same. He is gentle with my feelings, considerate and kind. When anger tries to gather in either of our minds, we have the wherewithal to pause, consider the other’s feelings, and not just react, but react in love. We didn’t get this from a marriage conference or life coach.

I serve my husband in love, and he serves me in return. He doesn’t serve me out of obligation, and I don’t serve him based on some religious idea. We don’t follow a traditional family unit because that’s what’s worked for others. I consider him greater than myself, and he considers me greater than himself. We place the need of one another above our personal needs or desires, and yet mutually we both get what we need in the relationship. Selfless love. Dear Abby didn’t suggest the idea.

I don’t compare. I don’t compare my man to other men, and he doesn’t compare me to other women. We don’t covet the relationships of others. We feed our own. But I also don’t compare myself to him. I don’t place our roles on a scale of justice, weighing one contribution against another. Neither does he. I don’t concern myself with what he’s not doing. I’m too busy being grateful for the things he does do. I don’t keep a tally of who does more in the relationship. That would take my eyes off the gift of doing for him. It would blind me to all the tiny, selfless acts he offers each and every day. No human counselor offered this advice.

I am too busy looking in the mirror to find fault in his reflection. I focus on being a better me, and he does the same. I water my own grass, I don’t sweat the small stuff, and I never let the sun set on my anger. Heck, I just don’t get angry much. Nope, it’s not a miracle chill pill. It’s the Fruit of the Spirit.

All the things I’ve mentioned I don’t do, or the many wonderful things my husband does do, these are all fruits that have sprung up in our marriage because we abide in the vine. To put it plainly, we follow the example of Jesus, and that makes us better for one another. Heck, if it was up to just me, I’d be a horrible wife. My hormones are a mess, I tend to be an absolute control freak, and I cannot understand people who don’t like their ducks in a row. If it were up to me, I’d likely expect perfection in a man, but I learned early on that my happiness isn’t found in this world alone. My joy is complete in Heavenly places, and that takes a load off the chaos down here.

Early in our marriage we began a journey of getting to know Jesus better, and I now realize that is the absolute best thing we did not only for ourselves, but for each other. The teachings of Jesus found in the Bible are the best life hack you will ever find. The words in red teach me how to be a better partner, a selfless friend, a giving wife, a gentle lover, a peaceable person, and an understanding spouse. They teach me not only how to love, but how to love well. Every day is spent in the Word, and because of this dedication to living and loving like Jesus, my marriage blossoms under that care. Our relationship is like a well-watered vineyard, bursting forth with good fruit. It’s not us, really, but rather our ability to live out what scripture teaches.

Of importance and worth mentioning, you can’t just read a few verses out of Ephesians and call it a day. You can’t attend a marriage conference at your church and expect a life change overnight. It turns out that the entire story of God’s love from beginning to end, on each and every page, in each parable and Old Testament lesson, lays the foundation for learning to love like Him. It’s a day by day taking in of the truth, a daily listening to the Holy Spirit, and a continuous surrendering of self to His ways. To be a good spouse is to follow Jesus. To have a happy marriage is to build your life on His purposes, abiding in His love, and not trying to fill your heart with anything less than the true love of Christ. To love the Lord, like, really love the Lord, is the only way to love your spouse as you should, and to be loved by them like you deserve.

My husband is an amazing husband because he seeks Christ. His relationship with me simply overflows from that. Any good thing I do in my marriage is Spirit led. Like I mentioned before, I’d likely be a pretty naggy and slightly psychotic wife if not for the patience, kindness, good temperance, and love the Spirit fills my heart with on the daily as I surrender my life to Him.

I never want to be one of those preachy, self-righteous, overly religious, or pious people who claim to know the secret to a happy life. Heck, I’m still learning as I go, a work in progress, if you will. All I know is, I love my husband, I love my marriage, and I love my life. I wouldn’t change one thing about it. I am not just content, I am supremely blessed, living my own fairy tale it feels like. And when I look around for a reason for my bliss, or the cause of such happiness, I know without a doubt it’s our decision to grow close to Jesus that has drawn us so perfectly close to one another. No secret sauce, but certainly a great recipe for a happy married life.

Take the Nap

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I’ve discovered a skill in my middle age that I never knew before I possessed. In fact, I’ve become quite the professional. As I changed position luxuriously under the stack of warm blankets, my elastic waistband pants shifting against the clean sheets, I stole a glance at the clock. Ahhh, perhaps another half hour. It just felt so good.

I never took naps before this year. This year. Ugh. The year to which all other years would be compared. The year that taught me how to shelter in place for the safety of others, but also taught me how to crawl into a hidey-hole because of the shocking heart within mankind. I had spent the past year reading a lot of books, scrolling through a bunch of social media, and then deactivating social media when the cruel words of people I thought I knew became too much to bear. Somewhere in all the realization of how harsh the world could be, I found solace in sleep. Not too much, mind you, but enough to recharge my aging battery.

As a woman in my thirties, an active mother and busy wife, I snubbed the art of napping. I mean, when you’re raising babies who has time to sleep?! When you’re a working mom, a stay-at-home mom, and a work-from-home mom… how can you nap? When there’s a house to clean, articles to write, a small business to run, and shopping to complete, who can find the time? But more to the point, who can justify such a waste of the day?! I certainly could not. So, I spent a good decade or more utterly exhausted, yet unwillingly to succumb to the sandman outside the set apart hours for nighttime sleep.

Somewhere between 42 and 43, I found a beautiful place of giving no shits. There’s no better way to describe it. I realized the dust would still be there, the laundry too. I discovered my kids would live, perhaps even figure out how to do something for themselves every once in a while. In fact, I realized my husband took joy in allowing me such a simple pleasure. He would turn on the sound machine, and threaten the children with life and limb if they woke Mommy. It gave him the opportunity to give me a priceless gift. Rest.

Somewhere in this century in which we live, women mistakenly equated rest with recklessness, as if being still equaled being lazy. Finally, at 43, I know that simply isn’t true. Our bodies need rest. They need stillness, a time-out, rare moments of nothing. In a world that’s so much, nothing is just the thing we need.

Now, when my time would be better served scratching an item off my mental to-do list, I instead opt for the nap. Time is always fleeting, even faster as you age, but knowing I cannot stop it, I surrender to the nap. It makes me a better mom, wife, nurse, and person when I hit that simple reset, even if just for half an hour.

The dishes are still there when I wake, but the world didn’t spin off its axis as I let them be. The children didn’t implode or even burn the house down. The world kept on going, and I find myself in a better frame of mind to tackle the problems therein. If the last year has taught me anything (and it’s actually taught me far too much), it’s shown me the beauty of simply taking the nap.

The Unexpected Peace I Found in Pain

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I was a few months away from my thirtieth birthday when my life fell apart. I had a beautiful home, new vehicles shining in the double garage, and the financial stability to add to the rooms of my house pretty much anything my heart desired. Four bedrooms, but basically silent halls. I had a wonderful 9-5, good friends, and who can forget the double shelves of alphabetized DVDs. Life was good. Or as good as life got, anyway. Right?!

I can remember the heartache like no other. My throat was raw with it. The deep pain in my chest rose with bile and acid up my esophagus, and the tears just kept falling. They had not stopped since the night before, and glancing at my red-rimmed eyes in my new car’s mirror made me glad I had not reported to my job site that morning. They would have known immediately.

“What’s wrong with me?!” I wondered.

I drove along an unknown roadway. Despite having tossed and turned most of the night, and regardless of the six pack I had numbly swallowed to help usher in the sandman, I had managed to leave my happy (looking) home early to get to work on time. My promotion had brought along new training, and it seemed the best bit of luck that this particular day would be one spent commuting over an hour to work, alongside strangers who wouldn’t question my melancholy. This was back when I believed in things like luck or coincidence.

“Why am I so unlovable?!” I questioned the pristine interior of my vehicle.

I was almost thirty years old, and I felt like I should be thinking about starting a family. Not this. My mind traveled back to the prior week, how my primary care doctor had questioned my desire for children in light of the birth control prescription she was writing. I didn’t know when she asked why we hadn’t started a family yet. We both wanted children. But in the silence of the rubber meeting the roadway that morning, I knew. I finally understood.

“What did I do wrong?!” I cried.

I racked my brain in the dim, morning light. I tried to be a good wife. I didn’t nag. I kept fit and trim. I had even fixed that flat chest situation. Thank you, Mr. Surgeon. I was a good cook, a complimentary companion, and always quick to concede in an argument. So why did he not want me?

“I don’t want to be married anymore,” he had said the night before.

He had asked me to take a seat, then had spoken the words matter-of-fact, like turning off love and ending a marriage was as easy as changing the color pattern of the living room. Perhaps easier.

“Help me, God!” I cried into the silent car, as I replayed the night before my marriage ended.

God. I still believed in Him. I had never stopped, really. I just hadn’t spoken to Him in a while. In fact, the last time I remembered hearing His voice was before I had gotten married. As things began to heat up in our relationship, some six years prior, I remember the whisper of the Holy Spirit reminding me of something I had learned as a young woman at a discipleship training school overseas. The speaker had cautioned the room full of us young adults about the dangers of “missionary-dating.” You might be familiar with the Bible’s instruction about being unequally yoked, and this was the caution the Lord brought to my mind.

So, over a table full of empty beer bottles, in a smoky bar, I had asked my soon-to-be spouse if he believed in Jesus.

“Of course! I’m Catholic,” he answered with a laugh, and that had been the extent of my prayerful consideration of our relationship.

I don’t want to paint the object of my (then) affection and ex-husband in a bad light. I certainly was no saint, and the point of this story is me. I had ignored the voice of God, His guidance, His Spirit, and relationship with Him for over six years. Yet in the midst of my utter failure and pain, He was the One I cried out to for help.

“Help me, God,” I had cried, and calling for His assistance came as naturally as if I had been doing it all along.

And there, in my pain, He met me. There in my brokenness, He spoke to my heart. The words I heard from the Lord at that moment were like a lightening bolt, yet also, simultaneously, like the whisper of a trusted friend placing their hand on my sagging shoulder and speaking the advice I needed. It’s not important what He said to me in that moment, but I can tell you it rang as one of the truest things that has ever been spoken into my life. It was exactly what I needed in that moment, where I felt so unworthy and unloved, but also what I needed to pick myself up from the mess I was in, and move on from a broken situation I could not control or mend.

I arrived to the alternate job site carrying some things I did not expect to find. Hope for the future, and peace for my current situation. I had been feeling a hurt and pain I couldn’t make my way through, but as I put my car in park in an unfamiliar lot, I knew I could make it with God carrying me. Somehow, and for some reason, He had met me in the midst of my pain. I didn’t deserve an answer. In fact, I had given Him the silent treatment for years. Yet when I cried out in my hurt, my Father answered. I still don’t think I deserved that, but thankfully He is a good, good Father. Compassionate, kind, and unending in mercy.

Life has never been the same since I encountered God in the middle of a lonely highway over thirteen years ago. It didn’t immediately become a pathway of roses, but I do know it began to look up from there. He pulled me from my pit, and I have kept in constant communication with Him ever since. I mean, a God who answers a wayward child who is reaping what she sowed… that is a relationship I could never turn my back on again.

The Lord not only pulled me from my pit, but He filled me with a new song. He gave me a new life, a wonderful husband, beautiful children, a path with purpose, forgiveness, redemption, and all the blessings that are promised in His Word. I haven’t written about my divorce in a long time, but this story has been on my mind lately. Although the circumstances are sad and broken, the healing and restoration is something I never want to forget. I’m so grateful we can serve a God of redemption, who writes us a new story, even when we’ve ripped the pages. He truly makes all things new. This story, while my personal account, is also the story of all mankind. We are all the broken pieces, who had searched for fulfillment in all the wrong places, yet aren’t left on our own. All we have to do is call for help, and He will hear. Even if we haven’t spoken in years. He hears, and He rescues the fallen.

How I Learned to Fall in Love

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This morning I was reading the Bible, and as I came upon a particular scripture I thought of my spouse.

Psalm 37:4 (ESV)

Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart.

Immediately my mind went to my husband. This was no surprise. All morning I had been filled with love for him, and it seemed that now the Lord was telling me why.

As my husband had walked into the living room, first thing this morning, I had smiled. I had smiled at his bed head and scraggly beard. I had smiled at his sleepy eyes, surrounded with crow’s feet. We were both getting older, but the more his hair grayed and his wrinkles deepened, the more handsome he was to me.

I had smiled as he stood at the coffee maker, his rainbow, kitty cat pajama pants grinning back at me. What other middle aged man could make “People of WalMart” attire look so good? The press of his chest against the dull white of his stretched, old undershirt made me melt, and he was the only man who could make me respond this way. On his worse day, he put more flutters in my belly than People magazine’s Sexy Man Alive (any year and counting) could even try to achieve.

I put my Bible down, watching him through our big window, as he traipsed through the grass in compression stocking feet, hunting for a snake he had seen. My knight in shining pj’s, smirking like Steve Erwin on the trail of a crikey rattler. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and not simply because I feared a snake bite on his black-socked toe. He was my everything.

I don’t often speak of him like that. Everything. It seemed too much, like I was placing him on a pedestal above God Himself, but I finally understood the Lord knew better. After all, it was God who had given me the gift of my husband, and I finally understood the gift wasn’t just someone to do life with. It was someone to understand love with.

God is love, and He freely gives us that love. He gave it in the gift of His Son, but even with that there are many who can not comprehend it. I guess He knew that would happen, and that’s why He had it included in scripture. He reminded spouses to love one another as Christ loved the church. Husbands and wives have the opportunity to experience the love of Christ in a concrete, tangible way, here on earth, but too often miss it. You see, that was my gift in my husband. God knew Ben would love me like Jesus loves us all (or as similar as possible for us imperfect people to manage).

As I read that Psalm this morning I realized I had finally learned how to fall in love, and stay in love. I had sought the Lord with my whole heart, giving Him every single part of my life, and in turn He has given me the desires of my heart. A heart desires love. Not the romcom, Hollywood kind, but the real stuff. The stuff that doesn’t make it into romance novels. The real deal that wasn’t always pretty, because life seldom is, but was perfect in its raw honesty and steadfastness. He had given me an unconditional love, so like the one He modeled here on earth, and He delighted in watching us dance and laugh in our romance.

This was the only way I could understand our marriage, why it was so perfectly imperfect, and such a beautiful mess. It was the only explanation for why I grew to love this man more and more, each and every day, even as our bodies aged and our worse idiosyncrasies emerged. It was the only thing that made sense in a heart that thought it couldn’t possibly hold any more abundant affection, yet somehow each day expanded its walls. He was my gift, my gift of love, my personal representation of Christ’s dedication to me.

My husband would never throw a stone at me, even though I have given him many reasons, but he also knew I wouldn’t lob one back in exchange. I was the desire of Ben’s heart too, and as he had diligently and unabashedly sought Jesus, I had become that love his heart needed. I had become his example of love in the flesh. We had been woven together, with Christ running through us, and the love that had emerged was cataclysmic. Even now as I write it leaves me breathless.

To put it simply, I found the more I sought the Lord, the more He revealed Himself. And the more He revealed Himself in my marriage, in my husband, and in our relationship. I’ve been blessed that this hasn’t been a one-sided deal. We have achieved our happiness through us both investing our time, our time to seek Jesus, our time to seek how to bless one another, our time to show appreciation for the gift of love we’ve been given.

I’m unsure how to end this post, and perhaps that’s fitting. Too often marriages end prematurely, either in divorce, or worse, indifference. So many couples end before they even begin. They never see the kind of love that’s free for their taking, if only they could delight to find it, to understand it’s found in Jesus.

I heard once that you never stop learning. So here’s to us all continuing our education in love, seeking it like it’s the most honored, advanced degree. Never seeing the end of our quest for perfect love, and finding it in our Savior, who blesses us with His love, here on earth, now and forever.

When in Doubt, Hug Your Spouse

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Every morning before I leave for work I gaze at my gorgeous girls, lingering a little longer on my hottie husband, and I deposit a farewell kiss on their foreheads. Never one to wake the rest of the house in the pre-dawn hours, I will tread lightly, and even in my goodbyes I am silently contemplative. I pray for them with unspoken words, and I slip out the door as discretely as I got ready for the day. Typically the only one in the household who even stirs is our tiny dog, who will roll onto her back for a good tummy rub from mom, but otherwise the household snoozes on. Yet that wasn’t the case this morning.

My morning had gone okay, and that’s me being really optimistic. In full transparency, it has been a tough morning. I found my mind doing circuits over things I could not change, and despite my best efforts, I dwelt on things below rather than those above. In lieu of my regular shower prayers, I struggled through pleas for God to guard my heart and mind against the muck that persisted in taking up residence there. Thoughts that I wasn’t good enough, or that God couldn’t use me where I previously thought. Thoughts I was certain had been previously vanquished. Point being, there was a lot of armor being slung around in my bathroom before coffee had even been made.

Later I had prayed for my babies, while the java finally brewed, and as my last task of the morning routine I brushed my lips lightly upon their sleeping heads. I saved my spouse for last, and after my lips left his warm skin I was surprised to see his eyelids flutter open.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I whispered.

But he seemed unbothered, quickly and smoothly enveloping me with a warm, welcome embrace. I sunk with surrender into his arms, and it was like I melted there in the safety of his love. Perhaps it sounds melodramatic, but I cannot otherwise explain the weight that seemed to lift from my shoulders as I rested my head against his chest. It was like an addict’s fix, and I had not even realized I was jonesing for unconditional affection.

Later, during my commute, I realized the sweet release had continued. I felt lighter, less burdened all around, and my enhanced mood made it seem like a magic spell had been cast upon me. I guess love is like that.

If I’ve discovered anything in marriage, it is this. When in doubt, hug your spouse.

If they’re quiet, hug them. If they seem down, hug them. If they’re happy as a lark, hug them. If you’ve had a fight, hug them. If you want to make-up, hug them.

When you’re running late, hug them. When you’re bone-tired, hug them. When you’re in a bad mood, hug them. And when you’re feeling celebratory, hug them. Just hug them.

When you have no idea what to say, hug them. When you don’t have the answers, hug them. When you think there’s nothing you can do to make things better, hug them. When in doubt, hug your spouse.

Never underestimate the benefits of physical touch. A person can be wound tighter than a two dollar watch, and not even realize it. Yet a caring embrace can allow their guard to be let down, releasing the built-up tension and stress.

A well-placed hug says, “I see you, and I care about what you’re going through.”

It says, “I’m here for you. You don’t have to say a word, but know I’m here.”

Life is crazy; I get it. Our schedules are overloaded, our days busy, and our to-do list over done. But never miss the important things. Sometimes it’s the most simple of assurances that mean the most. So, when in doubt, hug your spouse.

How God Made a Miracle Marriage Out of Our Mess

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I guess if any relationship was doomed for failure, it was ours. I had come off the tail-end of heartbreak hard and fast. After six years of marriage, my ex-husband had come home and told me he didn’t love me anymore. Already an injured bird, it didn’t take much to rip off my wings, ensuring I would never fly again. Indeed, I was a woman who based her worth on the people who loved her, or sadly, in the event of divorce, the man who didn’t. And there you had this pitiful waif of a gal, running back home to Mississippi with her tail between her legs, sent packing by the funny guy from Chicago who had decided she wasn’t worth the effort. It was this broken mess that plunged heart-first into another love affair, but don’t go feeling sorry for me as the rejected woman. In all honesty, I was probably a terrible wife.

So, there you had a terrible (ex) wife, getting involved with a fellow ex’er. Yep, we were both once-divorced, and with a mix of trepidation and hope, we stepped into the mess of one another’s life. I’m not sure who was worse off, him or me, but I don’t guess that matters anymore. We certainly didn’t let it stop us then. My husband (husband now, that is) and I, ran into each other’s arms. He could no better hold me up than I could him, but I guess we tried. Two negatives do not make a positive, but we were determined to make our math work.

Within the first year of being married we found out a lot about each other. If dating me for a year, status post divorce and dirty thirty crisis, had not let Ben know I was an alcoholic, then living with me certainly did. He knew I was a homebody, but realizing I stayed home so I could drink became ever-clear (see what I did there) all the more once we were under the same roof. Each morning he would crush cans, twenty or thirty littering the kitchen counters, and he would laugh about how we needed to start recycling. I could drink him under the table, and we both knew it. After I began to abstain we would understand better why.

Now, don’t go thinking I was some saint who poured out my bottles of alcohol as some sort of victory stance. Nope. The only reason I quit drinking (at the time) was because of the tiny baby growing in my womb. I had desired, and failed, to stop drinking for years, but it wasn’t until the life of a child entered the mix that I put my vices on the back burner.

Well, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to quit being an addict. I still remember, at seven months pregnant, confronting my husband about missing narcotics. How had I not realized my spouse was on drugs before?! I guess I had always been too drunk to notice.

Y’all, that first year was a doozie. Maybe even the second year too. I’m not sure how two total idiots made a marriage work, but I’ll be the first to say it was a God-thing. Now, I certainly wouldn’t advise young couples to pursue matrimony and starting a family with someone as broken as yourself, but then again, I suppose we’re all broken in one way or another. Our problems were just more obvious to the keen observer. In between the lies, addiction, and wounded hearts, God did a miracle. He took two hopeless, helpless wrecks and exploded His spirit within us. I know it’s only God’s grace that made it happen rather than fall through the cracks.

It was God’s grace that caused me to give my new husband a chance that day on the sofa. I think he wanted that confrontation. I think he wanted to tell me. I think he wanted me to find out about the drugs. But I also think he thought I’d leave him. I did not.

In the heart of all men and women is the potential for good. We are created in the image of our Father in Heaven, and it’s only sin and this world that gets everything so convoluted. We all have sin, and if you say you don’t, you’re lying to yourself. The only question is, are you willing to be forgiven? And perhaps, also, are you willing to forgive?

I’ve realized that marriage is a whole lot about forgiveness. It’s forgiving because you were first forgiven, and it’s about loving beyond just yourself. I can’t explain how grateful I am that the Lord gave me such wisdom that first year or two into our marriage. He made me abundantly aware that I was so far from perfect, it wasn’t even funny. That I couldn’t expect perfection from others. But that He (alone) could make things perfect. He could heal broken hearts, broken lives, and make all things new. I didn’t go about trying to fix my broken husband. Instead, I went about fixing me. Or rather, allowing the Lord to show me how.

I realized pretty quickly that I couldn’t focus on what my husband had done or was doing wrong, but I could focus on being a better wife. I realized that I couldn’t make him do things my way, but I could do things for him. I discovered I couldn’t change him, but I could change me. Y’all, the craziest thing happened. While I was busy making myself a better wife, Ben became a better husband. I didn’t ask him to change; I just trusted Jesus to grow us both. And boy, did He ever.

Each day seems better than the last. Do you know what I mean? I hear so many people say, “marriage is hard,” but is it really? I don’t think marriage is hard. I think life is hard. Having someone to transverse through the difficulties of a hard life? Gosh, that’s a blessing.

My husband is my best friend. I didn’t think marriage could be as good as it is, but it only gets better. We have seen a lot in a short (long) decade. We saw addictions broken (ten years sober/clean for us both). We saw trust rebuilt. We experienced the birth and raising of three babies. We experienced poverty and more than enough. Then we experienced poverty again. We’ve been through a lost business, overdrawn credit cards, reposed vehicles, and foreclosure. We’ve seen ups and downs, but only of the life and world around us. Never of our marriage. Life will give you a hard shake and very little break, but marriage should be the gift from God that can be a rock in shifting sand. In fact, if Jesus is the foundation of your marriage, it should be a strong tower of refuge in this stormy life.

I serve my spouse in love, and he serves me also. We cover ourselves in scripture, and God’s Word is the instruction manual for our marriage. Every reaction I have towards him is spirit-driven (or rather I strive for it to be). Those rogue, angry thoughts will surface occasionally, but that’s why a good, Christ-like pause is important. I measure my words, and so does he. I can’t for the life of me remember the last time he said something hurtful to me. My husband is so gentle with me, so caring and considerate. I don’t think that’s a typical “man” thing. I think that’s a Jesus thing. My spouse handles me with care, driven by love, inspired by our Savior, and I treat him the same. Slow to speak, slow to anger, and quick to forgive. Focusing on the other person, even to the point of denying self. I don’t have to worry that by denying my own needs I am left lacking. My husband meets my every need, and I serve him the same.

It’s funny to me, looking back. Our relationship was doomed to failure, from the perspective of the world, that is. God, on the other hand, looked at the mess of us, like a glob of unformed clay, and He said, “I can work with that.” We were malleable, you know? We were willing to have God change us for the better. I mean, we knew we were broken, and I guess that’s the first step to a happy marriage and life. Looking at yourself (and not just the other person) and admitting you need to be changed by the Lord. It’s looking to Jesus to fix you, not the person you’re in a relationship with. It’s allowing God to do the refining, and then trusting that He knows how to shape things better than you ever could alone. That’s the only explanation for what started between Ben and me thirteen (even twenty-three) years ago, and what it has become today. God knew what He was doing when He put us together, and despite our attempts to foul things up and all our missteps, God still made a happily-ever-after out of our mess. He gave us a miracle marriage, and each day is like Heaven on earth.

The Only Love That Makes Sense

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I was listening to the radio this morning on the way to work, and as the singer’s lyrics rang out, I chuckled to myself at how true his words were.

He had sang, “it’s the kind of love that doesn’t make sense.”

And it certainly didn’t make sense how emotional I had been just twenty minutes before when listening to another song. A love song. My commute had started with a song about surrender, about handing my life to God so that He could make it into something beautiful. As I drove down the dark, deserted portion of turnpike, I had raised one hand in the air in agreement, and the act, thought, whatever, as the words poured through the speaker and into my heart, had caused me to weep uncontrollably.

Such love. That was what brought me to tears. Such peace at having my Heavenly Father direct my steps. That’s what had caused my emotional outpouring. I couldn’t help but bawl at such a wonderful love, and the fact that this relationship alone could rock me so severely made no sense, from a worldly point of you. I mean, I adored my children more than the air I breathed, but it took an intense event surrounding their lives to make my eyes leak at the corner. And I loved my husband more than words could express, yet even my immense affection for him did not impact me like the love of my Savior did. When I opened myself to the fact of what Jesus had done for me over 2,000 years ago, but also what He continues to do each and every day, I. Was. Wrecked. A total blubber-mess of gratitude and joy.

Sadly, I knew that for many people my response to thoughts of love for the Lord didn’t make sense, but as a woman who had suffered through the anxiety of trying to do life on my own, or the frustration of desperately seeking acceptance elsewhere, it made perfect sense. In fact, it was the only love that made any sense!

My husband is a wonderful husband, but the best thing I ever did for our marriage was understand that he couldn’t be my personal Mr. Fixit. He couldn’t save me, heal me, or love me perfectly. He just couldn’t. Human hearts are built longing for a perfect love, and the only surefire cure for the human condition is Jesus.

Spouses will let you down, friends will fail you. Children will frustrate you, and even your best pal will hurt your feelings. People will judge your performance, and they’ll falsely base your personal worth on what you do or the mistakes you make. These are the kind of common actions that create phrases like “love hurts,” but in all reality it’s the world that hurts. It’s sin that hurts. Love, in essence, in its purest form, the fact that God is love, this kind of love will never hurt us. Our running from it will hurt us, but there’s healing, total and complete, in surrendering to the perfect love we were created to enjoy.

The bottom line is that anything we pursue in this life, be it person or substance, to fill the void in our soul, it will fall short. It will be like the love you have for tacos. It’s pretty awesome, but it won’t save a life or build a future. Not even the best tacos. My spouse is the bee’s knees, but I don’t put the weight of perfection or filling my soul on his shoulders. He would collapse, and I’d end up dissatisfied. But, when I can realize that by falling fully for the only love that makes sense (the love of Christ), I am more able to healthily and happily invest in my other relationships. I can share that perfect love with them, and together we can all be content.