Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

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.

What I Realized When My Husband Left

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We’re this very weird family that loves spending time together. Do the children ever get on my nerves? Of course! But for the most part we’re inseparable. That’s why moving into an RV wasn’t a big deal. Although we had a large house before, we spent most of our time together in one room, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to shrink our future home to the size of that prior family room. We choose to educate our children at home, to make it work somehow that daycare doesn’t come into play. We even co-sleep, and while I don’t get “perfect” sleep with them all in the bed, I can’t imagine it any other way. Late at night my husband and I will peer in awe at our sleeping children, commenting how much we wish we could freeze time.

But… don’t get the idea that my hubby and I don’t look fondly forward to the idea of being just the two of us one day. I mean, going somewhere fun without someone whining and complaining about their feet hurting or being bored? That. Sounds. Lovely. So, yes, we’re a tight knit family, but my spouse and I are an even closer couple.

Y’all, I could seriously spend 24/7 with that man. I never get tired of his presence. Even if we’re doing our own thing, separate from the other (because, come on, I can’t get into his computer games), there’s something special about being in the same room together. I’ll read my book while he fights evil pixels, and everything feels safe and in balance when we’re breathing the same space of air. It just does. I guess you could say, he’s the salsa to my taco. Or perhaps the promising rainbow after my rain. I know it sounds sappy, but I have to agree with Tom Cruise (and that’s the only time you’ll hear me say that). My husband completes me.

Well, as I stood outside last night, with one daughter curled up under each arm sobbing, it struck me. They waved goodbye, trying hard to smile as tears ran down their cheeks, and the positive aspect of my husband pulling away came into my mind. I squeezed my daughters close as they buried their wet faces in my ribs, and I realized just how blessed we were. Even as my soulmate left for the airport to take a trip without me by his side, I felt blessed.

I had someone to miss.

I don’t suppose that crosses my mind that often. I mean, I thanked God for my spouse frequently, but it was also easy to comfortably take for granted the love we shared. Marriage with him was so easy, and sadly, it wasn’t that way for everyone. I had a warrior in my corner, a man who would lay down his life to save my own. Not all damsels in distress had a knight, and even if they did, the armor wasn’t usually shining. I had someone to miss, and as my husband’s taillights dwindled, I knew our feelings would not. Each day our relationship grew, and for some friends I knew theirs had hit a roadblock. For others, perhaps a dead end. Our journey together felt like it was only beginning, and for that I could not feel sad.

Well, let me tell you. A person missing from the family bed does not make it more comfortable and spacious! I don’t know if all these years he’s been a buffer, intercepting kicks on my behalf, or what, but I do know that last night (without my husband present) was not a good night’s rest. I’m glad he’s back in two days. You see, I have someone who’s coming back.

As I held my daughters in bed last night I thought about that. Their daddy would be coming back. When I was the youngest two girls’ ages, my father left and didn’t come back. He didn’t look back. And to this day, he didn’t try and make up for lost time. Sometimes I felt easily forgettable, like a part of me was still an eight year old girl who it was so uncomplicated to give up. I wonder sometimes, thinking back on my long, laundry list of desperate love conquests, if God gave me Ben so I could feel especially loved and held dear. I think that’s probably it. He’s my gift from above to help heal the wounded edges of rejection that try to keep residence in my heart.

I have someone to miss.

I have someone who comes back after they leave.

I have someone who loves me and our children more than himself, and if I need to share him with others in his life for a day or two, I suppose I can spread the wealth. Lol.

But don’t think I’m not on countdown! Nor that I’ll get any sleep tonight.

A Letter to the Woman Who Wants a Better Husband

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To Desperately Praying Wives Everywhere,

Marriage isn’t what you imagined it to be, huh? I get it.

I remember being a young woman, daydreaming about building a family with the perfect guy. Maybe you too imagined how the Christmas cards would look, matching red pajamas, and beaming babies. Or you pictured sitting at the large, mahogany dining table together, sweet smiles, grateful bellies, an aura of well-earned pride over the most tender potroast ever. Sitting in the den, cuddled on the couch together, the doting children at your feet, a blazing fire crackling.

You didn’t ever see yourself screaming as you set up the auto-timer on your camera, “I said look this way! Smile or so help me, God!”

As your hurriedly tell your honey goodnight, taking your turn to tuck in exhausted kids at the end of another monotonous day, you realize, life is nothing like romance novels.

“It’s your turn,” you grumble to your spouse, in reference to the sink full of stained Corelle (the only dishes the children don’t consistently break), the aftermath of being a short-order cook for picky eaters.

Did anyone even say, thank you?!

It’s hardly ever movie night. No, it’s crying over homework right up until bedtime. It’s envying your partner as he dozes off in his recliner.

He could sleep through a tsunami!

It’s picking up the same mess, waiting in the car line at the elementary school. It’s taking off work for another doctor appointment, or leaving early to make the soccer game. It’s packing lunches, scraping together a fast meal, and telling your husband, “not tonight, hon. I feel all bloated.”

All you know is, it’s nothing like you imagined at all. You wanted a regular date night. Not a peck on the cheek as you scurry past one another on a rushed Monday morning.

“Do you know where I put my keys, dear?!” He says.

Sometimes you feel like no one could find their own butt if you didn’t tell them where God put it!

The next thing you know you’re angry about towels in the floor and balled up socks under the couch.

Does anyone know there’s a thing called a laundry basket?!

You find yourself easily annoyed over tiny nuisances.

Like, why does he put all his crap on the mantle?! It’s not his personal junk table!

Why is it every time you go in the bathroom, the hand towel is on the floor?!

You end up feeling like you. Do. Everything. Like, if you didn’t hold this family together, the whole thing would spin out of control. You work, pick up the children, make supper, clean house, help with homework, give baths, read bedtime stories, say prayers. Then it starts all over again the next day!

Maybe if he could just carry his fair share of the load!

Your marriage becomes more like a competition, and you are certain you bear the heavier burden. You keep a scorecard instead of a prayer journal. You allow one bitter thought to lead into another. A mound of discontent forms, threatening to topple and crush you both.

You become short-tempered, easily perturbed, getting snippy before you can even stop yourself. He responds back with anger, and then the silent treatment ensues.

This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

So, I’m going to offer you some advice, my friend, something I learned through much trial and error. I’m going to tell you how to get a better husband.

Are you ready?

Wait for it…

The way to get a better husband is to become a better wife.

What?! I know what you’re thinking. He’s the one that needs to change, right? He needs to help more around the house, be a better listener, hang out with the kids more!

Well, this might be an unpopular opinion, but I think the best bet for a better marriage is to take the focus off what your partner is doing wrong, and instead focus on what you can do better. Your nagging and obvious discontent can change very little, but your persistent prayer can change a lot. I’ve found that the more I seek to serve my spouse, the more he serves me in return. You can change no man, but the Lord has softened more hearts than you can count. Seek the Lord often, and follow scripture for the kind of wife that pleases God. Everything we do in this life should be to His glory and service, and therefore my marriage is my ministry. I strive to show my spouse love like Jesus would do, and I’ve found that since I began this work, my marriage has been abundantly blessed.

My spouse serves me in love, and neither of us waste time on what the other isn’t doing. Our relationship is a partnership, but we don’t bother with keeping score. Instead of ensuring it’s an equal 50/50 relationship, we simply give 100% of ourselves to the marriage. It’s not a contest, it’s a team, and we don’t bother with whose turn it is to sprint. We just keep pace together.

I discovered that selfishness is the saboteur of marriage. When we focus on who we think is giving more (which is usually ourselves), we become blinded by lies from the enemy. Seeds of discontent are sown, we forgo forgiveness, and grace is a goner. But if we can let go of the things that aren’t important, instead focusing on the love we share, we can calmly and clearly see our spouse’s heart for us.

So, if you’re that desperately praying wife, beating your head against the wall for how to make your man be a better husband, perhaps the answer isn’t found in him. Perhaps it’s found in you. I know it’s found in Jesus.

Start today. Begin to see your marriage as a ministry to the Lord. Serve your spouse like you’re serving Jesus, and watch as the Lord begins to bless your life. Surrender your spouse to God, and you just do you. The Lord will sort out the rest. You’ll see.

Signed,

A Passionately Praying Wife Whose Prayers Were Answered

What Marriage is Not

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“Can you do me a huge favor?” My husband’s text inquired.

Before I could finish typing my reply he continued with, “it’s ok if you can’t…”

I watched the texting bubbles continue and finally emerge, “do you mind taking a detour on the way home?”

I easily replied, “of course. I’d do anything for you.”

Then I sent an amusing Meatloaf meme. Meatloaf the band, not the entree.

What I didn’t do was think, “I can’t believe he asked me to do that!” Although I could have. After all, at the time I was currently on my fourth, twelve hour shift in a row, and he knew this full well. Twelve hour shifts are no joke anyway, but factor in more like thirteen at the critical care patient bedside, and it felt like a seventy-two hour shift. Well, it had been over fifty hours worked in a mere four days. Point being, yeah, I was tired.

When my husband (who didn’t work outside of the home) asked me to stop and pick him up something, I didn’t think the above for even a moment. It never entered my mind actually. He needed something, I had the only vehicle, and most importantly, I loved him.

You see, love is service. You serve in love and that’s the core of marriage. Here’s what marriage is not. It’s not comparison.

To say, “well, I’ve been working all day” is to suggest that he had not been working.

To say, “well, my job at the hospital is harder than his job at home” not only took away from the important tasks he performed in our home, but it also tried to value me over him. That’s not something we do.

Nursing is hard.

Parenting is hard.

Patient care is hard.

Homeschooling is hard.

Working outside of the home is stressful.

Working inside the home is stressful.

I’ve done both fulltime, so I knew.

I knew you can’t really compare the two, but I knew I wouldn’t want to anyway. You see, our relationship isn’t based on who does more. It’s based on the question we both ask ourselves daily, “what more can I do to serve my spouse in love?”

Love isn’t just a word, but it’s also not just a feeling. If love was only feelings I certainly would not have felt like making a detour that night. No, love was also action. You showed love by your service in love, without complaint, without comparison, without expecting something in return.

When I arrived home that night, after making my detour, I was hit immediately by the delicious smell wafting out the kitchen window. Waiting for me was homemade fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, corn on the cob, and freshly baked cookies. My happy, healthy daughters greeted me with a smile, displaying proudly their schoolwork from that day, graded by their teacher/principal/dad. I walked happily into the clean living room and noticed the empty laundry baskets sitting in the hall. He had done it all. After dinner he massaged my tired feet and got our daughters ready for bed. If we were keeping track, he had probably outdone me that day, but rather than tallying up a scorecard, I simply enjoyed the feeling of being taken care of so well. Of being loved so well. Of being served in love, and serving in return, not out of obligation, but because of our shared affection. That was marriage.

People Hurt When They are Hurting

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People hurt when they are hurting. We can know this, but when the pain is hurled in your direction, you forget.

First instinct? Fight back. Cut deeper, hit harder, pull out all the stops. Don’t admit where you’re wrong. Instead just focus on where the other party is in error.

Hurtful comments come from a hurting source. It’s easy to forget that. It’s easier to continue the chain of pain. To take the pain of another onto yourself. To become responsible for someone else’s pain.

What’s hard is understanding that everyone you know will fail you. It sounds pessimistic, but it’s just hard reality. No one wants to be the cause of someone else’s pain, but it happens unaware. At one point or another, every person you know will hurt you to one degree or another. It sounds terribly bleak, but it’s true. Even the people you hold the closest will disappoint you.

The only upside to the human condition is Jesus. He is the only one who can satisfy our hungry souls, and the only one who heals our pain rather than causing unintended distress. He is the only one who heals, not hurts. What we lack in ourselves is a kingdom perspective, an eternal view. We only see the here and now, not the ever after.

We are given this one life here on earth to do with the best we can. We’ll fail. We’ll hurt others, others will hurt us. We cannot change it, but we can try and handle how we perceive it all. We can grab ahold of our own offense before it wreaks havoc. We can try.

We are imperfect people who serve a perfect God, and the closer we get to Him, the closer we’ll get to seeing the truth of it all. Jesus is the only answer, and it sounds so rudimentary, yet it’s the fix we’re all craving. The cure for what ails you. The balm for your pain and the example for which we try and replicate. We can actually hurt others less as we walk in His way of thinking.

The things we can’t take with us we have to stop putting so much value in. And the things we can take with us, in them we must place more. We have to turn the other cheek, pray for those who hurt you, and walk intentionally to not hurt back. It’s not easy.

Let go of pain by grabbing hold of Him. Stop focusing on the fleeting things by seeking the eternal things. Find healing by looking for it in Christ rather than man. Surrender to Jesus; don’t collapse under the strain. It’s not easy.

Step 1. Spend time in prayer daily.

Step 2. Spend time in the Word daily.

Step 3. Spend time with other believers regularly (but don’t place your worth in them).

Step 4. Spend time in quietness of heart and mind listening for His wisdom and will.

Step 5. Spend time in the Word daily (purposely repeated for emphasis).

You cannot save yourself. Your family cannot save you, nor your friends. Your job, wealth, health, and security cannot fix your life. It’s not fair to those you love to place the responsibility of your happiness solely on their shoulders. Because they will let you down. Remember that the next time you lash out. No one can fix you, and you can’t fix anyone. Only Jesus. I’m sorry to upset what you’ve always been told. You see, the world tells you another person is the key to your joy, but that’s just not how we’re made. You can find happiness, you can find companionship, but you’ll only find healing and wholeness in the Lord. And that’s enough for now.

I’m a Lover

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“I hope I don’t say that too much,” I giggled out loud, in a self-conscious manner before being reminded of the truth.

He didn’t just love me in pieces.

It might sound crazy to some, but over time I have grown so close to Jesus that we’re in continuous conversation. I don’t have something pop-up and send out an emergency SOS or click the airplane icon with a quick email request to God. There’s no “Dear God, it’s me Margaret.” There’s simply an open, continuous line of dialogue. When I wake in the morning I speak to Him, and as I’m driving down the road (like this morning) I say it.

I love you.

After I uttered the words, words that came so naturally and in such passionate truth, words that poured out passively from my lips, I was briefly hampered by my human experience of love. I had to remind myself that Jesus didn’t love me like I had ever known.

I am frequently reminded in my mind, every time I say those three words, of my ex husband. When he told me he wasn’t happy in our marriage he was quick to tell me why. He had a laundry list in his head of things I did that irked him, reasons, if you will, for his discontent with the life we had built together.

“For example,” he had said, “you say I love you way too much!”

He painted a picture of my needy self, with desires to cuddle far too often, and an annoying need to proclaim my love for him out loud. I had always been a lover, not a fighter, and it seems he wanted me to fuss more and hug less. I wanted to be intimate more than once in a blue moon, and a hundred other nuances came to light. Most of them highlighting the fact that I wanted to love wholeheartedly, but that apparently wasn’t his cup of tea.

They, whoever “they” may be, are correct when they say intimate relationships join your very being to another, because it took me a long time to recover from our divorce. Even in the midst of the new, blessed relationship God had given me, I still had pain to recover from, and I was reminded this morning that I still had scars from it all.

In this world we are molded by our experiences. A fatherless child will have trouble relating to the Father Heart of God. Those who have suffered through abuse by those who are supposed to “love” them will have difficulty understanding Agape love. Those who have been rejected will have a problem trusting in the future, and sadly, the pictures others paint of us hang around. We become what has been spoken over us, because words are powerful, and we believe the lies the world whispers. We think we are our faults, our mistakes, our broken pasts. Performance based love that we have gotten used to will cloud our understanding of God’s love. And if you love someone who has been broken, they will hold back from your affections. They won’t want to, but they will. You’ll only get a piece of them.

This morning, as I once again proclaimed my affections to Jesus, I had to place His truth over my past experiences. I had to remind myself that He didn’t love me in part, but wholeheartedly. In fact, He relished my affections, and He smiled at my unbridled emotions. He reveled in my shouts of joy, and I could never be more than He could handle. He took all of me, with open arms, and more importantly He gave me all He had to offer.

I am so grateful that the Lord gave me a new marriage, with a man who is sensitive, emotional, and highly loving like myself. We’re lovers, and I’m so thankful for that relationship He gifted to me, redeeming my past, and bringing me an abundant future. But above all I am grateful for His love, the love of Jesus. I am grateful that He loves me more than I’ve ever known, and that He loves me bigger than the hurts I have experienced. It’s difficult to find love that gives all, but that unconditional love can be found in Christ. And I am blessed to know a Savior who loves me just as I am.

I Never Did Mind the Little Things

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I turned to throw a used cotton-ball into the tiny, bathroom trashcan, and I suddenly noticed the huge ball of long gray hair. It sat on the outside of the swinging door entrance to the garbage, and I easily identified it as my husband’s since the rest of us were all crowned with differing shades of dirty dishwater blond. I could picture him standing in the small bathroom, running his fingers through his long, more salt than pepper hair, before gathering it into a tidy ponytail, and flinging the loose hairs that had caught between his digits towards the trash absently. Sigh. This was my husband.

I easily and quickly pushed the wad of forgotten hair into the awaiting can, while also depositing there any hint of frustration that had tried to rear it’s ugly head.

I never did mind the little things.

I smiled to myself as the line of a nineties movie staring Bridget Fonda came to mind. In the film she had been a thief turned government assassin, who subsequently had to be turned from a crack addict criminal into a lady of refinement (ain’t Hollywood grand), and her etiquette coach had encouraged her that when nervous to repeat the phrase to herself to remain calm.

I never did mind the little things.

Although I wasn’t hiding behind a small, kitchen counter loading my beretta while gunfire exploded around me like our dear Bridget, I could certainly relate to my emotions getting the better of me. And though it wasn’t my life I feared for, it was my marriage and family. Even though I couldn’t see the bullets blowing up around me, I knew that fiery arrows flew in my direction. As a child of God I knew it wasn’t flesh and blood I battled, but attacks from an enemy who sought to destroy the covenant of marriage. One very effective weapon of warfare in his arsenal was the missile of comparison and the smoke bomb of selfishness. As silly as it may sound, he brought both of those things stealthily into the atmosphere of marriage to create an air of discontent and division.

I never did mind the little things.

My defense was my ability to not take offense. In other words, when I felt nudged to selfishly compare myself to my spouse, I had to take inventory.

I had to ask myself, “is this really worth being bothered by?”

I had to remember my faults and not just highlight my husband’s.

My husband and I will have been married ten years this month, and I learned early on that we had our differences. Things I felt were important weren’t as much to him, and things that bothered me didn’t cause him concern at all. As we’ve grown as a couple over the years we have learned how to take the feelings of the other into consideration and act/react accordingly, but it’s not like we’ve changed who we are. We’ve become more loving, considerate, and selfless in our service to one another, but it’s not like we took a magic potion to suddenly become the perfect spouse. He wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t perfect, but most importantly, we didn’t expect that of each other.

A widow will tell you how she pines to find her late husband’s laundry outside of the basket. For the very things we may find at one moment as annoying are the very things someone else could only hope for. A dirty dish beside the bed is far better than a forever empty sink. It comes down to having a choice to make in your relationship. You can choose to focus on the minuscule madness or see it all as a beautiful mess. You can point out the idiosyncrasies of your spouse while ignoring your own, or you can celebrate having someone to share in the ups and downs of life. I’m not saying you ignore blatantly inconsiderate actions, silently taking abuse like some marital martyr, but I am suggesting we take a moment to calm our emotions and take an inventory of what is most important.

I never did mind the little things.

Is being right every time the most important? Is it winning every argument? Is it never picking up the slack when your partner doesn’t carry their fair share of the load, assuming that you yourself never falter in such a way?

If you answered yes to the above then marriage will not be enjoyable to you much of the time, because instead of a partnership, you’re viewing it as a competition.

Perhaps a happy union means that you decide to let the little things go. Maybe it means serving someone in love while expecting nothing in return. I think it involves changing your perspective, highlighting the positive, rather than magnifying the minor faults that arise. I don’t see a ball of discarded hair or a pile of dirty clothes as much as I see a loving man who makes me feel beautiful always, who serves me consistently, who teaches and disciplines our children with grace, who would lay down his very life for us.

I never did mind the little things.

Because I’m too focused on the big things. I see to the heart of the matter rather than being distracted by the things of this world. I don’t expect perfection of my spouse. The only perfect man died for me over 2,000 years ago. But I will appreciate the man God has placed in my life to love me, my faults included. I’ll be thankful he adores me despite those same faults. I’ll be grateful that he too never did mind the little things.

I Don’t Identify as a Woman

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I’ve heard this in the media a lot lately, and last night as I sat slightly uncomfortable in a huge gathering of women, I felt it.

I don’t identify as a woman.

As hard as I have tried over the years, especially in high school, and as much as I may want it to be different, I just don’t feel it. I don’t. I don’t guess I’ve ever identified as a woman.

A couple of weeks ago I sat in church and they announced an upcoming Women’s Conference. The video made it look very appealing, but there was that large part of me that was like, “nah. I’m good.”

See, I’m not really a joiner, especially where women are concerned. I don’t fit in, I never have, and many years ago I stopped trying. I just wasn’t like them. I couldn’t get into the whole “girls’ night out,” and I didn’t trust ladies any further than I could throw them. Which isn’t far. Because even if they’re little, I’m really weak. But I digress. The point is, well, I’m going to be very honest here. I don’t like females.

Ok, I love being a woman. I love having daughters. But somewhere between being the new kid in third grade and being the butt of a bully’s angst in high school, I decided I could take it or leave it where female friendships were concerned. Actually, leave it. Definitely leave it.

The thing is, God has really been dealing with me. He’s been teaching me new things over the past couple of years, stretching me, and taking me to new levels of trust with Him. Selling all my possessions and moving my family of five 800 miles away from all our extended family and friends? No problem. Taking on a job with zero insurance or paid time off? Easy peasy. That same travel position having no security of employment and income or knowledge of where the next job would come from? Bring it on! But stepping out of my turtle shell of introversion? I’m sure that wasn’t the voice of God.

So when I heard about the Women’s Conference I was of two minds. One said, go, but the other said hide.

“Oh, man. I work a shift at the hospital that day. Too bad,” I thought, with little upset.

But dang it. Still that feeling nagged me to go.

“Okay, God,” I prayed. “I’ll try and see if I can get off work. If you really want me to go, make it work.”

I challenged Him, and of course, He challenged me right back. I got the day off easily, no matter how much I told my boss, “I know this is last minute, so it’s ok if you can’t…”

Despite my dislike of most women, because let’s be honest, we’ve all lived through our own version of the Mean Girls movie, I do have a handful of trusted women in my life. It just so happened that most of them were my immediate family, and the rest were a thousand miles away. Undeterred, I went ahead to the conference alone, the Holy Spirit my plus one, and I asked God to use it for my growth.

Immediately upon arriving I realized there were women everywhere. I didn’t know any of them and I really didn’t like crowds, but I checked in with a smile and went to find a seat. I found a back row with a few open spots, settled into one, then was kindly asked to move over so a group of friends could sit next to their friends. I moved into the one empty seat, directly behind a large column blocking my view of the stage. I got up quickly and repeated this same sidestep seat swap another time before finally finding a vacant spot where a group of women were kind enough to let me linger.

At that moment I felt so alone in that big crowd. I watched women laughing and socializing with one another. I smiled brightly, watching, waiting, hoping for someone I could try and engage, but still I felt like an outsider. I had always felt that way. I had never fit in. I had always been the weirdo, the one other women talked about when I walked away. It had taken me years, decades even, to stop trying to fit in. I had finally, at forty, come to a place in my life where I was happy with how God made me, I wasn’t going to try and change for anyone, and I didn’t care what anyone thought! Ha. I felt peace with me. So why was God upsetting the balance?! Why push me to (I shudder) hang out with others.

The preacher was no better! He had said something six months or so ago that started this thorn in my side. It’s like he had been staring straight at me when he said God wanted us loving others, building relationships, and stepping out of our comfort zone. He deflated my balloon of intimate introversion, going so far as to say it wasn’t of God. Well, crap.

Next thing I knew God kept building on that, putting desires in me to join Outreach teams and small groups. All things that were outside of my wheelhouse. My safety net, my equally shy and shut-in spouse, he was no help. In an out of character for him fashion, he readily agreed to my suggestions of “getting involved.”

As I sat in that church last night, my wounded flesh wanted to scream, “I don’t belong here!” That bullied, flat-chested, anorexic teenager in me wanted to dwell on having no one to sit by or being ignored and pushed aside.

Instead I spoke in a whisper, “not today, satan.”

Y’all, I’ve never identified as a woman in that, I’m not like most. I have been hurt, and I’ve been pushed into my warm cocoon. I’ve made my circle so small that it no longer has room for God to work in my life the things He needs to work. So, He’s been calling me out of my circle of safety. He’s been calling me to step out and (gulp) make friends. Female ones! I’ve never identified as a woman in that I haven’t been able to enjoy or relate to the value of female friendships that other women seem to revel in. I feel God calling me to different ministries, but it seems you have to actually be around other people for that to work. Sigh.

It’s comical sometimes the things God can do to bring you where He wants you to be. Especially when you ask Him for it. He can make a borderline hoarder (I’m talking about myself, by the way) sell all their stuff, and take a scared girl (in a forty-two year old body) out of her shell. So, I’m open to that.

I haven’t ever been able to identify as a woman (not like other women, anyway), and even now it’s hard for me. But I see God moving. I see Him changing my heart. I see Him chiseling away the walls I’ve built. So last night I may have sat on the sidewalk alone, eating my nachos, praying someone would come talk to me, but I also made my way over to a group of ladies I knew, carrying a dessert, and starting a conversation like a bonafide normal person. I even hugged a few women and signed up for a ladies group.

I haven’t always been able to identify as a woman, but I do know that I’m God’s girl. And I’m starting to see all the sisters before me that He’s placing in my path.