Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

How Do You Measure Success?

by

When I was a young woman I longed to finish college so I could finally obtain a high paying job that could give me financial security. As a college student I waited tables to make ends meet, but they hardly ever came together. I scraped by, counting change for gas, begging the phone company to give me another week and not turn my landline off. The difficulties of working full-time while attending college full-time are what eventually convinced me to join the military. They offered a dependable income, free housing, and a chance to travel. Sounded good to me. I can still remember gazing at martini stir sticks with glass fish at the top in a Pier One magazine, and thinking that once I got settled into the military I could afford finer things. Yep, I gazed at grownup bobbles yearning to possess them. It was how I measured success.

To not scrimp and save, yet never get ahead.

To own a home! A two-story, white colonial with navy blue shutters.

That was the measure of success.

Designer clothing. To be able to shop upscale, not WalMart clearance rack.

I wanted a car that was dependable, one I didn’t constantly worry about breaking down.

That was the measure of success.

A saving’s account that I never had to dip into.

Taking two week vacations where you got on an airplane and flew somewhere exotic. Not the back of your parent’s stale minivan for eight hours.

That was the measure of success.

You hear people brag about their children getting into Harvard.

Mothers brag about their son’s promotion. He’ll have to travel more for work now, but they can also get the bigger house.

This is a measure of success.

Career advancement, more pay, a bigger home.

Monogrammed dresses for the daughters. Shiny, new toys for the boys.

This is a measure of success.

Winters at Disney. Summers in the mountains.

Good grades, awards at the end of the year banquet.

A perfectly manicured lawn to match perfectly manicured nails.

This is a measure of success.

I’m not sure when the shift began in me. Somewhere along the way the two story house didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would.

My husband’s promotion only meant he was never home.

All the monogrammed ruffles filled the never ending pile of laundry.

Dust collected quickly on the never-used, glass martini sticks. Still can’t believe I bought them. I don’t like martinis.

Vacations ended too quickly. Time never seemed to be enough. As I cried out “hurry” I glimpsed the strained looks on my daughters’ faces. At some point I realized their happy smiles were my true measuring stick.

Success came in musical laughter or a relaxing evening on the couch with my husband. It came not in the size of our saving’s account, but in the size of our bank of happy memories. True happiness was found in filling that bank, and measuring success by any other avenue seemed like a passing folly.

The big house would fall down, the money would be spent, the clothes outgrown, and the babbles easily broken. Why measure success in things that tarnish?

Somewhere along the way I realized it was my middle child’s loving heart that made me proud. She couldn’t pronounce the letter “L,” but she could brighter a stranger’s day with her smile.

At some point I let go of what everyone else thought of me, or how they measured my success. I no longer cared to impress The Joneses, to put on false airs, pose with my good side, or do what looked good over what felt good.

Success wasn’t measured by outward appearances. It was measured by the inside and what poured out.

I began to realize that success was measured by a happy marriage, smiling children, and a thriving family unit.

Success was measured by watching my husband help a stranger, or by an elderly neighbor bragging on my daughters’ kindness.

Success was measured by the photos I looked at later after a really fun day, or by my eldest daughter exclaiming, “this was the best day ever!”

My greatest success was felt when my child thought to pray for answers first, rather than fretting about her problem.

I measured success by listening to my middle child stop us all from eating and proclaim, “let’s not forget to say grace.”

I measured success by watching my children grow closer to Jesus, or by my own victory over anxiety and fear.

I now measured success by my ability to let go of all the things I once thought I must obtain to make me happy, and by being able to rest content in the joy of the life God had for me all along.

Now I measured success in goodnight kisses and bedtime prayers with my girls. I measured it by the adoring look my spouse gave me at the end of the day, and by the feeling of tremendous love I felt for him when I looked back into his deep brown eyes.

I finally realized that success shouldn’t be measured by what we do for a living as much as how we treat people. It shouldn’t be measured by how many possessions we have, but rather by how many hands we hold. It shouldn’t be measured by what all we have, but rather by what we give away. It shouldn’t be measured in dollar signs; it should be measured in friends. It shouldn’t be measured by our achievements, but instead be measured in how we love.

So, how do we measure success each day? Is it measured by getting to work on time, or is it measured by the patience you gave on the way there? Is it measured by performance, or is it measured by lives touched along the way? Is it measured by bank balances or smiles from our children? Is it measured by fancy cars or musical laughter? Big homes or happy spouses? I’m not saying you can’t have both. You can. But never forfeit one for the other. And never forget that true happiness is the best gauge of all. True joy is measured by having nothing, yet still feeling like you have it all.

So, I suppose I now measure success in units of joy. The joy I’m getting, but also the joy I’m giving away. All the rest is just extra credit.

You Need to Find a Man That Makes You Crazy

by

You need to find a man that makes you crazy. And vice versa.

I smiled as I read the text that came in on my phone. My heart fluttered a bit, to be honest. I always liked the fact that it still did that.

I texted him first, you see. I had spent the past four days off with my spouse, and by ten in the morning, as I spent the day at work, I realized I was missing him. So I reached for my phone, and I sent a simple yet honest message.

I love you so much!!

I could immediately see the bubble of response coming my way.

I love you too!!

And then another text followed.

When I was young love usually gave me butterflies. It made me tingle, and sometimes I even felt as if I could fly. A captivating romance would ensue for a full three months before the butterflies turned to slugs and my propeller stopped spinning. Crash and burn. I guess I wasn’t really flying; I was just gliding on good feelings.

Feelings. They’re important for sure, but sometimes emotion-driven romance can fizzle easy. It burns with passion, but then it doesn’t. A love built on physical attraction will fade as fast as beauty, but a crazy love, well, that’s different.

My husband thought it was crazy.

I’m so happy when I’m with you! It’s crazy!

I smiled at his words because I knew exactly what he meant. After four wonderful days together, I could totally relate. Infatuation grew boring, but love that held fast as the years zipped by, it was crazy.

When I first reunited with my husband (before we became husband and wife), I just thought I knew what crazy was. I mean, it felt crazy amazing when we first kissed. It was one of those sultry smooches that you feel like a lightening bolt, all electric, even down to your toes. At that moment, sitting in my parents driveway, thirty years old, but feeling like a teenager, I melted. I seriously melted. It was crazy! Or so I thought.

I guess the really crazy part came later. It came after the proposal, which I must just stop here and say, was crazy amazing. Or so I thought. It even came after the wedding. Which, subsequently, was also crazy like a dream come true. I mean, my face hurt afterwards from smiling so much at my man in a tux. But I just thought I knew crazy. The crazy came after the honeymoon. After the first pregnancy announcement. The crazy came in secrets uncovered, addictions brought to light, problems of the past raised again, and all the tears that followed. But that wasn’t the crazy part. The crazy part actually came with the healing.

When you can love someone past their flaws, despite your own, and draw closer, it’s crazy.

When you can love someone more than your own wants and desires, it’s crazy.

It’s crazy because you serve out of love, not obligation.

It’s crazy because you forgive since you were forgiven.

When you can love someone despite the ups and downs of life, it’s crazy.

When you can build a love that caresses in infatuation yet desires more than flesh, it’s crazy.

When you can invest in a love that thrives on passion, but sees beyond skin deep, it’s crazy.

One definition in Webster for crazy is described as “extremely enthusiastic,” and if you can build a love like that on dirty diapers, late nights with a newborn, and a pile of bills, that’s crazy.

It’s crazy because you’ve built a relationship centered on Jesus, not circumstance. The circumstances of life have lush hills, but also dry valleys. When you can love through a drought, it’s crazy.

It’s crazy because each day is better than the last. Regular, ole TV love will fizzle out, it will dwindle down as the years pass, the flesh sags, and the confidence falters. But crazy love? Oh, crazy love is like a fine wine. It gets better with age.

Each day I love my husband more. Just when I think I will explode if I felt any more affection for him, my heart surprises me, and I love him more this moment than the one before. That’s crazy.

It’s crazy because it’s a love that doesn’t grow fatigued when things seem the same. It always finds new joy in each step of life together.

It’s crazy because it’s not selfish. Everything in life is selfish, right? But crazy love looks at the other person’s needs. It’s not being used, it’s being useful. It’s holding another person in such high esteem that you put their needs before your own. There’s too much worry in today’s world that says we must look out for ourselves first, and make sure we are appreciated. But in all the focusing on self we become blind to the person beside us. No wonder marriages are failing. We’ve forgotten how to love selflessly, how to love our spouse like Christ loves the church.

People thought Jesus was pretty crazy too. He came to serve mankind. He came to forgive. He came to show the love of the Father. And it’s crazy!

When you can love despite trial, love despite change, and love in a way that is greater than yourself, it grows into a beautiful thing. Christ-centered, selfless, and overflowing in love. Each day can be better than the last, the kisses can still be electric, the spark can still ignite. You can find your greatest joy in time together, and your most fulfillment in making the other person happy. It’s crazy, but you can see beyond your needs, and instead tend to the needs of your spouse. You’ll find they reciprocate your actions.

You can be enthusiastically excited about your marriage, like it’s the first time, but with the longevity of a lifetime love affair.

When I Told My Husband I Hated Him, and He Didn’t Even Care!

by

I used a very strong word yesterday when I was talking to my husband concerning how I felt about him. I think we try to water down our words sometimes, especially nowadays, because of concerns over not sparing feelings, but I have always tried to be honest with my spouse of nearly a decade. So I used strong words. I told him I hated him. And you know what? It didn’t even bother him one bit.

“I’m glad we’re in a place where we feel the same, understand things the same,” I told my husband, “where I can say that and it doesn’t offend you.”

I believe one of the main problems with marriage, or with any relationship for that matter, is the extravagant value we place on it. And not just the value, but the responsibility. I mean, in all reality it’s totally unfair to place such lofty expectations, such power on another human being. Love is the most wonderful thing in life, but in itself it cannot save you. Love doesn’t change people. Not human love anyway.

My spouse and I had been driving down the road together when I told him that I not only hated him, but also the children. Really, though, it didn’t come out as harsh as it sounds. In fact, it was in love that I spoke such a detachment.

I believe that all of mankind is built with a hole in their heart. Not the kind that requires surgical intervention, but the kind you cannot see. It’s the kind that can only be filled with love and acceptance. The kind that holds you dear no matter your faults or how difficult you may be to deal with.

It’s the kind of longing for love that hurts when a daddy leaves his daughter.

It’s the kind of need for love that makes a young woman seek her worth in the arms of a man.

She ruins relationships with her talons, digging deeper into the flesh of man.

Love me, hold me, make me feel worthwhile.

Don’t leave me.

Tell me that I am beautiful.

When I make mistakes, when I lie, when I drink too much, when I cry for no reason at all…

Love me anyway.

When I make stupid decisions, when I pull away from you, when I text you too much. When I don’t text at all…

Love me anyway.

When I cheat, when I want to cuddle too much, when I cry and beg you not to leave me.

Love me anyway.

In all my faults, with all my clinginess, with all my neediness, with all my unintentional meanness.

Love me anyway.

Don’t you dare die on me! Don’t get sick, or old. Why can’t what we have last forever?

Why does it all have to end? Why can’t your love sustain me, complete me, or take away my pain? I mean, your love is wonderful, it’s amazing, but late at night I still feel alone.

The hole is still there.

It’s the human condition.

My husband and I had been discussing the words of Jesus.

Luke 14:26

If anyone comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters–yes, even their own life–such a person cannot be my disciple.

I didn’t hate my husband in the sense that most of us think of when we hear the harsh world. I mean, I loved him more than the air I breathed. But he was not my reason for existence. He was my gift, my partner in life, but he could never completely fill the hole in my heart. Only Jesus could do that.

When Christ spoke of hating our family and friends, He meant to hate the worldly attachment. He meant to hate that part of ourselves that wants to place our worth on what others think of us. He meant to hate that part of us that believes we need them to survive, to continue, to keep on living. Again, only Jesus brings eternal life. And it’s that hope of eternal life that keeps us going when illness, pain, and even death come into our perfect little lives.

It’s hard to get to a place where you decide to hate the love of your life, but it’s the only thing that makes the relationship the most that it can be. After all, I can’t put the weight of my emotional well-being on my husband. That’s not fair. I can’t expect him to never hurt my feelings. He will. He has. I can’t put him higher than God, even as much as I adore my dear husband; it’s just not fair to place the title of savior on my spouse. He’s my helpmate, but not my living water. And therefore I hate any worldly, mistaken attachment that would tell me any different. That would be a lie. The devil tells women they can’t live without their man! God would say, “worry not, my child. I hold you both in the palm of my hand.”

And so it goes with my children, my family, my coworkers, my friends. I hate them all. So it goes with my job, my roles in life, the titles I obtain in this world. I count them all meaningless compared to my adoption into God’s family. I am a daughter of the King! The rest, it comes second place.

Perhaps this sounds terrible to you, but it’s actually a decision of love. I’m allowing the people who love me to not bear the burden of fixing my broken heart. Even the people who have hurt me can be forgiven. The father who left me, the boy who cheated on me, the husband who divorced me. They don’t have to carry the weight of my hurt. They don’t have to heal me. Jesus does.

Christ calls us to love! It’s a commandment. And boy, do I love my husband! I love him big time! But the greatest commandment is to love the Lord my God with all my heart. So if my love for my husband or my children tried to overshadow my love for the Lord, that couldn’t work. It would only make the people I clung desperately to feel inadequate. My desire for them to fill me would only hurt them, hurt me. I would resent them. They would resent me too. We might not realize that was the reason. We’d blame it on something else, but deep down it would be the fact that they couldn’t save me, fix me, change me, heal me, or fill me. And I couldn’t do that for them either. Only Jesus.

So, I hate anything I hold dear that tries to lie to me and tell me otherwise. Do I hate the people, per se? Of course not! We’re called to love, and my husband makes it pretty darn easy to love him. But I will hate all day long any lie from Satan that whispers to me that my relationships, accomplishments, or roles in life are what make me who I am, that those things fill the hole in my heart.

After all, only Jesus can do that.

I Realized That My Husband Has Been Lying to Me

by

Everything is supposed to be great and grand in sunny Florida, right? I mean, that’s what I’ve always thought. I have wonderful memories from childhood of vacationing at the beach with my family. So when the opportunity came up last Spring to travel as a nurse to Florida to live and work, I jumped at the chance. I still remember my husband’s face when I mentioned working in Central Florida.

“It wouldn’t be my first choice,” he had said with a grimace.

And I knew why. My husband was a mountain man! I’m not just saying that because of the scruffy beard and big, brown boots either. I mean that he loves the climate. His favorite season is fall, he’s a huge fan of snow, and I don’t think I’ve ever heard him complain about the cold. But complaining about the heat? Well, that’s a different story.

Yep, my husband isn’t a huge fan of hot weather, hence his reaction last year to my beach dreams.

“Let’s just put in for all of these,” he suggested, concerning the list of travel nurse, job locations we saw as options, “and we’ll go with whoever offers you a job first.”

I was secretly hoping for the Florida job.

I imagine my husband was not.

Well, you guessed it. My first interview last year came from a hospital in Central Florida, outside of Orlando, and off we went as a family to new and warmer scenery.

It really wasn’t that bad, not like I had imagined. I mean, other than the occasional huffyness over marching through Disney World in July, my husband didn’t complain much about the sweltering heat. In fact, we didn’t argue or disagree about the temperature much at all!

You’ve all heard the famous argument. One spouse is cold-natured, the other is hot-natured, and the thermostat is the wedge between them. Adjusting the thermostat is fighting words for many temperature-opposite couples, and my husband and I were as different as night and day. He could sunbathe in the nude on a blanket of snow, and I could submerge myself in a pool of hot lava without missing a beat. With the expanse of climate disagreement between us, I was pleasantly surprised at how my husband had changed. I had always heard that couples became more alike the longer they lived together, and as we made our way through our first Summer in Orlando last year, I decided that was true of us. He had adjusted to my climate, and I was always comfortable in our home. We had a great AC unit, but unlike how it was growing up as a kid, I didn’t feel like I was constantly freezing. I had worried my husband might turn me into an ice cube with the AC in such a warmer area, but he had not. We had kept an amicable and lovely setting on the thermostat the entire assignment.

Well, when I had the opportunity to return to my Orlando hospital, I jumped at the chance. Hot days and sunshine galore! Wee!! I had seen enough of winter, even in the calmer climate of South Carolina, and was eager to return to the heat. Of course, my acclimated husband smiled agreeably for our return, and off again we went to sunny Florida.

It’s started to heat up lately, here in Central Florida, and I’m loving every bit of it. I don’t have to be cold anymore! So imagine my surprise when I got home from work last night and walked into an igloo. Immediately my arms broke out into goosebumps, and icicles started to form from my cold, red nose.

“Why y’all got it like an icebox in here?!” I asked my husband, in between chattering breathes of white smoke (I might be exaggerating, mildly).

And that’s when he surprised me.

“Sorry, babe,” he commented as he stirred the supper he had made. “Time caught up with me today. I didn’t realize it was so late. I always have the thermostat turned down. I turn it back up about an hour before you get home.”

He had not acclimated. He didn’t handle the heat any better than he had before. He still hated it. He still loved to sit around inside Antarctica in short sleeves. He still thought 68 was the perfect thermostat setting. Compared to my desired 74-78. He had not changed like I thought.

And you know what else hadn’t changed? His love for me. That selfless love that was compromising on the little things. It was the kind of love that made Mountain men head off to the beach instead. It made an Eskimo go lay out by the pool with his wife, albeit in the shade, for him. He had not suddenly started to love the hot sun like me or even accept an indoor lukewarm temperature like me, but he had decided to give that extra mile that he wasn’t required to give. He gave it for me. He let go of his ultimate desires in favor of mine because he cared about what I enjoyed. The craziest part, to me, was that he had not felt it necessary to brag about his concessions. I mean, he hadn’t exactly lied about loving the warmer temps, but he also hadn’t seen necessary to parade his sacrifice.

He hadn’t mentioned that he sat around in his boxers with the AC blowing ice shards on his bare skin, grinning ear to ear, while I wore long sleeves and a hoodie to work. Instead, he simply smiled, kissed me a welcome home into our 73 degree Oasis of Love, and sat beside me on the couch while I cuddled under a thick blanket. Come to think of it, was that sweat I had seen all month building on his brow?

So what did I do when I realized my hubby’s secret?

Thank you for turning up the thermostat for me!

That’s what the note had read that I left beside the coffee maker before I left for work. I wanted him to know that I saw and appreciated all the small sacrifices for what they were. Love made concrete, shown in everyday actions that you could miss in a busy life if you weren’t careful. I never wanted to move so fast that I couldn’t see his love displayed.

He never took me for granted, and he never missed the chance to tell me how proud and thankful he was to be my spouse. I didn’t ever want to miss the opportunity either. It seems to me that the key to a happy marriage is taking your eyes off yourself. Everyone seems so worried about their contribution to the marriage, wondering in exasperation to their friends, family, and coworkers if their partner realized all the things they sacrifice, but all the focus on self makes you blind to everything else. When you can serve your spouse in love it will open your eyes more readily to the ways they serve you in return. Some times it is big things, and other times they’re small. But they are all gifts given in love that cultivate a happy life together. Even the surrender of the thermostat war.

Thanks For Letting Me Nag You

by

I looked at my watch.

It’s only 11:00 am. I should give him more time.

That’s what I said to myself. Instead of sending my husband a text straight away to remind him to pay our rent, I was going to wait. I wanted to give him the opportunity to remember. To have the time. To get to it. He was home with our three daughters, all eight years old and under. Plus, a new puppy. Who wasn’t potty trained yet. Not the kids, mind you, but the puppy. The three year old had finally conceded to commode use. The dog, though, was a different story.

So, anyway, he was preoccupied. He was busy. He had a full plate, like me, and I needed to give him the opportunity to do what I had asked him to do for me today. He deserved the time. He deserved his wife not to nag at him. So, I wouldn’t.

I looked at my watch. 2:00 pm. I had checked the online banking, and I hadn’t seen it pop up yet. So, he hadn’t paid it yet.

They probably haven’t even finished school yet, Brie!

That’s what the logical part of my brain chided. It’s the part that told me to relax. But it was the other part that tended to speak louder. It was the part that worried about stuff. Even stuff that didn’t need worrying about.

Give him a bit more time, my chillax brain said.

So, I did.

3:00 pm. Crickets.

So, maybe I’ll just text him and ask how his day is going.

He was still finishing school! I told you. Sigh.

I waited a record-breaking five minutes after my customary wellness check-in, and then I could stand it no longer.

I used a kissie-face emoji, you know? To let him know I was kindly reminding the love of my life in a loving, non-nagging way. Yeah, that’s it. It wasn’t nagging! But yep, I knew it was nagging. I hoped he’d focus more on the kissie heart and less on the nagging part.

He had replied back his acknowledgment with a winky-face emoji, which if you don’t speak emoji means, “you’re nagging me, I realize it, and I’m okay with it.” Whew.

This is where I use the emoji with sweat on its brow, smiling. 😅 It’s not that I worried about getting him mad. It was simply a matter of respect. I loved him, I respected him, and I didn’t want to nag him or make him feel like a child. Thankfully, he knew this.

The thing about a marriage partnership is that each spouse has their specific strengths and weaknesses. He was an amazing man who kept me steady. I was a great gal who kept him directed. He knew my heart, and I knew his. Sometimes I worried too much. Sometimes he worried too little to my whirling brain. Somewhere in the middle we met and made it work beautifully. We blended, I guess you could say. Perhaps that was the whole point of the “one flesh” thing.

He didn’t mind an occasional “nagging” any more than I minded the fact that I sometimes needed to. I didn’t see a man who forgot something on my “honey-do” list. I saw a man who did so much for our family everyday. He didn’t see a nagging wife. He saw a woman who reminded him of things from time to time. It was my way. And he had his way. And together it made a wonderful way.

An Argument for Monogamy

by

“I can be a little OCD about washing dishes,” my husband commented, as he rinsed a cup under the hot water.

I glanced sideways at the man I had seen every single day for ten years straight. If he would have looked at my face at that moment, he would have seen my smirking smile of surprise.

“Like this cup, for instance,” he continued. “I can’t stand that!”

He tilted a wet cup up onto the dish drain, where previously it had sat flat on the counter.

“See,” he said with a satisfied tone. “Now it will get air inside.”

Astounding. Who was this man? We stood side by side, washing dishes together to make the task easier before heading to the pool. He never ceased to amaze me. The guy who used to leave cereal bowls with sugary milk abandoned on the counter like clockwork suddenly had an opinion about the dish drain.

Just the day before he had said something else that caught me off guard. The thing was, while my husband and I had a lot in common, we also had some major differences. A huge one that had always been difficult for me, and sometimes a point of frustration, was his ability to remain cool, calm, and collected under stress. I’m sure you’re thinking that sounds like a wonderful attribute, and yes, it does. I wish I was that way. And that’s where the problem lay. In situations where I wanted to lose my mind, he was chill. I mean, a lot of times his lax attitude offered me an anchor of stability on tumultuous seas, but other times I had wondered if he had a pulse. Like, didn’t anything bother him?! I wanted stuff to bother him sometimes so I didn’t feel so crazy and out of control. But nope, he typically remained steady and worry-free. It kinda made me jealous. Kinda made me want to strangle him.

Well, anyway, yesterday our pastor had spoke on fear, and the things we feared losing in this world. Afterwards my husband had opened up to me about how much he could relate to the sermon.

“I’m like that,” he had said. “It’s like I have to push it all away and not think about it. Otherwise I’d be scared to death.”

Oh my gosh. He was faking it until he could make it. All the times over the years when I had been worried and ready to break, he had seemed so nonchalant and unmoved. His stability and faith had inspired me to let go of fear and anxiety. Yet here he was admitting that he was just as frightened as me about the hard stuff in life. He just didn’t talk about it like I did.

Ten years! Ten years we had been married, and I never knew. I loved him even more in that moment. My rock was breakable, but his weakness was alluring. It meant he knew where to gain strength. It meant he walked in strength for us both. It meant I still had a lot to learn about my spouse!

I hear people talk about how hard marriage is, and how hard it is to be committed to just one person for your whole life. Folks get bored, drift apart. The passion falls to the wayside, the spark dims, the fire fades, the excitement dwindles. In many instances the relationship had become monotonous, dull, lackluster. Folks felt comfortable, and they equated comfortable routine with dreadfully the same. They saw monogamy as mundane, with nothing left of interest to learn about their partner.

Well, I disagree. I suppose the idea is that a new romance is exciting. The thrill is in the unknown, so to speak. It’s invigorating to learn someone new. But from my experience in dating, all you learn is surface, superficial details. In a new relationship it’s the best face that’s put forward. So what you see is what is wanted to be seen. That’s why marriage is hard. You just start to get to know someone when you get pass the first couple of bumpy years. Even a decade down the road you don’t know them completely.

Seasons change, people change. Jobs change, your health changes. You mature, you learn new things in life. Your desires change, your reactions mature. When you have someone beside you to weather the changes of life, it’s like peeling back an onion. You get to the layers underneath.

Three years ago I assumed my husband was the least “handy” of men. He never tinkered, built stuff, or fixed things. At the time he owned his own business. This past year, as our life circumstances have changed, I discovered all kinds of things about my husband. He was the handiest of handymen! Very resourceful. He had never had the time in the first 8-9 years of our marriage to allow this talent to emerge. He could do all kinds of things I didn’t know he could do. In the past year I realized he was a great teacher to our daughters, a better cook than me, and wonderful at laundry. Lol!

As we grew closer to God, closer to one another, more comfortable with ourselves, and more comfortable with one another, we were learning things about each other that we never knew. Wonderful, beautiful things. Weaknesses, strengths, passions, and dreams. With the time of comfortable routine and the trust a long, unconditional-love relationship could bring, we were releasing the parts of ourselves to one another that people normally kept hidden. Dating wasn’t the exciting part. That was the inconsequential stuff. It’s the stuff you could experience with the checker of your local supermarket. But marriage. A committed, loving marriage, it was the real deal. Dating was the appetizer. Marriage was the meal you had been waiting for. But it was also the dessert! It was the midnight snack you had been craving. It was the hot cup of your favorite coffee in the morning. And it was the delicious dish you always were too afraid to try, yet once you sank your teeth into it, it became your most favorite food.

Ten years, and I still had so much to discover about that wonderful man scrubbing dirty dishes beside me. Now that was exciting. This was just the beginning. The last decade had been wonderful, but I discovered each day was better than the one before. With each changing season, we changed together. With each discovery of life, we discovered more about one another. As each layer was peeled back deeper, so too did our love grow. Deeper, stronger, more passionate, more wonderful. Why would I want to start again? I was in the best journey of life. The journey to know someone inside and out, to love someone more than myself, to never stop learning how I could love him like he deserved. There really was nothing more exciting.

How to Solve Most Any Marriage Argument

by

I held him against me in the doorway of our bedroom, and we hugged each other. There was a slight stiffness about him, but as we held one another, flesh against flesh, though separated by cotton and denim, I felt his unease slip away as our bodies become one. At my whispered confession his muscles softened even more, and after I had spoken it was as if I could sense the last, lingering drop of his anger dissipate and drift away. Our argument was over. Finished. Forgotten. As if it never was.

But earlier…

I had been mad at him most of the night. Sometimes that man could be so exasperating to me. For someone so kind and thoughtful, on rare occasion he stunned me with his apparent disdain. Were men really that clueless?!

He had just made me so mad, you see?! All I could think about was how he obviously wasn’t considering my feelings. I mean, why else would he make decisions that went against what I wanted?! Am I right?

As we had ridden along together in silence in the truck, actually going forward with the things I wanted, I wondered why he even came along if he was going to give me the silent treatment. I briefly considered giving him the silent treatment back. I could win that race! I had offered my hand earlier as a kind of peace offering, and he had taken it easily enough, but I felt the space between us despite our fingers intertwined. It was that invisible void that exists in a marriage status post argument. Those weren’t as easy to close as, say, a kitchen cabinet. We rode in silence.

But at that moment I had heard the voice of God within my heart, piercing me with its directness and clarity.

You’re being selfish. You’re only seeing how this affects you.

And at that very clear and matter-of-fact observation, I realized the truth of it. Immediately I began to see clearly. I saw how my husband was affected by my decisions, and I understood how he must feel about the situation. In a sympathetic viewpoint I was more able to see his heart, and to place myself in his shoes. No longer blinded simply by what I wanted, I was able to see why he desired the things he did. I was crushed by my prior selfishness and aloof behavior. How could I have been so flippant and self-absorbed?!

When I had later called him to our bedroom to talk, it had been to apologize. And as I held him against me I told him I was sorry for being selfish. Of course, he tried to deny my self-accusation, but I could tell by the way his countenance changed that my confession meant a lot to him. I shared how I felt he must personally be affected by the decision we had made (the cause for the argument), and I could tell from his accepting eyes that my empathy meant much to him. Sometimes all we humans really want deep down is for the people who love us to really see us. Most of the time everyone is too self-absorbed to see beyond their own nose.

I think the number one cause for most marital discord is selfishness. The human tendency to see only self, is the main reason for a breakdown in relationships. What about cheating, you may ask. Well, isn’t a cheater only looking at what they want? Isn’t a lie simply a way to cover one’s tracks or reputation? Isn’t ignoring the needs or your spouse an exercise in selfishness? The truth is that the human tendency is to mainly look at self.

How does this affect me?

Look how she’s hurting me!

Look how he’s ignoring me!

Why doesn’t he care about my feelings?

Why doesn’t she listen?

Me, me, me.

Most any argument can be prevented by looking less at what we need and looking more at what the other person needs. Most fights can be solved by looking more at how we hurt the other person and less at how they hurt us. Most disagreements are smoothed over, forgiven, and forgotten by taking a selfless approach and walking in that.

When we can serve our partner is selflessness we make our marriages bloom, lessen discord, and grow our relationship. It’s a reciprocal relationship, where your servant attitude manifests the same in your spouse. When you look after the feelings and needs of your spouse first, they’ll look after your needs in return. It might take a little work, but it leads to a longer, happier life together. Certainly more than one where you just worry about yourself.

A Valentine’s Day to Remember

by

I can remember when I was in junior high school that Valentine’s Day was a huge day. The coolest girls received deliveries to the school office. Big bundles of flowers, heart boxes full of candy, and teddy bears with a red bow. I longed for one of those deliveries, but I never got it. I even had to wait a few years before a boy exchanged a gift with me at all. I can’t recall what it was, though. I don’t even remember when I received my first bouquet of a dozen red roses. I suppose the gifts that fade into your past weren’t really that memorable to begin with. For something that seemed so important at the time, the weight of it doesn’t even leave a ripple in the waters of my mind.

I mean, I can’t even recall what my Valentine’s Day card from my husband last year said, and I know I thought the sentiment was especially sweet. I guess that’s why I had always kept the cards he gave me, so I could look back and remind myself what was printed on the card stock. But things are different now. I don’t have a treasure box, hope chest, or storage space with which to pack away my memories. I mean, when was the last time I had read one of those cards anyway? Sometimes you realize you have to let the stuff that disintegrates go in favor of the things that don’t.

And indeed, we had gotten rid of boxes and rooms full of stuff. We had sold and given away a whole two story house packed of objects that you could hold and see so that we could increase the items you couldn’t see, like time together and unconditional love. A year ago we gave up all the stuff so we could travel the country together as a family. We had a small home in the form of an RV, but it certainly wasn’t going to hold years full of cards or a collection of teddy bears and puppies holding hearts. Hence, how Valentine’s Day went this year.

With a new minimalist lifestyle in mind, I had suggested to my spouse how best we might exchange Valentine’s this year. Of course, he found it brilliant. And it’s certainly not one I shall soon forget.

You see, for starters my husband was the best gift I’d ever been given. God had that man designed to be the perfect partner for me, and we had looked back in awe at how the world tried to destroy us, yet God had brought us through it all for His plans to prevail. Even when decades of time and thousands of miles worked to keep us apart, in the end God brought us back together. He knew that Ben was the man I needed to be able to grow closer to the Lord and impact the world with God’s love.

Then there was the fact that my husband gave me good gifts every day. He gave me his heart, his time, his sacrifices, his words of encouragement, his uplifting compliments, and his attention and affection. I watched the world around me, and I saw people who needed time away from their spouse who got on their nerves. They needed tons of girlfriends to confide in about how their husband didn’t understand their needs. They spoke about how hard marriage was, and I just couldn’t for the life of me relate. I had never thought it was hard, not even mildly difficult. It was so easy to be loved by him, and to reciprocate that love. That was the greatest gift.

Every day, the way he looked at me. The look that said, “you are my person. You’re the one that makes life perfect. I can’t imagine anything better than this right here, looking at you.” That look got me every time. It was how I never grew tired of cuddling with him, or how I never tired of hearing, “I love you so much.” I wanted to spend every moment of every day in his presence, and if I could make a day longer than twenty-four hours, I’d spend the extra minutes at his side. It was easy sharing life with him. And I didn’t need a card to tell me he felt the same. But cards are fun, right?

So this year, with the fact that we hauled all our possession around the United States, we thought it would be fun to go to the card aisle and find the Valentine’s that expressed our feelings for each other best, exchange them there, and then put them back! It was perfect! He picked out the absolute best card, and he loved mine too. I probably won’t be able to recite tomorrow what it said, though. And neither will he. Yet we won’t need to. Each day we live out a life together that represents what those Valentine’s stated. Each day we express our affection to one another, and that’s the sort of thing you don’t forget.

A Letter to My Sugar Daddy

by

My Dearest Love,

The other day at work someone mentioned sugar daddies and knowing someone who had one. They spoke about how much he took care of her, and how she didn’t even have to give him anything in return. He just did it! I thought about that for a moment, and immediately I thought of you. I know, you’re laughing, but in a way that day I realized I have the perfect sugar daddy in you.

I know we both wondered how it would pan out when we switched roles last year. You stopped working sixty hour weeks and I passed on the homeschool mantle to your competent hands. I transitioned into the role of primary breadwinner for this season of life, and you entered the unknown waters of a stay-at-home husband and dad. It was a change for us both, but one neither of us complained about, understanding it was what we needed at the time. I knew it would be different, but I never realized how much.

Do you know that every night when I taste the homemade meal you’ve prepared that it tastes better than the last? Like, seriously I ask myself, “what is it that he does different than me?!” I always thought I was a really excellent cook, but then I tasted your dinners. After a long day nothing fills my belly like something you made in love, and nothing fills my heart more than realizing you did it just for me.

All the things you do for me. It’s amazing. You don’t let me lift a finger when I get home. You do it all. Cleaning, cooking, laundry. You manage to have me a hot meal and clean house when I walk in the door, despite having homeschooled the girls all day. The other day I watched you changing a dirty diaper and realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had! When our daughters ask me for something after a long day you jump in quickly to say, “I can get it!”

And that’s the thing, you get it. You get me, you get this whole marriage thing, and you get how much it means to me to be taken care of by you. You see to all my needs, and just when I think I couldn’t love you anymore than I already do, you do something else amazing.

I know, I know, I’m being super sappy, but I want you to know. I want you to know I see it. I notice every little thing you do for me, and it adds up huge in my heart. I feel like the luckiest woman alive. I go to a rewarding job serving others, and when I go home you serve me. Babe, you are speaking my love language, big time!

Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. Thank you for not only loving me (I’ve always known that), but thank you for showing me your love in action every single day. If being a sugar daddy means taking care of your lady then by all means you are the sweetest, most generous one on this planet, and I’m blessed enough to call you mine!

Love,

Your Wife

I’ve Missed This

by

My husband lay behind me, and I curled into his body, his arm twined around my torso. My back to his chest, we fit together like two spoons in a drawer. It felt like home. We laid there on the couch together watching TV, and I could feel his hot breath in my ear.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered.

I agreed with a satisfying purr.

How long had it been since we laid like this? Too long to remember. I mean, we made time together as husband and wife, but to just lay beside one another for an extended period, soaking in the other’s presence? It had been a while.

Indeed, one or both of us usually had a kid or two in our lap, and you couldn’t very well twine into one another on the sofa when every few minutes someone came up asking for chocolate milk or if you could help them find something that was laying in plain sight. I’m not sure how we had managed it this long on this particular afternoon, but we had. I could hear the girls playing contentedly in their room, so I just enjoyed it while I could.

We were in our forties, and our entire married life had been about parenting. I don’t think we had planned it to be that way, but it’s how it turned out. We got married at thirty-one, in November, and worried that it might take a while to conceive I had stopped my birth control in December. Yep, by January we were expecting. I wasn’t even ready. Neither was he, but somehow together we made it beautiful. Having a baby brought out the best in us, and as a couple we grew.

That whole decade would be a series of pregnancies, deliveries, breastfeeding, newborns, and moving into different homes to suit our growing family. First steps, first words, and first everything’s. Times three! It was a whirlwind thirties for us, for sure. Watching my husband blossom under the mantle of fatherhood was one of my favorite things, and being a parenting partner with him was more than I could have hoped for. He was a wonderful dad!

Yet he was more. And as I lay against his body on the couch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against me, I knew it was true.

Marriage and parenting can be especially challenging when combined. There’s so much going on. Through terrible twos, stomach bugs, and birthday parties you go. You run errands, change diapers, and go to multiple doctor appointments. You worry, you rejoice, and you cry when you fear you’re messing it all up. You disagree on methods, you discuss the tough issues, and you fall asleep exhausted as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You hold hands together in the hospital waiting for the ultrasound of your daughter’s heart. You worry together.

He holds the baby’s arms down while you twist her head side to side, tortuously performing the physical therapy exercises they taught you to do. Your eyes meet in sympathetic wailing as you work through the baby’s loud cries. This too shall pass.

He comes into the bathroom to check on you where you lay in the floor next to the commode. How long can a stomach virus last for one family?!

Bills! So many bills. We need diapers. We gotta buy a bigger vehicle. She’s outgrown her shoes again.

Go take a bath. I’ll watch the baby.

You stay home by yourself for a change. I’ll take everyone to the store with me.

Go ahead and go to bed. I can tell you’re tired. I’ll put them down.

Through our nine years of marriage we had parented for over eight years of it. We had never really known each other just as husband and wife, but rather always as mom and dad. And we were wonderful at it! We were the perfect team! We were a dynamic parenting duo! But I never wanted to forget what it felt like to spoon on the sofa with the man I fell in love with.

My husband was a wonderful father, but before that he was my wonderful husband. He was a dad! But he was also my best friend. He was my confidant, my prayer partner, and so many days the lifter of my head. God had gifted me with this man, and not just to be the father of my children, but to be my companion for life. One day the children would leave the nest, but I knew it wouldn’t feel too empty. Because it would be filled with him.

It’s easy to get sucked into the parent trap. To see your spouse as your helpmate in matters involving the children, but forget that he was an ever-present help for you in all things. Although I love being a mother, I didn’t want that to define me alone. Before I was their mother, I was his wife, and after they grew up and became mothers themselves, still his wife I would be.

Seasons change, but love remains.

Our only season of married life had been a season of parenting small children, and sometimes that can be pretty overshadowing. The demands of raising multiple, little people takes a lot of strength and energy. Like, a lot! But I never want it to take it all. I always try to leave the best parts of myself for him. He deserves that of me.

“I miss this,” he had said.

And I had too.

It’s unrealistic to think that you can cuddle all day with three children eight years old and under around 24/7, but I did know this. I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to forget how good it felt to snuggle up alongside my best guy. I didn’t want to forget what it was like to miss and long for his embrace. I didn’t want to forget that I was made for him, and that he was made for me. I didn’t want to let it slip my mind that he was more than just the father of my children; he was also the love of my life. I held him above everything, and other than the good Lord, he was the one I loved the most. I poured a lot of energy and adoration into the children. We both did. But when it came down to it, he was the only one I wanted to end the day with, melting into his arms, and letting all our other obligations fade away, even if for just a moment.

I had missed this too, but I never wanted to miss it so much that I forgot what it was. Never.