Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

To the Mom Shaming Your Kid on Facebook

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I fell asleep last night with peace in my heart and a bit of pride for the fact that my son was smiling as he kissed me goodnight, even though he had been crying when we first laid down to say our bedtime prayers. I mean, I knew the Holy Spirit had a lot to do with his change in demeanor, especially following our heartfelt intercession, but yeah, a lot of me felt good for myself too. I felt like a good mom. Which was awesome, since I feel like I fail at it on the daily!

A large majority of the commentary you’ll see about parenting teens and preteens champions tough love. It states that kids today need to toughen up, that they need more discipline, and that they need to face the harsh realities of this world so they can be high-functioning, productive adults. I get it. I am a Gen-X’er, after all. A latch key kid. The generation that had zero hand-holding while we transversed the neighborhood or woods without supervision. I’m tough! I also thank God I’m alive when I think back at the stupid stuff I did that almost got me killed, that my parents were clueless about. But alas, this isn’t a blog about the pros and/or cons of helicopter parenting. It’s about being a good parent. So what is that exactly?

Yes, it’s disciple. It’s teaching your children to respect authority, to listen, and to learn from their mistakes. To work hard earn their reward. It’s provision and meeting their physical needs. Yet, it’s so much more. If I had to sum it up with one word it would be pretty easy. I’d base it upon the best role model father I know. God, My Father. So, who is God?

God is so many attributes rolled into one, but the one that stands out to me as His daughter is love. And that’s what I thought of last night after holding my twelve year old.

The Lord said, “it matters to you because it matters to him. That’s how I love you.”

My son had been working for days on a digital art project, and as he neared completion his program screamed for more storage capacity. In a rush to delete the unwanted stuff and make room, he accidentally deleted his project. He had not saved it. It was gone forever. Even The Cloud couldn’t help. He tried to put on a brave face, but I could tell he was disappointed to have lost all that time and effort because of a mistake.

I was at a crossroads. I could say, “I bet you learned your lesson about hitting save!”

I could state what was obvious to me. “It’s just a drawing. Get over it! Do another!”

Or, I could walk in the fruits of the Spirit, the model my Father in Heaven gave through His Son. Patience, kindness, gentleness, love. I could allow him to cry, to let it out. I could hold him, listen, offer advice, and love him through the disappointment that was a big deal to him at the time.

Or, I could post a picture of him crying and upload it to Facebook, I talking about how this generation needs to grow a backbone, learn responsibility, and work hard for the things they want!

Maybe I’m being a little over the top with my particular scenario, but sadly I see pretty similar stuff a bit too often for my taste. I see it over and over, these posts where a mom shames their child publicly on social media, toting the virtues of making your kid learn the hard way. I just don’t believe that’s the way.

A majority of the time it is parents who claim Christianity as a basis of their life that are the promoters of tough love, but I don’t see that Christ walked that way. God certainly isn’t up there punishing us for our missteps. He allows us to fall to the consequences of our own stupid actions, but He never puts us to shame. That’s the other guy. He’s the one who forgives us, the Dad who picks us up, kisses the booboo, and holds us tight, counting our tears. He’s the one who took all our mistakes on His own back, paying for them in blood, and certainly didn’t put ‘em up on a sign in the public square to get likes and shares from the angels.

When your child messes up, you can lovingly guide them to the truth, the consequences of their actions, and the way back to the goal at hand, or you can let them learn their lesson on their own. Sadly, years down the road, the lesson they may have learned is a skewed version of what a father/mother should be. They’ll carry that version into many aspects of their life, such as how they see the Father Heart of God, how they parent themselves, and how they deal with shame and self-doubt when they fail as an adult.

I want my children to learn grace! I want them to know loving kindness, compassion, mercy, and confidence that they can move forward in imperfection, growing as they go. They can learn from mistakes (because they will, without an “I told you so”), but not feel like those mistakes define them. But most of all, I want to model the love I see in Him. And I just don’t think social media shaming is it.

The Offense of Being Offended as a Christian

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Have you ever been forced to be around someone you don’t like? If you’re a responsible adult, in a work setting, then the answer is probably yes. You can break off an abusive, long term relationship, ignore your in-laws, or cut ties with a toxic friend, but leaving a great job because of an annoying coworker isn’t always economically feasible, and I’ve found myself in this situation lately.

Have you ever been so irked by an itchy personality that you imagine yourself throttling that person? I know, not very Christ-like, but let’s be honest; we’ve all been there once or twice. Some people can just be so different from us, and it’s like they know all the wrong buttons to push! This was what happened to me.

This lady was so prideful. I remember Southern ladies describing it as, “she thinks her sh*t don’t stink.” And that seemed like a pretty good description of this situation. The woman I’m referring to thought she was always right, everyone else was always wrong, and her way of doing things was the only way. It doesn’t make for a conducive workspace.

One morning, I had just sat down booting up my computer with another scheduled, early-arriving coworker, when she walked in. She wasn’t supposed to arrive for another hour! I thought I had time to drink my coffee and get my heart and mind in the right place for her abrasive personality, yet there she was.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked, even as my mind wondered if she was just checking to make sure we came to work on time in an environment without a time clock to keep us honest.

And so it began. She started droning on about the changes she was instituting for the workplace (as the most senior person in our office), and about all the things we were all doing wrong that she could improve upon.

Y’all, it flew all over me. I had spent the past couple of days she’d been off cleaning up her messes and mistakes! My work-plate had been overflowing thanks to her missed steps, and it made my blood want to boil at her audacity to suggest anyone else was the problem!

The thing was, I wasn’t the only one! Everyone in the office felt the same as me. They were fed up with her constant slacking of job duties, but even more so with her attitude that suggested otherwise. Grrr. It made us all crazy. In fact, when she wasn’t around we talked about how insane she made us all feel. We laughed at her expense, and made jokes about her holier-than-though attitude. It somehow made me feel better, you know?

After a full day of hard work, also filled with plenty of gossip about my troublesome coworker, I drove home and started feeling conviction. I knew it wasn’t right. Not any of it. Not my anger, not my judgement. I shouldn’t be making jokes at her expense, ridiculing her behavior with others, or gossiping period. I confessed of my behavior and asked the Lord to change my heart. Man, it is so easy to fall into sin, and fall away from the heart of God! I asked Him to give me His heart towards this problematic coworker, to help me see her with His eyes. That’s a tough sale, guys, cause when you do that, you no longer want to dislike a person for their erroneous behavior; you want to embrace them in their brokenness. Have you ever realized we’re all the same in that we’re not yet whole?

The next time I worked with this person, it was great! I told my husband it had to be the Holy Spirit. I usually grew angry at her pride and easily offended when her comments suggested I was less of a good worker than she. Because really, isn’t that what these situations really come down to most of the time? Personal offense? But on this day, I took no offense, and we got along swimmingly. I left the office lighter, in a better mood, because instead of feeling angry, I felt peace.

Have you ever noticed how off your behavior is when you’re angry? It’s the opposite of the fruits of the spirit. Instead of peace, we feel unease. Instead of joy, we feel rage. Instead of patience, we feel frustration. Instead of kindness, we feel vengeance. And most importantly, instead of love, we feel the opposite! If God is love, what is the opposite of love? Well, I can tell you, it’s not of God.

The thing is, many times when we feel offended, it’s selfishness. Instead of service, like Jesus modeled, we have placed ourselves to be served. By assuming our desires, opinions, or even our life, are more important than a brother/sister, we are elevating ourselves, which never pans out well in the Kingdom of God. In the Kingdom way, we are asked by Jesus to lay down our lives, to take up His cross, and to put on His yoke. Cause, you see, any other yoke is one of slavery. Slavery to anger, pride, selfish action, and again, the opposite of God’s essence, love. It turns out, His yoke, His way, is easy. That’s why after being a slave to offense, we feel terrible, but after being a slave (servant) to love, we feel amazing. I don’t think we always realize why we’re feeling so bad. We think it’s because of other people’s actions, but I would suggest, perhaps it’s our own hearts causing us harm.

When that person passes you in traffic haphazardly or cuts you in line! Arghh!

Remember justice is His. He will lift you up. Ask yourself these heart questions. What makes our time more valuable than that of another? What ranking does this particular offense hold in light of eternity? Does our response negatively affect our heart, and does it display the light of the One we claim to love? Are we reflecting Jesus to a lost and hurting world? This is something I desire more than anything.

When someone disagrees with something that is very important to us, it’s hard. When someone maliciously hurts us, it’s even harder. It’s crazy hard to lay down the desire to be right, the desire to be vindicated, and the desire to be esteemed, but as a Christian, that is what we are called to. We are asked to humble ourselves, to lay down our swords, and to serve in love. I still find myself in this crazy world, getting offended, but I try to not let that offense rule me, define me, or steer my actions. I’ve found that the true offense to being offended isn’t against the one I perceive as the offender, but rather it ends up being an offense to my own heart and the spirit God has given me. And who wants that!

How to Feel Joy in Pain

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Yesterday I was driving to run a few errands. I had one day off before returning to my stressful job in the ICU, and that meant the day was dwindling away with unpleasurable tasks rather than sitting by the pool and reading a book. Yet, despite my mundane to-do’s, I cranked up the radio with a smile, hummed happily as I admired the blue sky, and drove forward in joy while the warmth of the day rested on my happy face. I had a minuscule moment of surprise over my unexpected elation, before it hit me why I was walking on sunshine at all. Every day got better than the last!

Look, I’m a realist. I’m not going to try and sprinkle rainbows on your cloudy day. I’m not spouting a magic cure or trying to be a lifestyle coach of optimism. But what I will do is share with you my life experiences.

I suffer from depression, and I also suffer from anxiety. Some days are better than others. Some days, though, I’m sad for no reason, and that drives me mad. I go through seasons where my melancholy mood is worse than others, and I can be negatively affected by work stress and problems in relationships with friends or family. I’m an over-thinker, and my persistence in going over a problem repeatedly will keep me up at night. What I’m trying to say is, I’m not without trouble. I’m not perfect. But I have found what helps.

I’ll go ahead and get this out of the way… I’m on an antidepressant/anti anxiety medication prescribed by my doctor. In fact, I reached out to my physician a couple of months ago when I saw the signs that my condition was worsening and a dose adjustment was necessary. I hate when the devil tries to use our weaknesses against us, like telling us we’re not a “good enough Christian” if we can’t get rid of mental illness by prayer and Bible reading. It’s simply not true!

I come from a long line/family history of mental illness, depression, alcoholism, and suicide. I won’t pretend to be an expert on chemical imbalances and hereditary factors in mental health, but I will say I believe they exist. I’m a believer in nature AND nurture. Your past experiences do affect your future self. Do they control the narrative? No. But we can’t throw out the scars that rejection and other painful instances leave in their wake. Also, I believe in spiritual forces beyond our recognition. I believe in familial curses that can impact one generation after another, and I believe the devil prowls like a lion looking to destroy us. I believe in demonic forces at work in mankind distorting our perception of reality and feeding lies into our thoughts. Never-mind external stressors like working a pandemic in critical care (insert your own personal stressor)!

With so many different factors that play a part in mental health, how can we as Christians say just one thing works? So, if you’ve ever felt guilty, or been made to feel guilty, for seeking medical help for your mental health, please don’t. Throw that out with the garbage. I love Jesus more than the air I breathe, but I still found myself with suicidal ideation the day before my period would start. I talk to God all day long, yet I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about things that were not even things! I read my Bible every day, but I know better than to think I’ve kicked addiction’s butt. I can’t just have a glass of wine and call it a day. It will end up being a whole bottle and headache in the morning. I know the Lord has broken the chains of addiction in my life, but I’m not about to put Him to the test. It’s not necessary. But I digress. I’m just trying to say, this is a broken world. Don’t be surprised if you need a little help picking up the pieces. You can believe in God’s healing and still take an antidepressant. God does much of his healing through the work of His children, be it a counselor or prescription provider.

But let’s get to the meat of this post. I’ve had plenty of patients over the years that have been on a bucket of medication, but they still couldn’t get out of their pit. Remember when I discussed the multifaceted nature of mental health? I believe that my healing, strength, and joy come from Jesus. Yes, I take a daily prescription, and yes, I talk about my feelings, but it’s His strength that keeps me going. Here are a few things that have made a positive difference in my life.

One, I read the Bible every day and spend substantial time in His presence. You can do this a number of ways. I read devotions from the Bible app on my phone. I read encouraging emails from trusted, Christian websites. I will take out my Bible and just open it up where I feel the Holy Spirit leads me and read. That may just be letting it fall open, or going to a book you feel the Spirit impress to your mind. I also journal. I’m going to attach a diagram of words. You can pick one for each day. Get your word, pray and ask God to speak to your heart, and then just write whatever comes out. This is a great way to communicate with Him. On work days I listen to praise music on my commute and I worship like the interior of my car is church on Sunday morning. Some of my best times with the Lord have been in the car!

Image from HIScoach Training Academy

Two, I give Him every day. I discovered my best place to get quiet time that is uninterrupted is in the shower. I bought a shower chair, and I’ll have a seat and talk to my Father. I pray about different things. Yesterday I just talked to Jesus like He was my best friend (because He is), and I told Him different things I had been thinking about my home and work life. He didn’t say anything back, but I knew He was listening, and I felt a weight lifted afterwards. One thing I always do in my shower chair/prayer closet is surrender my life/day to Him. I close my eyes and imagine I’m at the foot of His throne. Then I lay down physical objects that signify my mental battles. I lay down anxiety, depression, worry, doubt, and fear. I also give Him my finances, family, and future. I call it laying down the big three. I ask for more or His Spirit and less of this world. I ask for ears to hear His Spirit and truth over everything else. I do this every single day.

Now, this one I had slacked off on, but I picked it back up because I find it helpful, I see a difference, and it’s super easy. I daily apply the Armor of God (Ephesians 6). I memorized these verses, not exactly word for word, but enough to recite them. I say the full armor out loud and mentally put it on. Take that, Satan! Don’t laugh, bro. It works.

Lastly, I strive to walk in Kingdom Truth. This is sooooo hard. That’s why you see me doing all the above stuff daily. To fight fear, you have to be like a well-trained athlete. You have to daily feed on the truth of God according to scripture. You have to allow that truth to become who you are. The truth of scripture changes you! If you know a Christian who isn’t different from the world and displaying the fruits of the spirit, such as love, patience, kindness, joy, and self-control, then they are just forgetting the truth of God. We all have our moments, but to walk in Kingdom Truth means to understand this world is temporary. The problems we face won’t be forever, but a life full of love in Jesus will last for eternity. Nothing can truly harm us as followers of Him. We don’t fear change, political unrest, or the opinions of others. We don’t allow broken relationships to break us. We understand that while the tears may come right now, that joy comes in the morning (future). This life is a sandcastle, and the waves will eventually sweep it away, but until then keep building your castle for the Lord. Invite others to build with you; even the sinners (oh, wait, that’s all of us). Even the ones persisting in sin (oh, wait, that’s all of us)!

Pain comes, but joy is the River of the Holy Spirit that runs through the heart of every believer. We just forget it’s there. Spending time with the Living Water (Jesus) will remind us of that truth. Depression happens on this earth, but the truth reminds us that His strength is made perfect in our weakness. Like Paul, God won’t always take the thorn from our side, but He will use it to help us find our way. Our way back to His truth. The truth that we are sons and daughters of a King who rules the entire earth and Heavens, yet still absolutely adores little ole you and me. We love because He loves us. We lay down our offenses because He laid down ours. We forgive, as He forgives. We help the hurting. We seek His healing and guidance. We allow trouble to roll off our backs like water off a duck, because He is in control of all things! He fights our battles! He protects, guides, and provides. And remembering this truth, that I have to remind myself of daily, spending time with Him, this truth brings me joy even in the midst of pain.

Don’t Neglect the Little Things

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The other morning I was getting ready to leave for work when an unexpected find put a little pep in my previously, exhausted step. It was my third day at the hospital bedside in a string of 12 hour shifts as a critical care nurse, and you can bet your bottom dollar I was going to need all the caffeine my cup of coffee had to offer. I reached into the refrigerator in that early-morning kinda daze, grabbing for my favorite creamer, even as I knew the bottle was dang-near empty.

The morning before when I had made coffee to go, I really only had enough for that particular cup, but realizing I still had another shift left before I could make a grocery store trip, I tried to conserve a bit back for one more morning cup of joe. At the time I had considered leaving my husband a note, asking him to pick some up for me, but I had decided against it. I knew he would have his hands full with homeschooling three girls, doing laundry, making meals, and all the other tasks he performed at home. It wasn’t a big deal, after all. So, I had saved myself a swallow of French Vanilla for the following day, and it was this prize portion I reached for on the day in question.

I held the empty bottle of creamer in my hand, but before shutting the fridge I glimpsed a brand new bottle that I knew had not been there before. Despite the fact that I had decided against asking my spouse to take time out of his day to buy me creamer the previous morning, he had done it anyway. He had taken the time to notice my brand of creamer was low, even though he used another kind that was totally full, and then he had made the decision to pack up our three, young children and take them to the store for a single item that I enjoyed. I could do without the creamer. I could even use some of his. But he had made a small, insignificant-seeming decision to purchase me my favorite coffee add-in.

So, after I filled my coffee mug with a happy, healthy amount of cream, I did leave my hubby a note. I left a post-it thanking him for the creamer. Because, you see, it wasn’t just the creamer. It was the fact that he thought of me. He did something inconvenient for himself to benefit me in a small way. He took the time to notice my tiny needs, to consider my preferences, and to show his affection for me through that. Was a bottle of creamer the recipe for a happy marriage? Not in itself. But what it signified, now that was worth something.

Marriage can be hard. Heck, life is hard. There will be huge issues you have to work through and big obstacles to overcome, but in the midst of the enormous stuff, don’t neglect the little things. Cause it turns out, often times the little things add up to be big things. Small tokens of selfless affection over time build a large love between two people. Personally, I left for work that morning still sleepy, but somehow energized with the knowledge I’d be coming home to a man who adored me, and who showed his love for me in a million, tiny ways.

I Never Wanted the Pony

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How to Have a Happy Marriage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We Both a Little Crazy Sometimes

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He came up behind me unexpectedly, and he wrapped his solid arms around my waist. His bearded chin rested on my left shoulder as he drew me closer into his warm embrace. It felt comfortable, familiar, like home, and the anger I had been holding onto started to evaporate like it had never been there at all. The rigidness of my body softened in the caress of his strength and love, and it was as if I melted like wax, his presence being the flame of my undoing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly into my ear.

His apology a balm, the heat of his breath soothing, the warmth of his affection mending any broken fences. I rested there in his arms, surrendering to the greatest love I had ever known on this earth, opening my heart even more to his kindness.

I finally turned my head around, looking up into his tender, brown eyes. All the mad feelings that had been present just moments ago had vanished, pushed away by a stronger emotion.

Love.

I smiled up into his warm gaze, a place where I could become lost if I allowed it, and I said with a smirk, “we both a little crazy sometimes.”

He laughed, and we both knew it was forgotten. It was forgiven. Anger was let go, and the fight was over. All was as it should be. Thankfully.

Yet before…

I am not apologizing!

That is what I had thought before. In my mind, at the moment, I was always the first to say I’m sorry. Not this time! Nope, not gonna do it!

A ridiculous fight! That’s what it was. And I found it odd that our rare fights usually occurred over something minuscule and unimportant. It was like at work. I could handle the most stressful and tragic of situations, performing with a calm clarity when a serious or deadly predicament arouse. But if a computer froze or IV pump wouldn’t stop alarming, rage would build in me akin to some sort of Hulk-like explosion. Our occasional arguments were like that. We handled the stress of finances, the difficulties of parenting, and the uncertainty of life with ease, but introduce a conflict over which route to take home from the grocery store and we might just pull out the boxing gloves.

Yes, that’s what it had been, a silly disagreement over nothing of any real significance, but I had noticed over the years that even a pointless argument can be blown out of proportion when selfishness and the desire to be right took center stage.

His desire to be right, my stubbornness to not say sorry. My stance of silence, and his reciprocating, stoic, tight-lipped reply. Thoughts of selfish ambition, the certainty of one’s opinion being the best, and a stonewall emotional response. The temptation to say something hurtful, coupled with the fact that harsh words spoken cannot be reeled back in as easily as they’re cast. The choice between being right or being humble. The decision to stay silent, or the choice to speak surrender. The realization that relationship is more important than winning a fight. The ability to say I’m sorry, and the lifesaving healing of forgiveness.

Marriage isn’t easy, but then again, it’s not that hard. Perhaps we are the ones that make it more difficult than it needs to be. Sometimes it’s as simple as an apology, or as easy as letting go. Perhaps it’s the realization that no one is perfect, nor should such a standard be expected. Maybe it’s as straightforward as letting anger go in favor of love, as uncomplicated as remembering our own idiosyncrasies and faults. It could even be something as effortless as understanding that we’re all a little crazy sometimes.

How Being a Busy Mom Almost Killed Me

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Let’s just be honest. Women are amazing! We’re pros of problem solving, masters of multitasking, and heroes of all the hats. Women can work out of the home while simultaneously holding down the home front. We cook nutritious meals, run a taxi service for our children, craft like crazy, make our spouses feel special, teach life lessons on the daily, and look amazing doing it. Well, mostly anyway. We strive to do all the things, all the time, and very well. In years past I have applauded myself on my ability to multitask. Homeschooling, homemaking, mothering, working businesses inside the home and out. I was proud of myself and all I could accomplish, but I was also tired. I was frustrated, flustered, and many days ended with me in regret for how I had handled the challenges of the day. I mean, I was getting all the things done, but was that necessarily a good thing?

I can’t tell you how many times I would lose my temper with my young children, raise my voice, maybe throw my own temper tantrum (just being honest), and then feel like total crap afterwards.

“Why, God?!” I would pray. “Why can’t I keep it together?!”

Years went by. Years, y’all. Years where I prayed to not be short-tempered or frustrated. I would make the conscious decision to take my daughters places, to get them involved in activities, but then I’d be in a bad mood getting us out the door. I was typically fine once we got there, but as the relief washed over me while I watched my children I wondered why I couldn’t feel that contentment all the time.

Some mornings I would wake up feeling anxious or depressed. All the planning made no difference in the difficulty. And I got to where I desperately craved the days where we had absolutely nothing planned. They were a much needed respite that went by too fast. I kept hearing that childhood went by far too quickly, and I also knew this to be true. But let’s be straightforward here. Many days I wanted to put on fast-forward to get them over with so I could finally relax. Does that sound awful?

At some point I came to a place where I realized I wasn’t enjoying my motherhood as much as I should. Why did it have to be so hard, so exasperating? Was that just par for the course? Or was it perhaps partially my doing? I had always taken pride in being busy. I think that’s a woman thing. I equated being busy with being productive, and it’s like the more things I could accomplish the more accomplished I was as a mother. But if I was angry and frustrated internally most of the time then what was the point? It was a motive check.

I had always thought that more was better. The more I provided for my kids the better. More toys, more clothes, more opportunities. More activities, more social gatherings, more going places. We may have been going, but I was drowning. I realized one day I felt like I had been treading water for a solid two years, and I also understood that I couldn’t keep it up. I was barely surviving, and my kids weren’t any better for it. There were the things that I thought mattered. And then there were the things that really did. My kids didn’t need more of the things. They needed more of me. They needed a happy mom, both parents working less, and healthy, calm relationships with us. What good was busy if it really didn’t amount to anything of eternal value?

I realized I had to let go of a lot of things. I had to let go of stuff, drop the extra activities I thought made me a better, cooler mom, and understand I wasn’t really on anyone’s timeline but my own. A lot of the chaos and stress in our lives we create, and the real question is why. Why do we create busy lives and equate that with happy, productive, successful lives? And whose standard is it anyway?

Mentally and emotionally, I was slowly killing myself. I loved my children, and I loved doing things for them, but what they really needed was a mom who wasn’t stressed out most of the time. They needed the relaxed, fun-loving mom I knew I could be. I was just distracted from being her by all the tiny, unimportant things that wrongly filled our house, schedule, and priority list.

Each day I’m learning to let go of preconceived notions of how a social media society or misaligned world says I should parent. I’m laying down unrealistic expectations for myself that my children don’t even consider important. No one knows what you can let go of, but you, but I’m discovering it’s always more than we think. To stop, take inventory of what matters, and drop the rest, that’s freedom. I’m learning to smile more, hurry less, and laugh a lot. I’m remembering to not sweat the small stuff, but instead enjoy the small things in life. I’m focusing on family, love, and wherever that takes us.

The Best Way to Unwrap Your Gifts This Christmas

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As I sat rocking my two year old to sleep I couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by her beauty, by the very essence of her innocence that sat like a halo about her head, or be affected by the underlying thought that she was my last baby. My last baby that was growing so quickly. I breathed in her goodness, soaked in her pouty lips and long eyelashes. A peace settled over my heart as I lay down on the bed holding her sleeping body and felt the weight of her little chest against mine.

Thank you, Lord. I thought. Thank you for this gift.

I had just been wrapping gifts, in fact. Lots of presents for all the people I loved. Although this was our first year to only buy what we could afford, refusing to put anything on a credit card, or buy tons of toys that weren’t really needed, I still had a bunch to wrap. Yet despite the mild mountain of presents awaiting me in the other room, I lay in the dark savoring one of my favorite gifts.

The past few years of my life as a mother had involved a lot of stress, hurried schedules, and toppling to-do lists. Although overall the role of motherhood was one I adored, many times over the years I had felt less than grateful, restful, or overflowing with peace. I mean, deep down I was grateful, and typically at the end of a tough day, near exhausted tears, I would recall that. And I’d feel guilty for forgetting it for even a moment.

What the Lord has been speaking to me lately is how I need to slow down and enjoy life. It’s a call to focus on what’s really important, and to not sweat the rest. This is tough for today’s woman, but as I’ve started to practice resting in God and seeing my priorities through His eyes, it has been much easier.

Christmas-time is an ultimate challenge when it comes to focusing on what’s important. We want to focus on the presents when the Lord wants us to focus on the gifts. We tend to be motivated by shopping lists, recipes, family get-togethers, and the like. We desire to create traditions, send cards, and take that Santa photo. We look to bake cookies with the kids, seek out the very best, Christmas light shows, and find the most popular, coveted toy on our kids’ lists. And while all these things are wonderful and good, and I’ve done many of them, if they stress us out then they’re not worth the wrapping paper they’re packaged in. If our Christmas pursuits are causing us to fret and fuss then we’re losing focus on what’s truly important.

Over 2,000 years ago God gave us the perfect gift, a gift of life that was wrapped up in unconditional love. Our job is to carry on the tradition of love. We’re supposed to love Christmas, not stress out over it. Not go into debt over it. Not run, run Rudolph until we can’t even see the gift of it. We’re to love others, love ourselves, and love the reason for the season. We’re not meant to rush the presents presence of Jesus in our life. We’re meant to unwrap it slowly, joyfully, and in a spirit of rest.

This year I haven’t rushed to try and fit in all the things. To do all the things. To buy all the things. To see all the things!

I’ve simply enjoyed the things.

Why He Can’t Possibly Be the Best Thing That’s Ever Happened To You!

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I am a huge romantic. Like I absolutely love anything to do with love, and I simply adore seeing other people in love. It makes me happy to think someone I know has found their soulmate as I know personally how wonderful that can be. But every once and a while you have to wonder, when is it too much emphasis on this too good to be true love story? In other words, when can love start to become a trap rather than a gift?

What I mean by that is this. Often times women, and men alike, will put so much merit in a relationship that they begin to place all their hope on it. It becomes a thing of “I’m happy because I’m in this relationship” or even worse, “I’m happy since they’re happy with me.” And while it’s good to feel emotionally lifted because of a healthy relationship it can become an unhealthy one when your happiness lies solely in this relationship status. Yes, it’s sad when things don’t work out, but no, your whole life is not ruined because another human being has decided they don’t want a happily ever after with you. 

Often times when people invest themselves emotionally in a romantic relationship they unintentionally put all their eggs in one basket. They decide this is the happiest they’ve ever been in a relationship before so therefore this relationship must be the key to a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment. But this kind of thinking will always disappoint eventually. 

You cannot base your worth as a person on your relationship status, or even on what your partner thinks of you. I think it’s super swell that my husband finds me drop-dead sexy, and that makes me feel good, but I don’t rely on his compliments on any given day to decide if I feel pretty or not. The truth is that I’m pretty awesome whether my husband remembers to tell me so or not, and that’s not cockiness, it’s confidence. Something all of us need a little more of, myself included. 

Even if I was single that wouldn’t define me as a woman. Being single doesn’t equate to being undesirable any more than being married for a decade or more means you’re exuberantly satisfied in your relationship. Finding Mr. or Mrs. Right doesn’t make everything in life right; it just gives you a partner to transverse through a difficult life with. If you’re counting on your significant other to make life rosy then you will find yourself defeated. 

I see a lot of people say their significant other is “the best thing that ever happened to me,” and while I can understand that kind of phrase when I think about how special my husband is to me, I am also reminded that it’s just not true. Someone you love romantically, and someone that you desire to spend your life with can be a very special asset to your walk in this world. They can be a great, grand partner with which to share your joys and hardships alike. They can inspire you, and they can even be a catalyst of change in your life. They’re a gift indeed, but they will never be the best thing that ever happened to you. And while this might sound a little serious or preachy, it’s utterly true. The best thing that ever happened to you was Jesus dying on the cross for your sins. Period. 

And that’s what it all comes down to in life and love. Your relationship needs to be based on a realization that Christ is who sustains you both. You don’t sustain one another. You help one another, and you lift each other up, but you are no one’s savior. And no person can be yours either. 

Like I said, I’m a romantic. I love being in love, and I love to pour out my love on my spouse. But I love because Christ first loved me. What I mean by this is that how I love and treat my husband stems from my relationship with Jesus, and that shared dependence on God is what strengthens our marriage. 

I depend on my husband a lot, but I don’t expect him to make my life worth living. I love living life with him, but I don’t live for him, and I wouldn’t expect him to base his sole happiness on me. I mess up way too much for that. 

There’s nothing wrong with being exceptionally happy in a relationship. I know I am! But you can’t let your relationship become who you are in life. It can’t define you or be your reason for living. We already have a Savior for that. 

Find your happiness in yourself and who God made you to be, and then you’ll find that happiness in your relationship comes easier. He won’t necessary be “the best thing that ever happened to you,” but every day can truly be lived with him like it’s your best yet.