Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Never Wanted the Pony

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.