Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

I Cannot Believe My Husband!!

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I woke up in bed early this morning. It was still dark outside, and the house was completely quiet. As I lay there staring at the ceiling, the insomnia of my last month of pregnancy causing my tired brain to spin, I thought about my husband who lay asleep in the other room. I thought about the text I had received from him prior to going to bed that night before. Despite us only being separated by a single wall or two, he had sent me a message on my phone. 

Sometimes, I just cannot believe my husband!

  
Here I am 52 weeks pregnant, or at least what feels that way, and he hasn’t changed a bit. I am in a state of mind where I feel like an absolute whale. I feel puffy, tired, and like my nose is spreading out at an insane rate across my face. I feel itchy, achy, and sometimes even ugly. I feel swollen, stretched, and unattractive. That’s just the way it is. 

Yet somehow in the middle of my feelings of inadequacy and loss of self esteem, I glance up to see my husband staring at me, and I just cannot believe him. He’s smiling. 

He’s smiling at me. He finds me beautiful still. Despite the weight gain and swollen ankles, he finds me adorable and desirable. I just cannot believe him. 

When I read the text message he had sent earlier in the night, my heart had soared. I felt it skip a beat just like it had done when we were nineteen, and he whispered the words into my ear. 

I want you to know I love you more than anything in this world, the message had read. 

And though we had just seen each other minutes before, and he was indeed just another room away, he had felt compelled to tell me that I was loved, that I was cherished, that I was adored. 

I knew he had been unable to walk into the room and tell me so because his lap was full with a fitful toddler he had put to sleep for the night. She had a cold, it seemed, but he had taken care of things while I soaked in the tub. 

I cannot believe my husband. 

He works. He works so hard to provide for us financially. Then he comes home bone tired, and he works some more. He works to help me with the children. He works to lighten my load, cultivate our relationship, and make me feel beautiful and appreciated. 

I cannot believe my husband. 

I cannot believe that such a selfless man exists, yet there he is. He sleeps on the couch with a snotty toddler while allowing his very pregnant wife to try and get some rest. 

I cannot believe such a wonderful father can mold the lives of his children while simultaneously making his wife feel loved by sending her random messages of affection, but he does. Every day he does. 

I cannot believe my husband. I cannot believe a man thinks so much of others above himself, yet I see the proof every day. I hold his hand, and I linger in his embrace as he hugs me before bed, placing a soft kiss on my puffy lips, and a warm hand on my swelling belly. 

I cannot believe my husband. I cannot believe God blessed me with such a wonderful partner with which to raise a family and enjoy life, yet He did. He gave me the gift of my husband, and though I cannot believe I deserve such a thing, I refuse to not take notice. 

I refuse to not be enamored, amazed, and in appreciative awe of the partner I do life with. I cannot believe my husband, but I cherish him nonetheless. I cannot believe he loves me like he does, but then again, I love him pretty hard too. 

That Thing My Husband Said

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My husband has the most annoying alarm ever, and even though I was semi-awake at the time, I still jumped this morning when audibly assaulted by the harsh siren sound. As I recovered I looked over at my sleepy spouse, and I noticed he had shaved. When had he done that?

His long bangs covered his forehead, and the beginning of a new stubble scattered across his jaw.  He silenced his alarm while simultaneously sinking further into the comfy confines of our warm mattress, never looking my way. 

I was somewhat surprised to see him laying there on his side of the bed. It had been empty when I collapsed on mine before midnight, and on more than one occasion he had been known to never make it to bed at all. Whether passing out in the living room from exhaustion, or simply staying there with a toddler that had woken in the early morning hours, many times he didn’t make it to the bed. That’s just how it was. 

We existed as husband and wife in a season of our lives that differed vastly from the one we entered after our honeymoon. Even if we did fall asleep together in our marital bed it wouldn’t be long before one of us startled awake at a cry in the night while the other clung desperately to the edge of the mattress to avoid the active, kicking legs of tiny bedtime visitors. 

When we did sleep we slept the hard slumber of stressed, exhausted adults who shouldered a full day’s worth of responsibility, certainly more than six interrupted hours of sleep could cure. 

Busy days, long days, full days. 

Plenty of tasks, errands, and required jobs to keep minds and hands occupied. So much fighting for your attention, affection, and concerns that it boggled the mind. It certainly distracted it. 

But I watched him sleeping. He soaked in those last eight minutes before his alarm yelled with persistence, “get up! Too much to do today!” 

I watched him, and I scooted closer towards his dozing body. I wrapped an arm over his waist, and rubbed my fingers along his abdomen. I expected him to sleep on, and although his heavy lids remained closed, his large arm lifted. It swallowed my side, and drew me quickly closer to him. 

Eyes still closed he whispered, “I love you so much.” 

Then he held me closer as if to cement his comment. 

At his words my heart fluttered rapidly in my chest, back like it did when we kissed on our first date. We had sat together on a tree branch we had climbed at the park. The moon and stars had been our nightlight, and when he had leaned in shyly to brush his adolescent lips against mine my heart had thumped hard against my breast, threatening to jump right out through my throat. But I had accepted his kiss, and it had felt just like a slice of heaven right here on earth. 

And that’s what I felt this morning positioned comfortably in the crook of his arm. Full. Exhilarated. Loved. 

I knew my husband loved me, I knew this. But something about him saying it out loud sounded good. Something about being pulled into his arms made everything else fall away at that moment, and I was glad we belonged to one another. 

It was easy to get busy with the business of living. It was even easier to take for granted the one who lived beside you. 

Bone-tired, brains made of mush. Bills keep coming, and children keep calling for you. Dishes pile up, supper gets eaten, and the alarm goes off day after day. You can either mope through it, slinking out of bed like an overwhelmed zombie, or you can cozy up to the one beside you. 

You can keep your eyes closed, or maybe keep em focused, but either way you can somehow lose sight of happiness. You can forget that lovely feeling of your heart thumping hard in your chest, and you can let it get hardened to loving at all. 

Or you can say the thing you think they already know. 

You can say, “I love you.”

You can say, “I appreciate you.”

You can say, “I see you. Thank you for doing this life with me.”

You can make time when there doesn’t seem to be any. You can take advantage of rather than taking for granted. 

And you can always say that thing you think they already know. Especially that. 

I Miss You

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My Dearest Love,

I miss you. 

I miss you from the moment your lips brush mine in the early morning, and I watch in disappointment as you leave the solace of my sight. 

All day, every day, I miss you when we are apart. 

We send fun text messages back and forth, which I love, by the way. But even the most clever of emojis cannot convey the playfulness I feel in your presence. Even the best-crafted, typed out phrase is unable to express the longing my body has for you. I need to hold you. 

I need to hold you, and while nothing sets my skin afire like your touch, even just a simple embrace after a long day is enough to give me wings. When you are gone, I miss our hugs. 

I miss talking to you. And although I love the in-depth, thought-provoking conversations we’ve been known to have, sometimes I just like someone to listen. Someone to nod their head, hold my hand, and if necessary, wipe my tears. You’re good at that. 

I miss sharing my day with you. Every time something wonderful happens you’re the one I want to tell. When something hilarious happens, I think of you right away. When I’m angry, flustered, and especially hurt, your ear is the one I need to bend. You’re the person I want to share it all with, every joy, every struggle, and every sorrow. 

I miss your presence. We’ve always been that comfortable couple who could enjoy one another’s company without ever saying a word. And there’s just something warm and relaxed knowing that you are there, knowing that if I look up from my book I will see your face. I feel safe in your presence. I feel at home. I feel at peace. When you’re not there it’s like a part of me is gone, and I miss us. 

I miss your laughter. I miss your voice. I miss your silly jokes, and your warm compliments. I miss serving you, and you serving me. I miss your kiss, and I miss the way you smell. When I catch a sniff of your leftover cologne in the bathroom it’s a sweet and perfect, yet aching reminder of your lacking presence. 

I miss holding your hand, gazing at your handsome face, and brushing up against you when we pass in the hall. Everything, every single thing, I miss. 

I even miss the silly things, the little idiosyncrasies that let me know that while we are so much alike, we are also very different. That even though we are joined, that we are a fluid unit, we are still our own person. And somehow in our separate identities we come together to make an amazing team. I guess you could say I miss watching our everyday magic in action. 

I miss you, and when we’re apart it’s that deep longing, that anticipation of eventual connection that inspires me. In your absence I’m inspired to be a better me. Missing you makes me stronger, makes us stronger, and I never want to stop missing you. 

I never want to see a day where I don’t miss you like crazy the second I hear the door latch after you leave. I never wish for a day where I don’t long to tell you about the nightmare that woke me, the clerk who angered me, or the amazing thing our youngest child said to me. I never want to take for granted the gift I gained when God gave me you, the partner for my keeping. 

And I never, not even for a day, want to stop missing you. 

So, I miss you. 

Forever Yours,

Your Pining Love

How Changing My Music Changed My Life

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You don’t have to listen to music about God to be a Christian, and four years ago I was certainly a believer in Christ. I was also a new mother, one who loved to jam to her tunes in the car. In fact, that had always been one of my favorite things. Motherhood didn’t change my love for good music anymore than the rededication of my life to Jesus that prior year had. 

As a teenager and young woman in my twenties I had always had a connection with music. I could feel it! I memorized lyrics, sang along, and the words, they moved me. It was no wonder I married the young boy who used to serenade me sweetly as he strummed his Fender, and my story of my music changing started about four years ago as I drove along the road, the radio up, with my guitar player’s children in the backseat. 

About this time my firstborn child was only six months old, and my step-daughter was seven. My radio dial rested on a popular pop station that played the latest top hits in secular music, and we all listened along as a reigning Diva dealt us her powerful lyrics. It was a catchy beat indeed, but I happened to be one of those people that also listened to the words, and I think my face lost most of its color as I heard the scenario she laid out. It blatantly described oral sex, and though my baby was clueless, I glanced back in the rear view to see if the seven year old had caught on. 

She gazed out the window contemplatively, and even as I told myself she had missed the sexual innuendo, I knew she wouldn’t keep letting them slip by. My husband and I talked about the incident, and we made a decision to keep the radio on a Christian station while the children were in the car. For their sake. 

I wasn’t the only one with a wide musical affection. My husband held the same interests, and we had grown up in a time of three inch wide CD folders rather than MP3s, so even with our church background I think it took some time for us to get used to the change of the radio knob. 

I’m not sure how much time passed before I noticed a difference, and I don’t suppose it happened overnight, but it happened nonetheless. I found several changes occurring in my life, my marriage, and my attitude, and although a lot of that had to do with my evolving relationship with Jesus, I started to think maybe the music played a part too. 

One day I found myself alone in the car, and a fundraiser was consuming the Christian channel I listened to. I switched over to a CD that still resided in the player, and the 90s grunge filled my vehicle. I’ve always felt music to be extremely powerful. It can convey such strong emotion, and it can affect you on a level that spoken word cannot. Just like how reading a book takes you inside the story unlike a movie can do, music also takes you to emotional venues you might not carry yourself in your own thought processes. And as I listened to the words and lyrics of one of my favorite CDs I caught the sadness dripping from his words. I wasn’t sure if my discernment had changed, or if I had changed, but the music made me feel very low in my spirit. I realized I would rather listen to phones ringing with callers offering donations than allow the mood of that music from my youth to altar the joy I felt in my heart. 

So I haven’t listened to secular music since. It’s not that I think there’s something wrong with you if you do, it’s just not something I choose to do anymore. The thing was that listening to Christian music had changed me, and I really liked that change. I didn’t want anything else. 

I liked that music about Jesus filled me with a deep peace, and though some songs caused me to grieve or become convicted, they never negatively affected my spirit. The music didn’t make me feel sad, empty, angry, or lost. In fact Christian music seemed to strengthen my relationship with God, and I realized that the action of worship only drew me closer to Him. It took me to new levels in my understanding of who He was, and though the music hadn’t taken me there on its own, it certainly had been a beautiful Segway to joy. 

My mood elevated, and I felt a calm clarity after absorbing truth on a musical level. I also noticed changes in my family. My husband had decided he wanted Christian music only in his head from then on, and he truly felt that his prior taste in music had changed his mood and perceptions for the worst. My girls started singing the words out loud, and their musical voices praising Jesus made my mommy heart smile. 

My daughter, now four, has begun to really listen to the lyrics also, and I’m pleased she hears about real love, not sexual affections. She’s started asking questions based on what she hears in the music, and it opens wonderful doors of discussion I might not have initiated on my own. She’s only a young child, but she’s understanding what the writers are trying to convey, and I can see her developing her own beautiful relationship with the Lord. As a parent, that is my greatest reward. To know I am filling her with positive, encouraging thoughts, and not impressing upon her that shaking her rump or getting drunk is the answer to happiness in life. 

Again, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with deciding to listen to secular music in your life, and although I do believe some lyrics encourage violence, promiscuity, and a deep sense of loneliness, I don’t think music is the only thing that affects us in life. I just believe it to be a piece of the puzzle, and I wanted to share that since I have changed the type of music I listen to at all times that I’ve seen a huge shift in my life. I’ve seen God use His music to bring me to a better place, and though prayer, His word, and altering other aspects of my life has worked it all together for good, this piece of the puzzle is something that was easily changed. It just took a turn of the radio dial to do the trick, and He did the rest. 

I Don’t Understand My Husband

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This morning I left quickly for work, but before making my final exit I did my rounds. Any working mom knows what I mean by that. I walked around to each child for a last gaze before l walked out the door. I prayed for them, touched them gently, and looked on with adoration at their sleeping faces. I never wanted to leave at those times. 

But I saved my husband for last. He lay there sleeping so soundly. His mouth fell open, and barely audible breaths came out in deep exhalations. I placed my hand on his knee, and I just stared at his sleeping face. I couldn’t help but realize that I didn’t understand my husband. 

Circa 1997


When we first began to live together as husband and wife I started a crash course of getting to know this man to whom I had said “I do,” and I was certain that with time I would understand him more. Surely I would begin to decipher his silence, or make meaning of his sometimes firm-set, blank expressions. Surely I would. 

Over five years had passed pretty quickly, and during that time we had shared a whirlwind of change. Pregnancies, births, deaths, lost jobs, job promotions, secrets finally brought to light, angry words, and tearful embraces of forgiveness. The list really went on and on. 

Yet despite all the ups and downs, moments of grieving, as well as memories of well-deserved celebration, when it came down to it I still didn’t really know my husband. I didn’t always get him, get what he was thinking, feeling, or especially why he chose to do the certain things he chose to do. Sometimes I felt as if I didn’t understand him at all, and it made me wonder if I had been paying attention this past half-decade. 

I mean, in all fairness I could read him occasionally, and though it wasn’t always like a book, I did feel confident that I could read the signs. Heck, sometimes I could even read his mind. How often had we laughed heartily together when we said the exact same thing at the exact same time? Too many to count!

I knew his favorite color, how he liked his coffee, and his taste in movies. I could tell you his favorite meal was tacos, and he liked his shirts to fit, but not too tight. I knew the way he liked to be held, and I knew little things I could do to brighten his hectic day. And even though I was still working to decipher his unique, laundry code, I’d say for the most part I knew his preferences pretty well. You could almost say I understood him. 

But then he would throw a wrench in it. For example, he would come home more silent than usual, and try as I might to read his eyes I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. When he would answer my wifely query with an emotionless “I’m fine,” I would find myself staring at him sideways, watching, trying to make sure he meant it. Something about being his partner made me want to fix all wrongs, lift every downtrodden spirit, and absolutely, and I mean absolutely know every little thing that might be amiss. But in those quiet moments I had to admit that I didn’t always understand my husband. Not even partially. 

I couldn’t always know what he was thinking, or why he did what he did. Especially if it was different from what I would do! I couldn’t always know what was wrong or even fix it. Many times I would misunderstand him, and in turn he would misunderstand me. And even though we agreed so thoroughly on a great, many important an issue, there were also plenty of things on which we didn’t see eye-to-eye. 

You see, marriage isn’t something you learn how to do. It’s a continuing education kind of thing. And though you may be educated through trial and error over time on how to maneuver through the many, varied idiosyncrasies of your spouse, you will never learn it all. Marriage is a learning process. 

The commitment of marriage isn’t a task you perform at the altar when you say your vows. I mean, it is, but it’s also more than that. It’s a daily decision to continually learn, grow, persevere, compromise, and most importantly, love. Even if you don’t always understand. 

As I stood this morning with my hand on my sleeping husband’s knee I realized I was smiling vibrantly. No, I didn’t always understand him, but I loved him. I understood our commitment to one another, and I totally “got” how happy spending a life with him made me. 

I could always read his deep affection for me in his eyes, and even in his occasional moments of silence I could hear his loyal commitment to me. I couldn’t always make sense of his actions, but I always knew he loved me. Even when he couldn’t understand me. 

I kissed his forehead, a farewell gesture for my sleeping, Prince Charming, and I left my home with a joyful heart. You didn’t have to comprehend all the inner workings of a man to know the truth of your feelings for one another. The proof of our commitment was all around me, and even if I couldn’t understand things like the way he left his boxer shorts hung over the towel rack, I understood what mattered. And it seemed that often the things that I couldn’t grasp didn’t really matter. 

I understood that I may never understand, but I was determined to love him regardless.

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.