Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

The Mission Field Most Unvisited 

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When I was twenty years old I was an honest to goodness missionary. Or I felt like one anyway. I lived and learned overseas for almost a year. I traveled through the interior of South America by hollowed-out log, passing out toys to wide-eyed children who had never seen a white person, and telling unreached people groups about Jesus. I survived on funds I had raised through friends and family who supported my cause.  I used wet wipes to clean myself when we stayed in river villages where the water was too treacherous to bathe in. Heck, I didn’t even shave my legs for like five months at one point. I watched my host suffer through malaria. I sat on a log in the middle of the jungle talking with a Muslim man about why I was fasting. But most importantly, I loved on people. So many people. 


When my time in Guyana was complete, and my discipleship training came to an end, I watched my fellow missionaries share their next step. So many had been called to foreign mission fields, to spread the gospel to those who had never heard it, and to survive on faith and friend-raising. I was happy for them, but honestly, perhaps a little questioning of myself. Despite my feeling that I too should desire to do grand yet difficult adventures, the fact was I did not feel called to some foreign land to share about Jesus. I just didn’t.

 

Yesterday morning my husband shared a text message he had received from a young man who used to work for him. I had always enjoyed watching their relationship blossom. My husband was the type of man who was quiet yet kind. He didn’t speak loudly for all to hear, but when he spoke you knew it was important and packed with wisdom. He had a big heart. That was what drew me to him. Subsequently it drew others as well. People enjoyed to be around him, once they got to know him, and he used that gift in good ways, never taking it for granted. He spoke friendly to strangers always, and he shared a wealth of information to those around him, but he did it in a comfortable way that made you feel like you were sharing with a good friend, not being preached at. He had a gift for cultivating relationships, and then teaching and mentoring them based on his personal walk with the Lord. 

Tears came to my eyes as I read the text from his former “work son” who was now making his way in the world. He spoke of how much he missed their talks, and the life lessons and conversations on faith. He let him know that he thought frequently about the things my husband had shared, and he used the advice daily. I cried with pride and thanksgiving to serve on the daily mission field of life with a man who showed people Jesus by showing them his heart. His life was his witness, his humility a welcome home sign, and he took every single opportunity and interaction that came his way as a chance to be the hands and feet of Christ. He was one of the best missionaries I knew. 

Twenty years ago when I was faced with the decision of whether to come back to the United States or stay on the foreign mission field I knew in my heart where God was leading me. He was leading me not just back home, but to one of the most unvisited mission fields out there. Daily life. The fact is you don’t have to get on a plane and go around the world to tell people about Jesus, and we all know that, yet when it comes to sharing Christ with our neighbor we’re hesitant. It’s not just about inviting a buddy to church on Sunday. It’s actually about being the church. We are all, as believers, temples of the Holy Spirit. God lives in us, and our job is to pour that out on those around us. You don’t have to hand out tracts or have a Bible study on the job site. It starts simply with being love, showing that love, and creating relationships out of love. God seems to open up doors for all the rest of it. 

Mark 16:15

He said to them, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.

This is the verse that comes to mind when we think of missions, but more often we also think of traveling to fulfill this verse. I consider this verse a calling, but it’s not just a calling to go to some distant mission field. The words “all the world” also mean next door, at work, or in line at the grocery store. We are called to preach the gospel by our daily interaction with every person we meet. So when it says “all creation” it even means the people who disagree with you, don’t think the same way as you, or live a different lifestyle than you. It starts with a smile, it continues with an example, and it comes to fulfillment through relationship. Just honest to goodness loving on people. Lots of people. 

I’m Grateful to Walk Through Fire With You

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This morning I rushed about before I headed out the door to work, and as I stood yearningly before the coffee maker I glimpsed a small note. I had always left small love notes for my husband to find when he visited the coffee pot after me, and this particular sticky was a leftover from a previous work day. Although I had written it a week ago, in the midst of a trial, it didn’t hit me how true it was until today. 

For over a month I had felt like our family was being hit hard with different problems. We had suffered through everything from lawsuits to palpitations, and fear of job loss to heart problems with our middle daughter. It had already been a stressful time, and I had watched it take a toil on my husband. When asked he would say he was fine, but I could tell by the look on his face that it weighed heavy on him. I think when you love someone so intimately you can just tell. I had been praying for him, but it wasn’t until the past week that I personally began to quake under the weight of the different stressors and unexpected trials we were enduring. 

It seemed as if each day brought another bit of bad news, and after about day five I collapsed. Not physically, per se, but emotionally, mentally, and spiritually I fell flat on my face. And as much as I tried to push the worry away, I could not. It became more than I could bear, and after crying for the third time one day I reached out to my husband. I told him exactly how I was feeling, and he shared his mirrored emotions. 

Later that night we talked for hours. We prayed together, prayed for one another, and let no word go unsaid between us. We talked about the future and the plans God had for us. We discussed the spiritual battlefield we faced as God moved us forward, and we shared proclamations of our faith, even though we had felt very weak as of late. 

As I sat on the couch that night a strange feeling came over me, and I recognized it as peace, but it was accompanied by gratitude. I realized my husband had been waging war for our family the better part of a month. He had been absorbing God’s word and strength through scripture and the Holy Spirit, but his battle wounds had also been noticed by me. I loved him more than anything in this world, and I realized at that moment that I was grateful to be able to share with him the trials he was walking through for our family and future. 

“I’m grateful to being going through this with you,” I had said. 

He had nodded agreement. He got it. Neither one of us was excited about the struggles we had faced lately, but if we had to go through it then it was best done together. God had put us together for a reason. We felt like He had big plans for us and for His kingdom, but the trek from one plain of greatness to the next is often a hard walk. We were grateful to make the journey together with God leading the way. 

The following morning I had worked, and for the first time in a week I woke up hopeful again for my day. I still felt the fuzzy edges of the hard trial I had transversed, but it was getting better. I was still weary, but not as weak. I was shaken, but not broken. And as I poured my coffee, before heading out the door, I had penned these words to my husband. 

I’m grateful to walk through fire with you. 


So when I saw the note again this morning it struck me how relevant and raw was my revelation. We had been through a Refiner’s Fire. Maybe, even, we weren’t done yet. But we had walked hand in hand, faith intact. Not only had it made us stronger individually, but also stronger as a couple. When I looked at his face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, and how his countenance shown with the light of Christ, I always loved him immensely. But something about walking through fire with him made me love him even more. It was like the heat had forged the commitment deeper into our very souls, and when I looked at him now I felt not just love, but honored to live life by his side. 

Is that what they mean by fireproof?

Sometimes I Feel Like My Kids Deserve Better Than Me

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We were rushing out to the van. I don’t know what it is about once you have kids, and how that somehow makes it impossible to leave the house on time. You can start getting ready hours ahead of schedule, but when it’s time to go shoes disappear, people gotta poop, and everyone loses their mind. Including mom. So there I am prying a four year old from the TV after calling three times, “get in the van,” I’m holding a sick baby on my hip (like got a chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia yesterday, sick), and holding my phone to my ear, waiting to speak with my insurance company, as the piercing music of an on-hold concerto drills into my skull. 

“Come on! Let’s go! Get in your seat!” I cry passionately (and also manically).

This is the moment my six year old daughter chooses to pull out a secret box containing the world’s sharpest knives. She picks an especially serrated one, aims with precision, and drives it into my back in the form of these words, “_____ never freaks out, and she has more kids than you!”

She had spent the day under the care of another mother who apparently didn’t lose her marbles as frequently as I, and though I was under no illusion that this mom was perfect, in this moment I felt about as far from it as you could get. 

To be honest I felt crushed. I slid behind the steering wheel of my less than immaculate minivan, and I felt too small to be at the helm. I definitely felt lower than the windshield; I felt lower than dirt. I considered the many times I lose my cool, and I realized once again just how short I fall on a daily basis. Why couldn’t I get it right?!


I had one job that was important to me, and that job was to raise my tiny humans. I wanted to do it really well, better than anything else I tried in life, but sometimes I felt as if my children deserved better than the lot they had been given when they got me as a mom. Just being honest. 

I couldn’t keep a clean house like my little sister did. 

I wasn’t always fun and easy-going like my other sister was. 

I couldn’t seem to be organized like the many homeschool moms I knew. 

My mind could go on and on with all the things I wasn’t, but all I could focus on at the time was what I was. I was not good enough for my kids. Not in my eyes. 

Of course I texted my husband and shared it all with him, and in signature Ben fashion he spoke to the heart of the matter. 

Well all that matters is you love them and they know it, nothing else matters. I guess keeping them alive and in one piece matters too though

I smiled. I loved him big. 

Then he shared this:

“And now, dear lady, I am not writing you a new command but one we have had from the beginning. I ask that we love one another. And this is love: that we walk in obedience to his commands. As you have heard from the beginning, his command is that you walk in love.”

‭‭2 John‬ ‭1:5-6‬ ‭NIV‬‬

As I read God’s truth I realized many of my issues with frustration could be more properly channeled by running them through the love filter. Was running late that big of a deal that it required an unloving tone? Not likely. But even beyond the obvious truth and learning available in this scripture I heard God’s voice. His Holy Spirit spoke to my heart and it whispered,

“You need to love yourself too.”

That was certainly something I needed to work on. 

I wasn’t the perfect mom. I wasn’t even like other mothers I compared myself to sometimes, but I was my kids’ mom. And it so happened that God gave them to me. He knew the kind of mom I’d be before I ever conceived, and He knew I was up for the challenge. He knew I would be the best mom for each child He designed within my womb, specifically for me. They say God never gives you more than you can handle, but in motherhood that’s especially not true. I experience things on an almost daily basis that are more than I can handle. I think what they mean is God never gives you more than He can handle. He gave me motherhood. It’s my gift. My favorite gift actually. And He also provides me the strength to handle every challenge as it comes. So do I always handle each situation gracefully? Probably not. But they are loved, they know they are loved, and that counts for a whole lot. 

Sometimes I may feel like they deserve better than me, but then I remember God places His best within me so I can be exactly what they need. 

Why I Don’t Think This World Has Gone to Hell in a Handbasket

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Everywhere I look today I see despair. On every friend’s Facebook page I see either anger or sadness.

Black Lives Matter.

White Lives Matter.

All Lives Matter.

We’re Doomed.

I fear for my children.

I hate to bring my children up in this world.

Aghhh.

Stop. Breathe. Cry out to Jesus, not Facebook.

I am in no way trying to minimize what is going on in our country right now. Lives, precious lives, be it that of a young black man, or that of brave police officers; lives have been taken unfairly and too soon. There’s no debate there. It grieves my soul, and it causes me to fall on my knees in prayerful petition. But I do not fall on them in despair.

I do not fall on them in fear.

My God is bigger than that.

He is bigger than terrorism. He is bigger than presidential candidates. Even ones who seem above the law.

Does that mean I fall over in surrender like some fainting goat?!
Heck no. I’m digging in my heels, not burying my head in the sand. I’m going to vote, and I’m praying hard. This country is not where I wish it to be, but I’m not giving up on her yet.

What I see a lot when bad things happen in our midst is a spirit of defeat and fear. Don’t fall for it! Don’t let Satan use you to further the idea that the situation is hopeless. The fact is if you believe in God’s word then you believe in hope at ALL times. Not just when Reagan is in office or when peace reigns.

There are some Biblical truths we are missing today, and it would benefit us, each and every one, to take them to heart. Hold them close, draw strength from them, renew our faith so that we may battle the REAL enemy we face here. It’s not flesh and blood you know.

1 Peter 5:7 NLT

Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.

Romans 15:13 ESV 

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.

Isaiah 40:31 ESV 

But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.

Don’t misunderstand me here, dear brothers and sisters. I am not saying bury your head in the sand, nor am I saying wring your hands in your lap while whispering, God’s got this. Indeed I’m saying quite the opposite. I want you to stand up with your eyes open. I want you to speak for truth. I want you to put on the armor of God, get a firm position with the sword of the spirit and the shield of faith. I want you to love your brother, love your enemy, and love your country. I want you to see the evil that abounds, BUT do not become consumed by it. Do not let fear surround you and make you think we have lost this battle.

The initial battle begins in the mind and spirit, and if you are allowing yourself to be consumed with fear and despair you’re not fulfilling your God-given ability to stand firm for justice and truth.

We’re not doomed, our country is NOT going to hell in a handbasket, and this is still a great place to thrive and raise your children. When fear and despair tell you the future is hopeless you need to fight back with God’s truth.

Proverbs 23:18 ESV 

Surely there is a future, and your hope will not be cut off.

My God is bigger than racism. He is bigger than hate. He rules above any political party, and faith wins every time.

Perhaps I sound like a blithering, Bible-thumper to you, but I tell you this, I do not sound afraid. I have not succumbed to hopelessness and despair. I am victorious through Jesus Christ.

So where does that put me in all this going on around me? I’m not blind to it. I am saddened. It breaks my heart to see division in God’s house. I am grieving the loss in Dallas and Louisiana too. My soul cries out to Jesus for His intervention, and I am mindful of my words and actions towards those who are hurting. I’m praying hard, I’m speaking truth, but I am also believing that we have a future. I have to. The God of hope commands it.

I get it, I do, and I’ve felt that same despair. That’s only human. But don’t let it rule your heart. All I’m saying is this. Please don’t despair, my friends. Don’t fall into hopelessness. Grieve, yes. With open eyes speak truth, but don’t speak hate out of anguish. Let faith and hope abound. Be a light to those around you. Love your enemies, comfort those who mourn, and stand firm in expectation of God’s sovereign hand.

Job 14:7-9 ESV

For there is hope for a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that its shoots will not cease. Though its root grow old in the earth, and its stump die in the soil, yet at the scent of water it will bud and put out branches like a young plant.


That’s What Love Can Do

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Quiet. So quiet. That was the key, I was sure. So gently and quietly I placed my sleeping baby down for the night. Nice bath with lavender soap, fresh diaper, full belly, burped, rocked; the recipe for some rest. She was sound asleep, but within the time it took me to use the bathroom I heard her ensuing cry. It grew in a wailing crescendo. 

I scooped her up, settled into the rocker, and texted my husband, “I’m stuck now. Goodnight.”

I got into a rhythm as I rocked back and forth, slowly adding along a pat that fell into place with the back and forth motion of the chair. I thought of my spouse, and I missed him.

I missed him. I missed time together. God, I missed time alone with him. 

It wasn’t anything special I desired. I didn’t need a romantic dinner by candlelight, or even a lusty romp in the sheets (though that would be nice). I just needed him; I needed the time to speak more than a passing, “how was your day, dear.” I longed for substantial conversation, but more than that I simply desired to sit in his presence, enjoying the joy and peace that presided when we were in the same room together for more than five minutes. 

Within moments of sending my text he replied. He replied back with much encouragement, a little bit of humor, and special sentiments of his love for me. I realized in that moment, as I read his affectionate words, that we would be ok. 

  
That’s what love can do. 

Love can keep a couple close even when distance keeps them apart. 

Love can hold a relationship firm even when circumstances are shaky. 

Love can make you laugh when things are completely unlaughable, and it can bring a smile when you just wanna cry. 

Love can withstand tumultuous upheaval, and serve like a constant buoy in uncertain seas of change. 

Love can persevere through pounding storms, and feel like a welcome, warm blanket when the rain finally ceases. 

Love can serve as a bridge, connecting hearts when passing situations of life try to serve as a divide. 

Love can act as a strong foundation when hard knocks come pounding at your door. 

Love remains constant when circumstances change, and it serves as an anchor in all seasons of life. 

Real love. That’s what it does. And in that moment, that moment where I missed time apart with my spouse, I knew we were good. Things would settle out eventually, and our lives would return once again to the way they were. 

But I also knew that it would be different. We would be stronger. Because that’s what love can do. It takes difficulties and uses them to refine relationships.

And until things did return to a new normal, our feelings would not falter. They would remain constant. 

Because that’s what love can do. 

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

by

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.