Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

A Generation That Hates Mondays

by

We’re a generation that hates Mondays. Have you noticed that? Monday Memes abound, and when Sunday evening draws to a close the majority of America falls into a state of silent dread, downtrodden for the walk into whatever workplace that awaits them the following morning. I wonder to my self sometimes, was it always this way?

What are we working for, or who are we working for? When did we become so discontent with our station in life that the thing we spend the majority of our time doing (work) becomes the thing we dread the most? Worse than death and taxes, it seems work has taken first place as the most certain thing we absolutely must face. And we face it with a deep-set frown.

I mean, you gotta work, right? Someone has to pay the bills, pay the second mortgage, finance the Disney trip next summer, and keep the kiddos in designer duds. We live to work, we work to live, never imagining there could be a different way.

We’re afraid to do the things we really love, the things dreams are made of. I went into the nursing field over packing up and heading to Hollywood because my dad insisted the medical field was the smart choice, the reliable choice, the vocation that would bring in a steady income. Because that’s the world we live in.

We don’t chase dreams; we chase paychecks. We don’t create a debt-free life. Instead we create the life we’ve always dreamed of, complete with price tags we can’t really afford. We pack our lives and over-sized homes with things we don’t really need, but things that might fill the emptiness we have over doing a job we don’t really enjoy.

Or perhaps we forget who we’re working for. Generations before us had a pride for their jobs, whatever they were, because they knew they were working (in essence) for their families. Today we’re usually working for a newer car, a bigger lawn, or to payoff our caviar dreams. We work for vacation, not for the satisfaction of a job well done. We work overtime for those coveted vacations that photograph well, the ones to even make the Joneses green with envy. We work day in and day out for those paltry two weeks that are so jam-packed with all the things we’ve been missing that we’re exhausted from our time off. Is there any Monday worse than the Monday after vacation?

Is there a way we could hate Mondays less? I mean, Monday isn’t really any different than Tuesday, or Friday for that matter. As a nurse I can be off on a Monday as easy as work a Sunday. So it’s not so much Monday that we hate, but rather what Monday represents. And typically Monday represents the return to something we’d rather not return to. It’s a return to a job we hate, a job we gripe about endlessly, yet are afraid to leave. We’re afraid to make a change, as if we truly believe that the evil we know is far better than the one we do not.

So, we’ll keep robotically returning to something we dread, living life like a replay reel. Just like the movie Groundhog Day, we’re forced to repeat each and every day just like the one before it. Yet even in that movie, didn’t Bill Murray discover he could change the outcome of each and every day?

Can we be the change?

What if we stepped out in courage to conquer something new?

What if we listened to the still, small voice in our head that told us of a different way?

What if we stopped working to have more stuff we didn’t really need?

Or we stopped losing sight of the joy that existed in every single day?

Maybe we could open our eyes to the little things that blessed us, instead of trudging in a trance to the beat of the same glum drum.

Maybe we could pay off debt instead of creating more. Maybe we could create time off instead. Maybe we could create the opportunity to chase a dream.

Because I’m still over here trying to figure out when in the world The Great American Dream stopped being about living your dreams?! And instead it became about striving in stress to create for yourself what someone else said is “your” American Dream.

We forgot how to step outside the box. We forgot how to focus on what’s important. We started one day working for all the stuff that will rust and ruin, instead of cultivating and creating a legacy to leave behind.

And you see, a legacy doesn’t have to be what the world says is “great.” Sometimes most times the greatest legacy you can leave behind is family and friends who have learned from you to cherish life as the gift it is. They know you don’t just cherish Saturday and Sunday, dragging themselves through the rest of the week in a disillusioned fog. No! They cherish every day. They work for the things they cherish in all of those cumulative days, and if it’s not worth cherishing then they don’t waste their time working over for it. They won’t work tirelessly for another man’s dream. They’ll create their own.

So why do we hate Mondays? Perhaps it’s because we’re uncomfortable. We’re uncomfortable living a life that fights for dreams we didn’t dream. Instead we’re working for dreams that society created for us. They’re dreams of paper and sand that will collapse before we ever obtain them. And even if we do grab a little handful, won’t the wind eventually just blow it away?

Perhaps if we were working for our own dreams, working for relationships with those we love, and working less because we let go of the paper dreams, maybe then we wouldn’t hate Mondays quite so much.

I mean, it’s worth a try, right?

Ask yourself, what are you working for? If you died tomorrow and it wouldn’t follow you to Heaven, then perhaps it’s not worth working so laboriously to obtain.

I don’t know, but maybe Monday can just be another day.

I Choose You

by

When you make a decision to spend the rest of your life with someone you’re actually making a choice for them. You make a declaration to yourself that says, “this is the person. This is the one for me.” You look around your own little world, you find the person that makes your toes tingle, belly quiver, and heart flutter. You make the conscious choice to be with that person, and that person only. You say, “I choose you!”

But it’s what follows that really matters.

Have you ever been in that weird state between sleep and wakefulness? It’s that spell of time right before you drift off, but you’re still not quite there yet. You’re not asleep, yet not really awake. It’s like an in between time. Well, in my in between time my husband came to my rescue.

My eyes had fluttered shut, I’m sure. The room was darkened, but not completely without light. The glimmer of illumination shown from the television, the nearly muted sound of a familiar movie in the background. This was how my husband had always slept. With the TV on, turned down a bit, but still offering a kind of white noise and glimmer of light to the bedtime experience. It was in this dimness and dull roar that my heavy eyes flew open in surprised fear.

I jumped up from my pillow suddenly, sitting straight up in our bed, heart racing, a soft shriek of surprise escaping from me.

“What’s the matter?” My husband asked quickly.

I could hear the fog sticking to his words, saw the dullness in his somehow steady gaze, and knew by his posture, albeit at the ready, that he too had almost been asleep.

“It’s a spider,” I exclaimed. “On my window shade!”

I’d like to mention, at this point, that I’m not afraid of spiders. I’m just not. Having been raised by a mother who picked up bugs to place them outside rather than squashing them, a mother who brought me up with unusual pets like rats and snakes, I had no terror of slimy, slithering, or skittering things. Having been a woman who had picked up nonpoisonous spiders in my hand, and surprised my spouse by showing him a black widow I had captured, I wasn’t prone to hysterics over a loose arachnoid. But… I also didn’t want anything crawling around over my bed while I slept, spider or otherwise. So when I had spotted a spider crawling up the window shade right next to my pillow, I had come awake immediately to capture this furry foe.

“Where did you see it?!” He asked excitedly.

At this point I should mention something about my husband. While I might not fear spiders, the opposite could be said of him. He’s more aptly described as having a terror of spiders. Like, if you want to hear a forty year old, over six feet tall man scream like a little girl, then present him with a spider of any kind. He even checks his shoes every single time before putting them on, lest a spider be in the toe.

So I was a bit taken off guard when he leapt to my aid. I watched sleepily as my husband crouched on my side of the bed, listening and looking as I detailed my spider sighting. As we both sat there, still half asleep, and I recounted the blurry bug crawling across my window blind, I believe we both knew it was likely a trick of my eyes induced by a dream state approaching. We both were sleepy, we both were previously comfortable under the covers, and we both pretty much knew there wasn’t a spider afoot. Yet my husband, the one who was deathly fearful of spiders, had jumped out of bed, rather than rolling over in slumber, and had come to my side. He looked high and low to put my mind at ease, and as I watched him searching for my imaginary, eight-legged arachnid I smiled.

This guy really loves me, I thought.

And I’ve learned over the years that’s what choosing someone is all about. It’s all about love in action. It’s about not just saying the words, “I love you,” but showing it in the most ridiculous ways. Because life is ridiculous. It’s full of surprise accidents, unexpected illnesses, rude awakenings, and bombshells of all sorts. When you say, “I choose you,” you’re really saying that you’re in it together, 100%, through good times and bad, ups and downs, and all of the above. It’s saying that even when it’s scary, I’m with you. It’s saying that even when the situation sucks, I’ll stick by your side. It’s saying I choose it all, every part, because together we’ll conquer this thing called life. It’s saying I choose to make it through this world with you. Let’s do this!

So when I saw my spouse on all fours, looking under the bed for what we both knew to be a nonexistent, sleep-induced sighting, he still knelt down to search. He did it so I could rest. He did it despite the hour, despite the absurdity. He did it because he loved me. He did it because we had chosen one another. And sometimes most of the time choosing someone meant you chose to go through everything together. Even the stuff that personally scared you to bits.

In life and love you find that person. You find them, and you choose them! But then it’s what happens after that choice that matters the most.

A Letter to the Friend Who’s Been Cheated On

by

My Friend,

People ask you if you’re doing okay. You shrug it off, make a joke, lighten the situation anyway you can. You say that you’re fine, and maybe you are. But I thought I would say the things swimming inside my brain anyhow. You never know.

I can recall a devastating season in my past, but it coincided with the first time I had heard God’s voice clearly in a long time. Normally a short commute to work, this day I was traveling out of town for my job. So as I drove a quiet stretch of road I was faced with time to truly have to think about what was going on in my life.

I had not cried out to God in what seemed ages, but in that moment of brokenness I wailed to my Heavenly Father, “help me, God!”

My comfortable life had been shaken. The night before my husband of six years had broken the news that he did not want to be with me anymore. Shell shocked I prayed for answers, I prayed for comfort.

Do you know what God told me?

He told me what I already knew. He told me my husband wasn’t happy. But He also told me it wasn’t my fault.

I want you to know it’s not your fault. Hey, maybe you already know that, but considering how fragile human hearts can be, especially when broken, it seemed prudent to offer this advice.

You see, I reckon human beings are made with a hole in our hearts. It’s one that was put there by sin, and the only way to stop it up and fill it right is with Jesus. But what happens is the whole dang world goes on a shopping spree searching for a quick fix to that deep sadness inside them. They fill their hearts up with all sorts of things, but none of it sticks. So when a partner goes wandering, looking for love other than the one right beside them, it’s cause they’re trying to fix a leak. It’s not your fault.

We’re a broken lot, and most of us don’t even know how to love ourselves. So when a spouse can’t even love themselves, they go searching for someone to love them. They need someone to make them feel special, or beautiful, or handsome, or talented, or needed, or whatever. They rely on another human to make them feel loved. There’s a lot of things I don’t know in this life, but I do know one thing for sure. Only the Lord can love us like we need to be loved. It’s how we’re wired. The problem is a lot of folks don’t realize that, so they have to keep searching for that feeling. First they think they found it in you, but you know how that turns out. You can’t save someone!

I remember coming to that realization all those years back, driving down that lonesome road to work. My husband (at the time) wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy with life in general. He changed everything, and I guess he thought changing wives would fix him. I could be wrong, but that’s what I felt like God told me at the time. And I took comfort in knowing it wasn’t all on me. Yes, there were things I could have done better, but in the end I couldn’t carry all that weight. And neither can you.

I guess it comes down to all of us needing more Jesus inside us. We’d love ourselves more, appreciate the people we’re with better, and cultivate relationships with Him at the center. I’ve learned a lot since then. I guess we’re all just a work in progress.

So keep working on you, for sure, but don’t place all the blame on your shoulders either. You’ll never be everything to someone. Sometimes women cheat cause they’re struggling to find that love that humans can’t give alone, and sometimes husbands leave cause they’re searching far and wide for a bucket of happiness to fill that void in their heart. It hurts for now, I know, even if you try and act like it doesn’t. But take heart in knowing you can’t be a savior. That job’s already taken. It’s just not everyone realizes that when they’re holding out a frantic hand, looking for someone to throw them a rope in this life.

Your job now is to fill your bucket with the right stuff, and pray for them that maybe one day they’ll do the same. You gotta forgive em, cause being mad just puts more holes in your own bucket. Been there, done that. Take it one day at a time, and when you get to feeling really empty (because you’re human, and you will), I pray God fills you to overflowing.

I’ve found this world will for sure give you a heap more than you can handle, but then the good Lord comes in and gives you the strength you need to get through.

Hold on to His strength.

Always,

Your Friend

Confessions of a Praying Wife

by

This morning as I drove to work I prayed for my husband. The Lord brought specific things to my mind to pray for him, and as I intervened for my spouse in intercession it occurred to me that I had not always prayed for him this way. I’ve always been a praying wife, but how I pray has changed.

I thought back to about five years ago, and as I did my heart was broken. I was filled with guilt over how I had thought of and supported my spouse. On the outside I’m sure I appeared like the perfect helpmate, but in my heart I know that wasn’t true. I had not championed for my husband to be who God intended him to be. I had rallied for who I wanted him to be.

Looking back, it causes me to wince, and it feels me with shame to speak so honestly about my inner thoughts. But perhaps by sharing my story with you I can help you be a selfless, praying partner, unlike the one I feel I was back then.

As it was our life was wonderful. We were growing a family, and a happy one at that. We lived in a small, humble home, and we enjoyed time together as a family. It was around this time that my husband was offered an opportunity, and he brought it to me first with the request that I would join him in prayer for deciding the next step.

At the time my husband worked as the main cook for a local pizza restaurant. He had been doing this since we first got married, and although his paycheck wasn’t huge, it was enough to feed our needs and bellies. What he was offered, though, was an opportunity to purchase the store and become the owner!

I can’t explain how I reacted when he brought this to me, but I think you may could guess. I was elated! You see, I really wanted something more for him, but also something more for me. It wasn’t that I was ashamed for what my husband did, but I always felt he could do better. And perhaps, if I’m really digging deep, there was a part of me that was bothered by it. I mean, other women’s husbands had jobs other than food service. It was a job you typically got as a teenager, not one you held as an adult. They didn’t even offer insurance or benefits. If someone asked what he did, I made sure and used the word “chef.” It hurts my heart to display my pride and selfishness so openly, but I was worried what others thought. I was. I was proud of my husband for the man he was, but I wanted others to be proud of him too. He had a huge heart, but people on the outside couldn’t see that. They only saw the labels used for how he provided for his family. So, it sounded good to me to be able to say, “my husband owns a restaurant,” rather than to say, “he cooks at a pizza place.”

I honored my husband by joining him in prayer, but did I honor him by praying unconditionally and selflessly? Probably not. I wanted him to accept the offer and buy the restaurant. Thoughts of a better future excited me. I dreamed of a bigger home and being able to go part-time at work. I fantasized about how this would positively impact our financial future and standing in the community. I wanted him to decide “yes,” and that’s the direction my prayers went. I prayed for my husband, but I prayed for the outcome I desired for him. I wasn’t praying for what he wanted, or even more importantly, for what God had for him.

Of course, he took the store. In retrospect, I know he did it for me. He has said since that he didn’t want to own a business, but he felt like it was best for us. I know that he knew I was in favor of it, but he didn’t have experience in owning a business. Turns out it wasn’t his forte either. Turns out he worked constantly, more than he ever did as a cook. Turns out, even when he was off work, he wasn’t really off. Turns out it was more stress for him than I ever imagined. Turns out I missed him, and I regretted that I had pressured him to take something on that he wasn’t meant to take on. In the end the business failed, but not after years of him feeling like he was failing us.

What might have been had I supported my husband unconditionally and selflessly, focusing more on what he wanted and less on what I wanted? How might have things gone had I prayed for God’s will in my husband’s life rather than my own will for him? Thankfully I know that God works out all things for our good, and I can rest in the fact that the Lord used those circumstances to bring us where we currently are. So I rejoice in them! But I do feel awful for how I handled it back then. I wasn’t the kind of wife my husband deserved, nor the wife I wanted to be. My husband has never made me feel the way about this that I do. In fact, he’s never mentioned it. It’s just something I felt convicted of, and it’s something I was determined to improve.

Now I strive to pray not what I desire for my husband, but what the Lord desires. I pray for God’s will in his life. I’ve always adored and appreciated my husband for who he is. The Lord created in Him the most loving heart I have ever known, and instead of wanting God to manifest more in my spouse, I simply pray he can be the man in this life that God has for him to be. Because I imagine God has it all figured out, and He doesn’t need my help in molding my spouse. I’ll just leave that part up to the Lord from here on out. My calling is to support my husband wherever Jesus leads him. My role isn’t to change my husband. My role is to love him.

He Knows Me

by

I sat on the couch in utter bliss as I scarfed down tacos, my absolute favorite food. They had just enough cayenne pepper to give them a kick, but not so much that my face melted off. They were just right, and after a long day at work it was the perfect comfort food for me. When I walked in the door from work less than half an hour before, the enticing aroma had carried me to the sofa in anticipation, and I kissed the cook in appreciation. As I started on the second taco I smiled happily, and that was when I noticed my husband hadn’t yet fixed a plate of the food he had made. Where was he, anyway?

Around the corner he suddenly appeared, and in his hands he held my prized, fuzzy blanket. I wasn’t just what you would call cold-natured. I was probably more aptly described as arctic-natured, and after years together my husband knew this fact well. He understood that if we went to the movies I would need to wear long pants and bring a coat. He had accepted the fact that the thermostat couldn’t sit below 73 even in August, and he anticipated the likelihood that I would want something to cover my legs while I sat on the couch. So before I had even thought of grabbing one myself, he had brought me my thickest cover.

He knew me.

That’s the thought that entered my mind at that moment, and I beamed on the inside and out before exclaiming, “thank you, dear!”

I knew of a lot of marriages that had ended in a large part because one or both partners wanted something new. They desired intrigue and the excitement they had experienced before when a romance first began. After all, there’s something wonderful about first dates, initial kisses, eager touches, and the anticipation of unknown emotions. There’s so many people who will trade the “boring” regularity and routine of a long term relationship because they miss the newness of a budding romance. Boy, are they missing out!

He knows me.

For me, there’s something wonderful about knowing what my spouse will say before he even opens his mouth. I love the fact that he understands what will hurt my feelings before it even does. So he doesn’t do those things! I adore that he knows I’ll be cold, that he knows my favorite dinner, and that he knows how an unexpected and loving text message can immediately brighten my day.

I get wanting the tingles, but the fact is you can still have butterflies even after twenty years. You can. My spouse still turns me on, yet we’re familiar enough that he also knows what turns me off. There’s something sexy about being comfortable together. I can come as I am, be honest about who I am, and not worry he won’t love me anymore if he finds out. He knows my secrets, yet we still have new things to talk about each and every day. There’s no drama, and he knows me well enough to know I hate that sort of thing. We don’t play games, unless you’re talking about the flirty kind that keep a monogamous relationship alive.

He knows me.

I don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, and if I do, by chance, we have that deep, unconditional love that forgives easily, understands much, and builds itself upon years of missteps, mistakes, and lessons learned in making one another happy.

I won’t lie. First kisses are phenomenal, and I still remember ours, but there’s also something special and divine about falling into the familiar arms of the one you’ve built a life with. It’s like years of embraces have carved out a special place in their chest where your head fits just right, and when you lay your ear there the familiar lub-dub of their heartbeat is like they’re playing your song. Is there any better sleep than on the chest of your longtime love? After all, it’s ok if you slobber. In fact, it’s expected.

He knows me.

I think perhaps adulterous partners looking elsewhere for love have it all wrong. Love isn’t found in something newer and better. It’s found in the comfortable places that fit like your most luxurious pajamas. It’s not comfortable because of fear of change, no. It’s comfortable because to know someone over a span of years is the best kind of love. It’s an honest love, a sustaining affection, an unconditional romance story told by two lives who intertwine so deeply and completely that no thing could break the cord they have consummated not just once, but untold times over the years.

Love doesn’t come easy. The first couple of years are just the beginning of getting to know one another. They’re the prelude to magic, a majestic show that can titillate your senses. The real excitement comes with receiving love from someone even when they’ve seen you at your worst. It’s still being found sexy after forty, three pregnancies, and six years of breastfeeding. It’s still being adored even through hormonal changes that make you insufferable and slightly crazy. It’s still being attracted to someone after the newness fades, and discovering you find them even more attractive than the first time you met. It’s watching your husband love your children and thinking they’ve never looked so handsome. It’s growing up together, growing old together, and growing as individuals while together.

He knows me.

While it’s special and exciting getting to know someone new, I’ve come to discover the best part of a relationship is when they know you. Like, really know you. Know every single part of you. That’s when you truly discover love.

The Best Gift to Give Your Spouse

by

The other morning I left for work early. It was still dark outside, a lazy Saturday not yet dawning, and everyone in my house was still asleep. Even the birds rested on, evidenced by the still, quiet surroundings as I made my way to our vehicle to take the thirty minute commute to my job. I was weary as I trudged to the truck, coffee thermos in hand, and I tried to mentally prepare myself for the twelve hour workday that lay ahead.

I always prayed for my family before I left, depositing a kiss on their collective foreheads, and usually they never roused. But this day my husband’s eyes had blinked rapidly, he had grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly, then whispered a goodbye and love you, dear. As I drove to work I thought of my family, and I tried to inspire myself to be more enthusiastic for the day ahead.

Yet even as I walked into work half an hour later I still felt weary. It was a deep fatigue that persisted within me, one that is often the case when making your way through the everyday mundane walk that is life. I settled down to my work computer, I took another pull of lukewarm coffee from my cup, and I swiped my badge to gain access to the upcoming workload for the day. When suddenly I felt my phone vibrate within my pocket, unexpectedly I realized, for not many people contacted me at such an early hour. I pulled out the cell and was surprised to see a message from my spouse. He must not have gone back to sleep after I left, though he could have.

I️ sure do love you and I’m so so very proud of what God has done in your life! I️ am very blessed to be your husband! Have a good day my Amazing, super sexy wife ?

I grinned immediately at the charming and complimentary words, but mostly I smiled at the sentiment, at the fact that he had thought to send me a pick-me-up when I needed it the most, yet expected it the least. He was forever my encourager.

I have received many gifts in my life from people who loved me. Everything from stuffed animals, chocolates, bouquets of roses, and diamonds, of course. There’s something special about pulling off the silk ribbon on a tiny, felt box, and looking excitedly upon the shining bauble within. But I have come to discover that the best tokens of affection cannot be bought, they don’t come from a store shelf or even online. The best gifts are the ones from the heart, the gifts of sacrifice, the tokens of time taken to share your heart with the person you admire, and the forethought to remind them of how special they are in your sight.

My husband had this wonderful talent of knowing when I needed encouragement the most. He paid attention to my moods and he cultivated my spirit. I imagine most of us think about the person we love throughout the day, but then allow the moment to pass. I’ll tell them I love them, later, we think. My spouse? He tells me right then. The fact is, I know that he loves me. And he knows that I know! Yet he still says it. He takes the time to be intentional, and to share with me how special I am in his eyes. This is the best gift he could ever give me. It is priceless in our marriage.

On this morning his thoughtful message made me smile, but it also energized me for the day. A heart driven by love and appreciation is a wondrous thing. An encouraged spouse walks a little lighter and shines a little brighter, the ripple effect in action. In turn I also give my husband the gift of my affection multiplied. We encouraged one another each day, and we took the time to tell each other how much we cared. I knew my husband appreciated me, but hearing him say it was an extra gift in my life. The best gift.

When I Realized the Truth About My Husband

by

We’ve been married almost a decade, and I thought I knew everything there was to know. I certainly didn’t anticipate any secrets. Yeah, we’ve been through a lot of changes over the years, but nothing quite like the last nine months or so. Our lives have been altered drastically this year alone, and I found myself trying to make my way through the midst of one of those shifting sand situations right at the exact moment my husband sent me a text I wasn’t expecting.

Ok, let me rewind a minute and get this just right. Friday morning, I guess it was, I was driving down the dark highway on my way to work. I chugged coffee from an insulated thermos, hoping it would provide the fuel I needed to make it through the day. See, the prior day had been what you might call a challenge. No, let’s be honest. It was hard. It had been a bad day at work. It had been one of those exhausting, uncontrollable days you often have when you work hands on in healthcare. After a day like that it’s hard to go back and do it again. So I found I was trying to encourage myself about it, and naturally I was praying too.

As I thought about how challenging my previous shift had proven itself, I also began to think about my life surrounding it. As a Travel Nurse in my first week at a new assignment I was still learning a new, computer charting system, but also learning where they kept the saline flushes. In the middle of all that I remembered feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket, and when I finally found the time for a lunch break I had retrieved a text within. It was from my husband who traveled on assignments with me, and kept busy homeschooling our children, among other things.

It read, “I️ just want you to know I️ love you so much. And I️ don’t say it much but I️ very much appreciate what you do for our family. Hope your day goes well and can’t wait to see you tonight. No response needed I️ know you’re busy, but you are loved and appreciated. ??”

In the middle of me running around like a chicken with my head cut off, and trying not to appear like a chicken with my head cut off, he had sent this message.

Later he sent another. He was wondering if I needed any of my scrubs washed since he was doing a load of laundry?

Towards the end of my shift he sent another text. He was just wondering if tacos sounded good to me for supper? That’s what he was cooking.

I had worked a long day, but when I got home I was welcomed by a kiss, clean house, a fragrant candle from Target burning on the counter by the door, and the wonderful smell it created when mixed with the background aroma of freshly made tacos. We had munched those, watched a favorite, Netflix show, and he had rubbed my tired feet on his own accord.

So as I drove down the road on this dark, Friday morning thinking about work, thoughts of my husband overshadowed any trepidation I felt about the new job. And it was at this moment I felt the Lord speak to my heart the truth about my spouse.

He is your gift.

That’s all He spoke, but the revelation was enough. My husband was a lot of things. He was my best friend, he was my partner in parenting, and he was often times a voice of reason in my rambling thought-life. But he was also my gift, my gift from God, given to help improve my life here on earth. He wasn’t “the other child I raised,” like I sometimes heard woman say. He wasn’t just a roommate to pass time with on a daily basis, and he wasn’t simply the significant other I laughed with yet also fought with about bills and child-raising. He wasn’t my life-saving anchor, he wasn’t “The One,” and he wasn’t my reason for being. The sun didn’t rise and set in his lap, but neither was he just someone to help keep me from feeling alone. Instead, he was my gift. That was the truth of it. An all-knowing God had brought our paths together, again over the years, and he had placed us both into one another’s life as the helpmate, encourager, and inspirer the other needed. My husband was that gift I needed, especially after a long, tough day, and I was blessed to have him.

In life we don’t always encounter perfect situations. In fact, in this world we seldom do. But there’s one thing we can do. Instead of focusing on the less-than-perfect particulars of life, or the straight-up awful situations, we can weed through it all to see the gifts from God that are all around us. Many times that’s a spouse. For me, I know it is. In a tumultuous, changing life you can take your support system for granted. Or you can realize the truth that your person is a gift from the Lord, given to you to be the hands and feet of Jesus. In the middle of such a horrible day, I had no doubt the Holy Spirit had prompted my husband to reach out to me and serve me so selflessly. My gift had listened.

Come To the Table

by

Come to the table.

We live in world of drive-thru, take-out, and fast-food. Fast, fast, fast. We stand up to eat more than we sit. We multitask, eat and run, eat on the fly. We do not come to the table. It simply takes too much time.

Come to the table.

Taste and see.

This was what the Lord was beckoning me to do this morning. Every fiber of the old me wanted to run, to rush to the next stop. We had one more leg in our trip to arrive at the RV park where we would be staying for my next travel nurse assignment. The control-freak, duck-in-a-row persona was ready to get there. She wanted to see the new surroundings, to ensure there wasn’t a problem, to map out the drive to work (a full three days ahead of time), and to get to the next step. That part of me wanted to hurry and be done, but my spirit said, be still.

Slow done. Relax. Take a breather. Enjoy yourself. That’s what the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart.

Come to the table. Dine with me.

That’s what my Father invited. To commune with me, to sit down together, purposefully, and to make that concrete decision to taste and see that the Lord is good. When I rushed and ran I missed those moments with Him. When I hurried here and there I couldn’t hear His voice. When I raced about frantically I allowed my to-do’s to distract me from His presence. I missed out on the banquet table. I missed a sit-down dinner with Dad in favor of busyness. Life had demands, always, but there was also the choice. The choice to sit.

Come to the table.

We had driven what was supposed to take four hours to our current stop, but that had actually taken seven hours with horrible traffic and bathroom breaks. We had setup our fifth wheel after dark, on a hilly, uneven site, with grumpy, hungry children. We had slept long and hard, but as I sat alone on the couch drinking coffee with the Lord this morning I felt like He was calling me to rest some more! It was so easy to get in the routine of rushing, to dive into distraction unaware, to stand up eating so you could move on to the next task, and in that hurried lifestyle you missed family dinner. You missed time with the Father. And in missing dinnertime you also missed the blessing. God speaks health, healing, and abundant blessing into the lives of His children, but we have to stop and partake to even receive.

Come to the table.

Today I accepted the call to be still, to rest, to wait, to taste and see. We extended our stay at the park we had stopped off at, we delayed our arrival to the next. We hung out together, we rode a golf cart, we enjoyed the beauty around us, we drank it in. We saw the gift of God through nature, time with one another, and simply slowing down enough to enjoy His goodness to us. Where stillness of heart resides, so too does peace.

Come to the table.

Is God inviting you to dinner, today?

You’re Not the Man (Or Father) Who Left You

by

By all accounts I grew up in a wonderful, loving home. My Daddy was the sort of protective guy who threatened the fella who took me on my first real date that he’d break his legs if he acted inappropriate, drank alcohol while driving, or brought me home past curfew. At the time I remember feeling kinda embarrassed, but honestly, and deep down, I recall feeling like I was floating out the door on a cloud. And it wasn’t because the star quarterback was taking me out to a movie. It was because I knew my Dad really loved me. Yet still…

As the years went by I would grow up always needing that feeling, that emotion that told me I was loved, I was worthy, that I was something special. I was always that clingy girlfriend that asked “whatcha thinking” in the hopes the guy would answer back he was thinking about me. I was the girl who ended up giving her body away, over and over, in an attempt to feel beautiful, desirable, and precious in some sorta way. I craved love like most craved water. Even though I’d grown up adored by my mother and adoptive father, it still wasn’t enough. For some crazy reason it’s the people that don’t love you that stick with you the most. I wish that wasn’t so.

My biological father had left numerous times, but the last being when I was seven. When my mother remarried, and later my Dad wanted to adopt me, it seemed that my biological dad had no problem relinquishing his parental rights. On the surface I was thrilled to have a present father who cared so much for me, and even in my heart I was glad. But deep down, in those dark, rooted places I was hurt. Rejection like a knife dug inside me, the blade turning cruelly back and forth.

Even as an adult woman, the little girl inside me would ask in the night, “why was I so easy to give up? What is it about me that made not loving me so easy?!”

I didn’t want to feel that way! I never wanted to play the victim, and during my brave times I would vehemently deny any hurt or feelings of abandonment and unworthiness. I would play strong, and I would play it well. But in retrospect I can see that the pain caused by the man who leaves you is like a scab that never really heals. It looks fine from a distance, but if you get up close and personal you can see it’s all red, soft, and missing pieces. For so long my heart was like that. Missing pieces.

It wasn’t like it healed properly either. It just set up a cycle. A cycle of me searching for love in all the wrong places, seeking acceptance and affection, creating my personality based on the people around me, people pleasing, never being true to myself, and erroneously basing my self worth on how someone else felt about me.

I recently was talking about divorce with my aunt, and I mentioned how it took years to get over the pain of a broken marriage. Even though my life had moved on, I can still recall one day, three years status post divorce, wondering what it was about me that made my ex-husband want to leave me. A happy second marriage with a great guy, an adorable daughter in my arms, and for some strange reason that little girl inside me would rear her head and ask again, “what was it about me that made not loving me so easy?”

I had spent over thirty years thinking I was the man (or men) who left me. That my identity was somehow built around that. The devil had spent years whispering in my ear that I was the girl who was easy to give up, that I was the awkward teen who got dumped the week of prom, that I was the one-night-stand, that I was the woman whose husband left her, that I was anything but who I really was. Somewhere between knowing about God and really getting to know Him I discovered something. I discovered that I wasn’t the man who left me; I was the creation that God made me to be. My identity wasn’t based on what man or the world said, but what the Lord said about me. His Word sang it over and over to my broken heart, and the more I listened to His song, the more I believed it, the more I healed, and the more able I was to see myself through His eyes.

God said I was His workmanship (Ephesians 2:10), That He knew me before He formed me (Jeremiah 1:5), that I was chosen (1 Peter 2:9), that He had a great future in mind for me (Jeremiah 29:11), that I was adopted (Romans 8:14-15), that I was redeemed and His (Isaiah 43:1), that I was wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), that I was holy and beloved (Colossians 3:12), that I was created after the likeness of God (Ephesians 4:24), that I was the work of His hand (Isaiah 64:8), that I was precious in His eyes, honored, and He loved me (Isaiah 43:4), that He had numbered every tear I had ever shed (Psalm 56:8), that He rejoiced over me (Zephaniah 3:17), and that I was worth dying for (John 3:16)!

It was a long journey I took from rejection to redemption, but once I saw the truth of who I was in Christ, I never fell for the lie that I was who the world labeled me to be. My identity was in Jesus, I was righteous, totally and completely loved, despite my faults, and I realized that love would never fail me.

A Father’s Biggest Responsibility, That He Might Not Know

by

I am blessed to be able to raise my children with my partner, my husband. Parenting is hard, so having someone to share the responsibility with is huge. I have utmost respect for those women who do it alone for I cannot imagine raising my daughters on my own. There are so many things that my husband does with our children that I feel he is better suited for than me. For example, it’s easier for him to say no and lay down the law. I guess I’m a pushover for those sweet smiles. But his ability to set much needed limits isn’t the main reason I’m thankful for his presence. Not even close.

For many families the father may be the main disciplinarian. After all, who can raise their hand in agreement that waiting for Dad to pull into the driveway after doing something dumb was the worst punishment of all as a kid? “Just wait until your father gets home,” was a dreaded phrase many of us heard growing up, and I have to admit I’ve used it on my own girls a time or two. But Father Fear Factor isn’t the main reason I cherish my spouse’s involvement in child rearing. Nope, not it.

Traditionally the father had been the breadwinner for the household, bringing home the bacon while mom holds down the home-front. And although I happen to be the one working currently while my hubby homeschools the children, I’ve truly enjoyed being a homemaker in the past while he earned the majority income for us. He’s proven himself an excellent provider, and I’m blessed to have a hardworking husband to take care of me. But his ability to provide financially isn’t the most important thing he brings to the table in our family’s journey.

I’ve always enjoyed allowing my husband to lead our family, standing firm as the head of the household, guiding the decisions we make together as a team, and protecting us from harm, be it physical or spiritual in nature. His strong presence, stoic nature, and wisdom in life is an asset to us all. I place much value on his role in our family, but I’ve discovered something even more important that our daughters get to witness each day.

My husband is honest, fair, and kind to others. He always has a smile, friendly response, and love truly guides his actions. He works hard, does his fair share around the home, and watches his language around the children. He doesn’t drink alcohol or hang out, partying with his friends. He’s a great example to our daughters every day on how to live life, love people, and serve the Lord. Yes, I’m blessed. But something he did recently really highlighted to me the example he is setting for our girls. It stuck out as something very special.

I was laying in bed, about to doze off, since I had to work in the morning, when suddenly I caught snippets of conversation coming from the living room. I strained to hear whispered voices through the closed, bedroom door, and I began to smile at the words spoken by my spouse. He was reading from the Bible, and he explained the verses as they went along.

I heard him explain, “it’s my job to love your Mom like Jesus loves us all, and to treat her right.”

I could just imagine their bright eyes and eager faces as they soaked in every word he spoke, and it was at that moment I understood the importance he had in their lives. As a father of daughters he was their first example of how a man acted, or rather, should act. He was the plumb line by which they measured a man’s intentions as right and true. He was the model they would call upon when choosing a spouse of their own. His model he set forth would directly impact their future decisions on choosing a mate and on successful, healthy relationships, and that was paramount! He set the standard for how they should be respected as women, and he laid down the precedent for how a man should love and honor his wife. They watched his treatment of me, and that illustration of unconditional and selfless love would be the pattern they would likely follow years down the road. His impact on their future happiness in marriage was real, and I knew the biggest truth of parenthood:

They’re always watching!

So Dad, your daughters are watching how you treat their Mom. They will utilize your example as the norm for male behavior. Are you ok with that? If not, something needs to change.

Dad, your sons are watching how you love and honor their Mom. The model you display will mold their future behavior in their own marriages. Is that something you can be proud of impacting? If not, something needs to change.

Fathers have many responsibilities in their children’s lives, and other than leading them closer to Christ there is none so important as the model of behavior they set forth in marriage. Your actions impact their future actions, and it’s always wise to keep that in mind. So I leave you with a question. What legacy do you pass down to your children for a happy, healthy married life?