Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

You Need a Man Who…

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You don’t want a man who will buy you extravagant fur coats. You need a man who will give you the jacket off his own shoulders when you’re feeling cold. 

You don’t want a man who spends a ton of money buying you diamond necklaces to fasten around your neck. You need a man who isn’t ashamed to wrap his own arm around your neck, and often. 

You don’t want a man who can always afford to take you out to dine in the fanciest of restaurants. You need a man who will take the time and initiative to fix you supper after you’ve had a long day.

You don’t want a man who sends you bouquets of dozens of long-stemmed roses on special occasions. You need a man who makes every day special by picking you wild flowers from the yard. 

You don’t want a man with a prestigious, top-earning career. You need a man who will work with determination, no matter the job title, to help provide for you and your family. 

You don’t want a man who is capable of proclaiming his love to you in poetic verse. You need a man who shows you his affections with his every day, mundane actions. 

You don’t want a man who spends his whole paycheck on you multiple gifts. You need a man who spends his time with you on multiple days. 

You don’t want a man with an expensive, fancy car capable of driving anywhere. You need a man who will take you anywhere you need to go at a moment’s notice. 

You don’t want a man with the biggest muscles around. You need a man who is strong enough to hold you and make you feel safe. 

You don’t want the most handsome man alive. You need a man who makes you feel alive when he compliments your beauty. 

You don’t want a man who puts you first. You need a man who puts himself last, and puts Jesus first. 

You don’t want a man who loves you more than anything. You need a man who loves you like Christ does. 

You don’t want the “man of your dreams.” You need a man who you can build dreams with. 

You don’t want a man who always believes everything you say. You need a man who simply believes in you. 

You don’t want a man who strictly loves you. You need a man who helps you remember to love yourself. 

You don’t want a perfect man. You need a man who is perfect for you. 

You don’t want a man without problems, who never encounters trouble. You need a man who will stand beside you during your own troubles, and doesn’t have a problem with it. 

You don’t want a man who can give you the world. You need a man who makes the world a little more enjoyable, a man who enjoys this world more with you at his side. 

Why I Cuddle My Husband Even When I Don’t Feel Like It

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This morning I stood before the bathroom sink rubbing moisturizer on my face. Fresh out of the bath, but not feeling fresh. Actually, not feeling anything but exhausted. I did sleep last night, right? I was 52 weeks pregnant, okay, make that 30, but I might as well have been as pregnant as a whale. That’s certainly how I felt. 

My face was starting to swell, my breasts were taking on a scary size and shape, and my belly was growing so large it just didn’t even look cute anymore. My feet hurt, my inner thighs ached, and I noticed my gums had started to bleed. I could hear the children playing wildly in the living room, tossing couch cushions in their wake, and I grimaced at the thought of helping them clean up that disaster. 

My husband still slept soundly in our bedroom with the door closed. It was his one day he had that privilege, and as I thought of him laying there alone it came to me. 

You should go lay beside him, my inner voice whispered. 

Then my mind was bombarded with a few hundred reasons not to. 

The kids will destroy the place, probably set it on fire. 

I’m in a hurry. I gotta finished getting ready, then get the kids ready. 

Maybe when I’m feeling a little more sexy. I just feel puffy, not pretty. 

Even if I wasn’t puffy and pregnant, tired and sore, I could still find about a billion distractions that pulled me away from a private moment with my mate. There’s always work to do, needs of the children that must be met, and tons of other things demanding my attention. Always responsibilities, chores, and such. Or sometimes I’m just not feeling it, and I may think, next time. Later on. 

But later is a tricky timeframe in life. As a busy mom and woman there’s always something vying for my time. Always a reason to not cuddle. To not, whatever. 

But this morning I stopped mid beauty routine, and I went to my husband. I heaved my heavy midsection onto the bed, and I scooted closer to his sleeping body. I slipped my arm across his stomach, laid my head on his chest, and breathed in the remnants of yesterday’s cologne.

This is wonderful. I thought, and I wondered why I almost neglected to do it. 
Life is busy. Crazy, hectic actually. And some days you don’t feel your loveliest. You might even feel very far from it. Time will always be an issue in today’s fast spinning world, but time well spent with those you love cannot be earned back. Once the moment has passed, it’s gone. And as I cuddled beside the man I absolutely adored I knew this was a moment I didn’t want to let go. Rather it was one I wanted to cherish. 

Cuddles cultivate a relationship. Sweet kisses kindle the marriage fire. Intimate experiences draw you together in a beautiful way, and strengthen the lover’s bond.

So I always choose to cuddle, even when I think I don’t feel like it, because as I rest my body against his I realize its what’s been missing. It’s what I needed all along. 

My Husband Isn’t Like Me!

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It was the greasiest lotion I think I ever put on my body, and as I slopped the stuff across my skin it slid in an almost icky way. 

Five types of this stuff on the store shelf. I looked down at the tub of body cream, and realized I would probably have been content with any of the other four, but this one? Sheesh. I had asked my husband to pick me up a specific brand of lotion while he was at the store, and he managed to come home with the one product out of the line that I would never have chosen. How did he manage that?!

My husband isn’t like me at all! 

He never dresses the girls like I would. And hair bows? Forget about it. 

His idea of watching the kids is far different from mine. It always looks like a tornado hit when I come home. 

And his idea of dinner when I come home from work is completely opposite of mine. I make homemade, gourmet feasts, yet he’s the frozen pizza king. 

Cleaning the house? Well, let’s just say his opinion of clean and my opinion of clean are far different. 

Disciplining the kids? He is much more strict than I, and sometimes I want to remind him that they’re just little kids. 

It’s like the lotion, you know? If I want things done my way then it’s obvious I must spell it out for him. 

I suppose I could look at it that way, but then I think, would I really want to be married to someone just like me? Gosh, I’m pretty darn moody, and I tend to worry too much. I’m also admittedly a clean freak, I sweat the small stuff, and overreact at situations that don’t really matter in the grand scheme. 

The facts are my husband isn’t a mind reader, and he’s no expert on lady’s lotion, but he cares enough to call me at work and ask, “is there anything I can get for you while I’m at the store?”

My husband doesn’t dress the girls in the most color-coordinated, cutesy outfits, yet he’s the best girl daddy I’ve ever seen. They adore their strong, compassionate father, and they feel safe in his big arms. They never doubt his love, and I suppose that’s better than a simple hair accessory. 

The house doesn’t always look picture-perfect when I get home from work, but the kids are happy, healthy, and safe. In this world you often have to worry about your children, but I never have an iota of concern when their dad is taking care of them. I know they’re protected and loved, and that’s more important than a dish-free sink any day. 

To be quite honest when I have reached my wit’s end with the girls I long for his stern, respected approach. Just wait till your Father gets home! His fair discipline and protective rules are only rivaled by his warm hugs and kind words afterward. I see the admiration in their eyes at his correction. They feel safe, important, and worthy of parental direction, and I am proud and honored to share this parenting journey with him. 

The fact that after protecting, educating, and disciplining them all day he still makes time to run to the store for me something as unimportant as moisturizer, and then has dinner waiting when I walk in the door, well, that means a lot. Certainly more than the type of lotion he chose or even if it’s pizza once again. 

I happen to like pizza, and I happen to like the fact that my husband isn’t like me. Sometimes, often times, I’m pretty sure he’s even better, and I feel so dadgum blessed to call him mine. 

But I may have to pick up a different kind of lotion. 

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. 

In Case I Forgot to Tell You

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This morning as I was getting ready for work I hurried around, not only getting dressed, but also critiquing my surroundings for anything amiss. Our home was for sale, and today someone would be coming to see it. I was filled with a mild anxiety that I wouldn’t be present beforehand to ensure everything was just right, and the task for last minute sprucing-up would fall on my husband. 

Men aren’t like women at all, and housework would qualify as one of those arenas where my spouse and I differed. He didn’t see things like I saw things, and what I might consider disarray went unnoticed by him. 

This morning he slept soundly, as did the children while I made my morning rounds wiping faucets until they shined, and worrying if the four year old would leave toothpaste residue in the sink. I watched him sleeping, and stopped when I passed by to kiss him farewell for the day. He usually slept through the light brush of my lips, but this morning his eyes fluttered open, and he smiled a sleepy smile for me. 

“I appreciate you.” I told him then. “In case I forgot to tell you.”

That was the thing; it was easy to forget, you know?

In the midst of growing a family, gratitude could fall to the wayside. In the stress of life’s situations the contributions of others could easily be missed. And even if they weren’t, sometimes you were just too preoccupied to say so. But don’t we all desire to know we are needed, loved, and especially appreciated?

My husband and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on everything, yet we somehow made it work. Our weaknesses and strengths combined to create a cohesive team that got things accomplished. We were different, but that was a good thing. 

When one was down, the other was there to lend a hand. When one fell short the extra measure needed was provided in turn. I did so much for our family, but my husband did too. And when I stopped for a moment, taking my eyes off just myself, I could see more clearly his contributions. And when I took the time to acknowledge his efforts I cultivated our marriage relationship. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget. 

I had a full schedule, but it was accompanied by a full life. And more importantly a full heart. 

Life could be difficult, but I was blessed not to face the strife alone. 

Before I departed for the morning, and left the day’s work in my capable husband’s hands, I prayed for him. And I ended my prayerful petition with this. 

“I appreciate him, Lord.” I prayed. “In case I forgot to tell you.”

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

What Happened When I Started Paying Attention to My Husband’s Actions!

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I had somehow almost fallen into a common trap of marriage, and I could easily understand how. It’s effortless to become accustomed to the everyday mundane, and to close your eyes to everything around you. It’s easy to exist, become complacent, and in essence be blind to what your spouse is doing right under your nose. 

I was so busy washing laundry, raising babies, and everything in between that I almost missed my husband’s brazen actions. Until one day I started to pay attention, but still, I didn’t expect this. 

While picking up toys one evening I bent over, and involuntarily I let out a wince. A sharp pain traveled up my leg and into my back, and it had been doing that for a week or more. I was expecting our third child, and I noticed that it was harder this time around. Simple housekeeping left me limping by the end of the day, and thoughts of propping my feet up sounded great. Great, I tell you!

But alas, I could no more stop picking up dolls and discarded gummy wrappers then I could cease to breathe air. It had to be done, and I bristled under the surface, frustrated because I knew I would be the one to do it!

I cleaned the living room over and over! I washed the clothes time and time again! I even folded them and put them all away. I knew if I didn’t our family would exist in a world composed of piles of toppling laundry, and I was certain I would go insane in that environment. Heck, if I didn’t keep things in order they would spiral out of control, and no one would even notice until they were drowning in trash and dirty dishes. 

Every day my husband went to work, and he left me here to take care of the children alone. He would stay gone for thirteen hours, and when he finally did return the children would be clean, fed, and in pajamas. He’d have a hot meal waiting, and a clean house to relax in. Sometimes I had just wondered if he even noticed, you know?

And as I woke each day to repeat the same day over again I would certainly take note of all I did to keep this boat afloat. I’d pick up his dirty laundry, mumble irritated words under my breath, and serve his children in his absence. It was all very exhausting for me, and now that I was bearing him another child it was even harder. Maybe this one would be a boy!

But one day, for no reason in particular, although I imagine it was the whispers of the Lord, I decided to focus less on all my never-ending housework, and I decided instead to pay more attention to what my husband was doing. 

You see, every day he awoke before I did, and each night he went to bed after me. He left for work early, and he came home late. He did this to support us. Yet despite the lengthy hours he spent at the job he always greeted me with a tender kiss when he came in the door. He would hold the children, and listen, really listen as I described our day. 

If our toddler woke prematurely in the night I never knew. I never knew until I found him asleep on the couch with our precious, youngest child sleeping on his chest. He never faltered in his role as a father, and went beyond what many men would do. He ruled them with an iron fist when discipline was required, but always offered a caring, loving, and compassionate embrace afterward. 

He made time to tell me I was beautiful, and to offer a physical touch when I needed it the most. He was never too tired, if you know what I mean. 

The thing is I had always known the sacrifices he made for our family, but things really shifted in our marriage when I decided to focus on that. When I took my attention off what I was doing for our relationship and family, and instead payed more attention to his sacrifice, my load became easier to bear. 

I didn’t just hang up his shirts to keep an uncluttered home; I did it because I loved him. And as I spent more time thinking about his work and efforts rather than worrying about my part, my job became less struggle and more of a service out of love. 

And then I really became surprised. Somewhere along the way I had decided to vocalize what I was seeing, so I spent more time telling him what I noticed in him rather than waiting for him to compliment the freshly vacuumed carpet. 

I told him more often that his efforts and hard work were appreciated, and I saw a shine in his very tired eyes that lifted my own spirit. And somewhere in this shift of focus I realized that he too was seeing me more. He was noticing my efforts more readily, and his comments and compliments on my own work came often. 

I found myself offering to help him more. “What can I do for you today, baby?”

And through his genuine smile he would answer, “Nothing, honey. You already do so much around here.”

When he would leave out the door, aside from the perfunctory goodbye, I would say a heartfelt “thank you.”

And later that night as we would sit quietly together while children slept, he would say unexpectedly, “I really appreciate everything you do around here.”

To which I would answer, and honestly, truly mean, “I am able to do what I do because of what you do for me. That’s why we’re a good team.”

Indeed, we had always been a good team, but I think we became a happier team when we realized the key to a content, healthy partnership is keeping your eyes and mind from solely focusing on your own contribution, and instead paying attention to what the other person sacrifices each day for you. 

Come July I’ll Have All the Magic Mike I Need. At Home. 

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So the time has come, and the release of Magic Mike 2 is fastly approaching theaters. I know this not because I’ve been anticipating its arrival with baited breath, per se, but because I saw a preview for it this past week. I was sitting on the couch watching a TV series with my husband when suddenly I was visually accosted by a shirtless array of muscled men shaking their money-makers.  

  
I didn’t go see the first one, and I’ll share with you that I won’t be going to see this one either. I won’t watch it later when it arrives on DVD, and I’m sure I’ll be okay in life even though I’ve missed out on such a popular phenomenon. 

Since I haven’t watched the film I can’t comment about its contents, but before you tell me what a great story line and plot it contains I’ll just say “stop.” It doesn’t matter to me in the least if Mike happens to be as magic as Harry Potter, or as kind and caring as Mary Poppins. It’s not so much how the script reads for me, but rather what draws in ladies by the dozen. It’s the way it appears, and if I’m wrong then I apologize, but it seems like the purpose of the film is to watch some fine men dance around while scantily clad. Am I wrong?

It’s not that I’m judging anyone’s decision to watch this movie, and your marriage is no less than mine if you watched the first one. I’m sure it’s just entertainment, and although the entertainment in question is shirtless dudes stripping for crowds of lusty women, in essence it’s just a movie. 

In that regard everyone is entitled to their own opinion of what works best for their life. I just thought I’d share what works for me. I enjoy a great relationship with my spouse, but one of the things I always pray is that God will draw us even closer together. In that line of thinking I try to approach my marriage with my spouse’s feelings in mind, and I’m always open to ways I can improve our relationship. 

Some time ago I felt that it was only respectful to my marriage and my spouse that I abstain from things that don’t honor him, and although he, and some other men out there might not mind if their wife/girlfriend takes a GNO to go watch Magic Mike, or a similar film, I have decided it’s not something that I want for my union. 

I choose not to watch porn, read erotica, or watch movies where the main purpose is to flaunt the chiseled body of a man other than my husband. I’ll be the first to admit that Channing Tatum is hot, but looking at him with his shirt off just isn’t my thing. 

I’ll tell you my thing. The man I have at home is who I desire to watch, and even though he probably won’t perform a strip tease for me anytime soon, he’s irresistible in my book. Indeed, no amount of bulging pecs or abs of steel can make my heart race like the embrace of my man after a long day. Nothing is sexier to me than watching my husband sleep with one of our daughters in the crook of his arm, and I can’t imagine anything more alluring than the loving smile he gives me first thing in the morning. 

I feel beautiful and desirable in my husband’s eyes, and his decision to not view pornography makes me feel like I am all he needs in that regard. I fill his physical and sexual desires completely, and I don’t have to worry about feeling self-conscious in the event that he decided to go watch a movie with his friends that featured half-nude women dancing for men’s pleasure. He respects my feelings too much to do that. 

He won’t be going to a strip club or watching a Cinemax flick late at night, and he knows the feeling and decision is mutual. We fill each other’s tanks in that arena, and for us it would be an affront to our vows to act any differently. There are no trust issues present, and I don’t feel the need to search his cell phone for inappropriate texts. We’ve built a relationship of mutual trust and respect, and for that reason alone I don’t feel the urge to go see something like Magic Mike. Why mess up the good thing I’ve got going?

So when July rolls around and the movie is released I’ll have all the Magic Mike I need. Right in my own home. In the form of my husband. There will be no need or desire for me to ogle at another man beyond the one that God gave me. 

So do I think that if you want to go see Magic Mike 2 that you don’t love your husband as much as I love mine? Heck no. As a friend I will only suggest asking yourself an honest question. Do you think making the decision to plan a night out with girlfriends to go squeal at sexy men’s bodies is the most respectful thing you could do for your spouse? 

What about this? How would you feel if the shoe was on the other foot? What if your husband went with his male friends to the theater to watch a film about female strippers? The Golden Rules applies to marriage especially, and we should never act in a way we wouldn’t want our spouse to act. 

Even if you’re not married, but you are in a committed relationship you may want to ask what your viewing of this film speaks to your boyfriend. How do you think it impacts your future together, or even his decisions on what’s appropriate later on for your relationship? 

I can’t say how most men feel about their significant other watching Magic Mike or similar types of entertainment, but I can say this. You will never find the magic you’re seeking in this venue, but it can be found in a solid relationship at home. You just have to know where to focus your attention and energy. 

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.

Guess Who Really Gets Cheated By Adultery?

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Often times when mistakes, poor decisions, or outright atrocities in marriage are committed it is assumed that the effects will be minimal, that they can be controlled, and be confined to an immediate area of impact. It’s neglected the ripple effect that our actions have, we miss it until it’s too late, and we’re unable to erase the damage left in our wake. 

When I was in the Navy adultery was a pretty common thing for me to witness. I can even remember having a pact with a friend when we deployed. Our ship was nicknamed “The Love Boat” due to its high incidence of hook-ups, and I can tell you that a lot of the cheaters had a spouse waiting at home. With so much non-monogamy going on around us my friend and I made a promise to watch each other’s back, and speak up quickly if we witnessed the other being  even borderline inappropriate. 

I had no doubt that I could remain faithful, but it was simply an added caution amidst commonplace debauchery. And sure enough, I saw plenty of debauchery. 

I can recall a serial offender by the name of Alan. Alan wasn’t just an adulterer by chance. I mean, I guess you could get past someone making a mistake. Months at sea, a man’s needs ever present, drunken shore leave. It could happen. But no, Alan was a repeat cheater. 

Alan had cheated on his first wife, and then he had also cheated on his second. It turned out his third wife was his mistress while married to the second Mrs., and currently on the deployment of which I speak you could see Alan galavanting openly with a young, red-headed girl. All the while his third wife lay at home on bed rest as she was expecting their child. 

His sexual prowess wasn’t hearsay, rumor, or scuttlebutt. He had been caught red-handed, or rather red-faced, with his pants around his ankles in the OR bay after hours. This bought him, among other punishments, a phone call home. He stood in front of the Commanding Officer of our ship, and he was forced to call home and confess his indiscretions to his wife. 

I wasn’t on the other end of the phone that day, but I have a feeling his wife wasn’t terribly surprised. Surely she knew deep down that one day she’d become the victim of “the other woman” role that she had only recently held. 

Regardless, before he could return home with his tail between his legs, we had a deployment to finish. He got demoted in rank, and I remember watching as he cleared his workspace. On his desk was a picture of his family, and I couldn’t help but stare at the faces of three lovely, blond girls. His daughters. 

Their sweet faces somehow made it worse to me, even then, before I knew the love you could have for your child. And although I felt terrible for the women he had married, and subsequently cheated on, it was the young girls that broke my heart. 

I wondered if years later when his eldest daughter fell for a guy who treated her disrespectfully, would he wonder why? When she later married this apparent scumbag, would he stand aghast? When she stayed with this loser who continued to sleep around and bring home STD’s, would daddy be completely baffled?!

What about when his other daughters followed suit?

Would he really be shocked to see such a skewed view held by his little princesses? Could he really wonder why they allowed themselves to be treated with such utter disregard? After all, hadn’t he set the bar?

What he didn’t seem to realize as he jumped from one woman’s bed to another was that his actions weren’t just affecting his penis. They weren’t even just affecting the long line of lovers in his wake. They were affecting the innocent bystanders under his charge. 

The fact is that young girls learn what to expect from a man by watching their father. They learn what marriage is supposed to be like by watching their parents. When they are surrounded by unhealthy examples then that is what they come to expect as the norm, and as their parent you can’t be surprised when they end up in unhealthy, failing relationships as adults. 

Cycles of abuse, adultery, likely substance addiction, and inevitable divorce become a common sequence that repeats itself for generations. 

It’s nice to think our actions only affect ourselves. It’s more comfortable to believe that our mistakes impact no one other than us, but for the majority of the time this simply is not true. Yes, curses can be broken, and individuals can move past the examples set for them, but that’s a difficult and unnecessary obstacle to place in front of your children. 

When you become a parent you become a role model, and little eyes are looking up to you to guide them. Adultery is an awful, nasty business all on its own, but factor in how it influences future relationships for your children, and it becomes monumental. 

Young men learn how to treat a lady by watching dear old dad, and they will base their expectations on a wife to be similar to mom. If mom is a nag then junior will assume that’s how it’s supposed to be. If dad hits mom at the dinner table, don’t be surprised if junior later follows this example in his own home. 

Marriage is hard, and maybe for some people, like Alan, so is being faithful. Just understand that if children are involved your decision to cheat will go beyond the seedy hotel room. It will follow through to the next generation, and that’s who is really cheated by adultery.