Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

What God Would Say to the Woman Who’s Not Enough

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Most of us women, at one time or another, feel as if we’re not enough, like we’re lacking some fundamental trait that will magically transform us into the women we wish to be. Not a patient enough mother, or perhaps you’re a wife who suffers to serve. We desire to be that mighty woman of God, to get it right at least every now and again. A fight with our spouse, or a harsh, thoughtless word screamed in frustration at our children prove to us where we have fallen short once again. If only we could be the kind of friend our girlfriends need, or have the time and energy to volunteer at church. If only we could keep the kitchen clean, laundry basket empty, or keep up with our graying roots like other moms seem to do.

We see our Facebook friends dressing trendy, our Instagram idols redecorating their homes. The lady next door doesn’t have trash falling out of the backseat of her minivan, and the mom of four at church, her kids are always so well behaved! A condescending look at the grocery store, the well-intentioned yet hurtful advice from an older woman at church, and the thoughtless comment from your husband all cement the idea that you need to step it up. You need to change, improve, work on you!

Wash your face, wipe your eyes, and work on you! Make time for yourself, yet cherish time with your children, time that is fleeting, and that you’re constantly reminded passes too quickly. How does that work?!

You’ll miss this, they say, all while taking afternoon naps themselves that you can’t personally enjoy.

So you strive to do better. You endeavor to be a Proverbs 31 woman, even though you feel like a Prozac 24/7 kinda gal. If you feel depressed you must not be godly enough, so back to the drawing board for you. Watch your weight, exercise, pray, repeat. Count backwards from ten, take your vitamins, and drink more water. Go out with your girlfriends, read a book, take time for yourself. Stay attractive for your spouse, serve him in love, and give him the affection you yourself feel like you’re lacking. Be in the mood, even if you’re not. Meal prep, crockpot, freezer meals. Keto, Paleo, Weight Watchers, Hello Fresh. So much advice, yet so little time. I don’t know about you, but I just want to not be tired anymore, and to wake up without a sore neck and back. Also, why am I anxious about nothing at all?!

Being a woman is hard, but working to be the woman you think you should be is even harder. It’s not easy being everything for everyone, yet still feeling like you’re not enough. Not good enough, pretty enough, young enough, thin enough, strong enough, happy enough. You’re not everyone’s cup of tea, sure, but maybe you just want to be the cup you yourself could enjoy. You want to be the mother your children deserve, the wife your husband desires, and the woman God needs you to be. Why is it so hard?!

Well, take a breath and listen. This is what God would say to you today.

Stop! Don’t work on you. Work on knowing me better. Stop striving to be the “mighty woman of God” you think you should be, and instead simply rest in who I have created you to be.

I don’t want you to be like her. I created you to be you. The things you see as flaws, I put those there. I thoughtfully formed your crooked nose and short legs. And even the flaws that the world has harshly placed upon you, I can work with those too. Don’t doubt what I can do.

The world will say you are not enough. Even my other children will tell you that is so. Satan will whisper lies so stealthy you will think they are truth, but I promise you this. You can only find my truth in my Word. If it’s not in the Bible, then it’s not for you to believe.

Stop seeking self-improvement, and instead seek my face. Spend time with me. Pour over my truths in scripture, and let that truth flood your soul. Allow it to take over your thoughts so that when lies from the enemy come, because they will, you can overpower them with who I say you are.

Stop working on being better, and start being better in me. Remember that my strength is in your weakness, that you have been made perfect in me, that I am in you, and you are in me. Together, there is no lack. There is always enough.

You are what I say you are, and you are enough. You can rest in my perfect peace, knowing the plans I have for you, plans for a wonderful future.

Stop fighting battles I have already won. Stop waging war on yourself. I take it personally. I created the stars in the sky, ones you cannot even see, ones that shine so fiercely they are blinding up close, but you are still my most precious creation. Just as you are. Stop trying to alter my design.

Stop planning to do better, and simply follow my path I have laid out for you. You cannot see it for your own anxieties of becoming lost. When you feel lost, go back to my map. Read the words there in red. They tell you the way.

Stop working on being a better you, and focus on residing in me. I am your safe place. I can block out the whispers that say you’re not enough. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be a better you, except when you begin to think you alone hold the key to change. Only I can change hearts, and only in me will you find the completeness you desire. Stop trying to be everything, and rest in the fact that I already am. In me you have fullness of life. In me, you are already enough.

I’ve Missed This

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My husband lay behind me, and I curled into his body, his arm twined around my torso. My back to his chest, we fit together like two spoons in a drawer. It felt like home. We laid there on the couch together watching TV, and I could feel his hot breath in my ear.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered.

I agreed with a satisfying purr.

How long had it been since we laid like this? Too long to remember. I mean, we made time together as husband and wife, but to just lay beside one another for an extended period, soaking in the other’s presence? It had been a while.

Indeed, one or both of us usually had a kid or two in our lap, and you couldn’t very well twine into one another on the sofa when every few minutes someone came up asking for chocolate milk or if you could help them find something that was laying in plain sight. I’m not sure how we had managed it this long on this particular afternoon, but we had. I could hear the girls playing contentedly in their room, so I just enjoyed it while I could.

We were in our forties, and our entire married life had been about parenting. I don’t think we had planned it to be that way, but it’s how it turned out. We got married at thirty-one, in November, and worried that it might take a while to conceive I had stopped my birth control in December. Yep, by January we were expecting. I wasn’t even ready. Neither was he, but somehow together we made it beautiful. Having a baby brought out the best in us, and as a couple we grew.

That whole decade would be a series of pregnancies, deliveries, breastfeeding, newborns, and moving into different homes to suit our growing family. First steps, first words, and first everything’s. Times three! It was a whirlwind thirties for us, for sure. Watching my husband blossom under the mantle of fatherhood was one of my favorite things, and being a parenting partner with him was more than I could have hoped for. He was a wonderful dad!

Yet he was more. And as I lay against his body on the couch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against me, I knew it was true.

Marriage and parenting can be especially challenging when combined. There’s so much going on. Through terrible twos, stomach bugs, and birthday parties you go. You run errands, change diapers, and go to multiple doctor appointments. You worry, you rejoice, and you cry when you fear you’re messing it all up. You disagree on methods, you discuss the tough issues, and you fall asleep exhausted as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You hold hands together in the hospital waiting for the ultrasound of your daughter’s heart. You worry together.

He holds the baby’s arms down while you twist her head side to side, tortuously performing the physical therapy exercises they taught you to do. Your eyes meet in sympathetic wailing as you work through the baby’s loud cries. This too shall pass.

He comes into the bathroom to check on you where you lay in the floor next to the commode. How long can a stomach virus last for one family?!

Bills! So many bills. We need diapers. We gotta buy a bigger vehicle. She’s outgrown her shoes again.

Go take a bath. I’ll watch the baby.

You stay home by yourself for a change. I’ll take everyone to the store with me.

Go ahead and go to bed. I can tell you’re tired. I’ll put them down.

Through our nine years of marriage we had parented for over eight years of it. We had never really known each other just as husband and wife, but rather always as mom and dad. And we were wonderful at it! We were the perfect team! We were a dynamic parenting duo! But I never wanted to forget what it felt like to spoon on the sofa with the man I fell in love with.

My husband was a wonderful father, but before that he was my wonderful husband. He was a dad! But he was also my best friend. He was my confidant, my prayer partner, and so many days the lifter of my head. God had gifted me with this man, and not just to be the father of my children, but to be my companion for life. One day the children would leave the nest, but I knew it wouldn’t feel too empty. Because it would be filled with him.

It’s easy to get sucked into the parent trap. To see your spouse as your helpmate in matters involving the children, but forget that he was an ever-present help for you in all things. Although I love being a mother, I didn’t want that to define me alone. Before I was their mother, I was his wife, and after they grew up and became mothers themselves, still his wife I would be.

Seasons change, but love remains.

Our only season of married life had been a season of parenting small children, and sometimes that can be pretty overshadowing. The demands of raising multiple, little people takes a lot of strength and energy. Like, a lot! But I never want it to take it all. I always try to leave the best parts of myself for him. He deserves that of me.

“I miss this,” he had said.

And I had too.

It’s unrealistic to think that you can cuddle all day with three children eight years old and under around 24/7, but I did know this. I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to forget how good it felt to snuggle up alongside my best guy. I didn’t want to forget what it was like to miss and long for his embrace. I didn’t want to forget that I was made for him, and that he was made for me. I didn’t want to let it slip my mind that he was more than just the father of my children; he was also the love of my life. I held him above everything, and other than the good Lord, he was the one I loved the most. I poured a lot of energy and adoration into the children. We both did. But when it came down to it, he was the only one I wanted to end the day with, melting into his arms, and letting all our other obligations fade away, even if for just a moment.

I had missed this too, but I never wanted to miss it so much that I forgot what it was. Never.

Marriage is Messy

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I think when a woman is a young girl she has certain ideals of what marriage will entail. She pictures a white picket fence, complete with two kids contained inside; naturally a boy and a girl, playing together with an energetic puppy as dad comes home from work directly at five o’clock. 

He breezes in with a perfect mood, and flowers for his bride who is just putting the final touches on a brilliant dinner. The house is in order, not a speck of dust in sight, and the table set with sparkling dishes gleams as brightly as the twinkle in the happy couple’s eyes. And then they kiss. 

Well, in the real world dad comes home late to a disheveled home, even though his bride has been cleaning all day. Kids are cranky, mom is ill, and a quick peck on the the lips is offered before uttering, “now tell your father what you did today!” 

Marriage isn’t at all like the fairy tales say. Everyone is not in a good mood all the time, and the stresses of managing a household are often overwhelming. You don’t get flowers every day, or your favorite meal cooked every night. 

Reality is a bummer. Kids get sick, appliances break down, and bills stack up higher and higher. Parents get tired. Tired of work, tired of parenting, and just tired period. 

Marriage isn’t a pristine love story. Marriage is messy. 

I recently found myself with a home full of sick kids, a looming house move a week away, and too many things to do. I was tired, overwhelmed, not to mention sick myself. Something else had gone terribly wrong, the kids were misbehaving, and I felt on the edge of a breakdown. I called my husband, the only other adult who could feel my pain, and I spewed out my discord. 

He listened as I brought to light more mess, more icky, messy problems that were threatening to rock our little world. And then he talked. His words did what they always tend to do. They soothed my frazzled mood, they lent clarity to the situation at hand, and just like that he emerged as a solid rock I could stand on when it felt like my world was slipping away.

  
He was the man who shared the mess with me. Every single messy part. He was the same guy who watched the children while I was sick so I could try and get some sleep. Our life was far from perfect, but somehow when we worked it together it seemed pretty darn close. 

Marriage was messy, but it was a beautiful mess we managed to make work. It was our mess, and I really couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

It turns out marriage is absolutely nothing like I pictured it would be. It turns out it’s better. It’s chaotic, exhausting, and a lot of work. It’s a give and take, a practice in patience, and a labor of love. 

I’m not always in a good mood, and neither is he. Sometimes silence is the best resort, and other times communication is the key. I get mad, he does too. And then we get over it. We move on. Sometimes he is dead wrong, but then again, so am I. Even a great day can end bad, but it never ends with the sun setting on our wrath. 

Despite the ups, downs, and problems life throws, in the end we are each other’s anchor, the calm in the storm, the peace amidst the chaos, the certainty even in the uncertain. 

I’ve discovered marriage isn’t perfect by any means. In fact, it’s a mess. A beautiful, wonderful mess. 

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. 

Hey, See That Perfect Couple Over There?

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Hey, see that perfect couple over there? Yeah, me neither. 

  
I think sometimes I may unintentionally come across in some of my posts as if the hubby and I have it all together. I frequently blog about how much I adore him, and it’s common for me to share relationship advice I may have gleaned over the years. I am happily married, but that doesn’t mean I’m always happy about everything. 

I was thinking about my marriage this morning as I got ready for work, and I had to stop mid-routine just to tell God thank you. You see, the husband and I weren’t currently who we had always been before. If you could peer back across the years and be a fly on the wall you might be shocked at some of the raging, uncalled for arguments we used to have once upon a time. I had issues, and so did he. I was unreliable and he was irresponsible. I’m certain we both were incredibly selfish. 

I went through a period of time where I didn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him, and when I think back on that now I’m amazed we’ve gotten to the place we have. I would love to take credit for pulling my life together, and cracking the whip sufficiently to make my husband straighten up, but it would be a bold-faced lie. I tried changing him, and me, and it never worked. 

When I stopped this morning standing over my bathroom sink to give the Lord my gratitude it wasn’t because of efforts I had placed into my marriage. After all, God had done the changing. He had changed the hearts and healed the addictions. I had just obeyed. And so had my spouse. 

Somewhere along the way as God set forth a cataclysmic transformation in our lives, I prayed. I prayed for my husband, and I know darn well that he prayed for me. I believed God was capable of answering my farfetched pleas, as I knew I had no power to make my husband a different man. I began to see him as different, though, even before God did anything grand. I took that glimmer of hope for our future, the spark I saw in my spouse’s eyes, and the truth that I knew in my heart. The truth that he was a good man. But other than that I just hung on tight. 

You don’t get from point A to point B overnight, but one day you look up dumbfounded by how far you’ve come. Yet despite the distance we’ve traveled as a couple from that place we used to be we still have not achieved our final destination. In other words, we’re not there yet. 

Our marriage isn’t perfect. I’m not the perfect wife, and he’s certainly not the perfect husband. But one thing I know; he is perfectly imperfect for me. And God has brought us too far not to keep on trucking and trying harder. 

It’s true, there’s no such thing as the perfect couple, and don’t let anyone tell you different. But there is such a thing as two imperfect people who agree to love one another unconditionally, trust one another without question, and pray without ceasing for someone other than just themselves. In this situation two hopeless cases can collide and through the power of God’s forgiveness and grace they can rise up together from the ashes and build something beautiful. It won’t be perfect, but it can be pretty dang close. 

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.

What It Feels Like to Be a Divorced Christian

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It happens, you know? You’re sitting around with a group of wonderful, Christian women talking about good, God stuff when suddenly you feel a bit uncomfortable. You’re doing fine as the conversation gets into full swing talking about wholesome family values and the importance of the family unit in today’s society. You’re like, yeah, I totally feel the same way! Love me some family and values!

But then it happens. Someone says the dreaded ‘D’ word and you cringe. Someone says that divorce is to blame for the downfall of families, and you just want to crawl under a rock. The ashamed, hurt woman inside you wants to whisper, I’m sorry, Lord.

I’m a divorced woman. I’m a Christian, but I have also been divorced. 

I never let the shame consume me, thank God, but for a long time I honestly did. That’s what it’s like to be a divorced person who also happens to love Jesus. You feel guilt, and you feel shame and regret for a past relationship that fell apart right before your very eyes. 

I never planned to get a divorce. It’s not like I stood at the altar with the idea in the back of my mind, well, if it doesn’t work out I can always jump ship. I married with the intention and plan of forever, but I honestly didn’t treat my marriage then like God intended for me to do. I didn’t live my life as a whole like He would want for me, and though I never wanted the divorce, looking back now I’m not surprised that things fell apart. I was different then. 

And the thing is, I’m different now. So when I am reminded that divorce is a sin, that it’s an affront to God and His design for families I want to say, “I know! I’m not that woman anymore!”

Now I am a woman with her eyes fixed on Jesus. Now I’m a woman determined to have a marriage that pleases the Lord. Now I’m a woman that will give every bit of my energies to keep my marriage happy, healthy, and holy. I am a woman who has learned from her mistakes, a woman whose new marriage is better, stronger. But I am also a divorced woman, and though God has forgiven me of my past sins I still remember them. So when the word “divorce” is brought before me a part of me wants to hide my scarlet face. I am not perfect. And that’s what it is like to be a divorced, Christian woman. It’s a continuous exercise in the confrontation of past mistakes. 

I know all the verses that should give me strength about pressing on and looking forward. I know I am forgiven, and He has wiped the slate clean. I know my job is to take the failures of my past and use them, learn from them, and become a better me. So I do. I do just that. But it’s not always easy being the divorced Christian. 

Jesus told the woman at the well to “go and sin no more,” and I suppose that is the best I can do with what I have. I can pick up the broken pieces of my self-esteem, I can hold my head up high, and I can embrace the gift of the spouse that God has given to me in my second-chance marriage. 

Every day when I look at my husband’s face I am confronted with God’s grace, for even though I fell short before of His glory, He still blessed me with the man I now call my spouse. Grateful doesn’t even cover it. 

Each time it happens, that someone mentions the sin of divorce in my presence, it gets a little easier. I shrink back less and less. And as I draw closer to God’s forgiveness and healing I am reminded that He has made all things new. 

Even a sinner like me. 

I Can’t Fix My Husband

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He came dragging in late again, and I watched closely as he set down his bag and slipped off his shoes. He looked so tired, and my heart went out to him. I crossed the room and silently wrapped my arms around him tightly, holding the embrace a little longer than usual. Finally I whispered, “welcome home.”

He had been coming home late a lot recently. Work was busy, which in essence was a good thing considering his role in the business, but I felt bad for him nonetheless. His new responsibilities brought with them a great deal of pressure, and I could read it in the lines on his forehead and the circles under his eyes, as if stress itself had etched it there. 

My wife heart wrung its hands helplessly, and I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I grappled for communication that would convey what my heart wanted to say. I’m proud of you. Your hard work doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Finally I spoke with compassionate concern, “how was your day?”

His reply was much the same as the late night before. “Busy. Long. Good.”

The words coming from his mouth said “good,” and I knew that was true, but unspoken they also conveyed, I’m exhausted. And once again my wife heart sympathized for him. I wanted to reach out and take some of the burden from his cup, even if just for a moment. 

Have you ever loved someone so much that you wanted to take their struggle away, that you desired to make it somehow better? To fix it?

  
He had a hot, home-cooked meal waiting on the stove. The house was clean, the children were too. I loved him, and he knew it. He knew too of the pride I held for him. I told him often. Basically I was doing all I knew I could do. I was offering support, a listening ear, and plenty of affection. Yet I wanted to do more. I needed to do more.

I wanted to fix it. I wanted to take the hard away and replace it with only good times and laughter, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t fix my husband, I couldn’t save him, and I couldn’t take away the difficulties from his life. I couldn’t do any of these things any more than I could have changed him years ago when we first got married. 

I had desired to at the time, to change him, and though, thankfully, he was so very different now than he had been then, I knew his transformation had nothing to do with a dutiful wife. Sure, the faithful prayers had helped I suppose, but in the end I hadn’t fixed him then either. But God had. 

This morning as I prayed again for my husband as he slept, I reflected on how the Lord had changed his life. Our lives. He alone had brought things to the blessed station where they now stood, and His faithfulness was unchanging. 

Ephesians 3:20

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,

I cannot fix my husband. I cannot make his work less exhausting or somehow shorten the day. I cannot take away the stress he feels to provide for his family, and I cannot take his burden and make it my own. But I can love him, support him, and pray for him. I can trust God to give him the strength he needs, and to guide him daily. I can trust God with his life, and listen attentively for what I may do to assist in the matter. I can be his helpmate, my most favorite calling, but some things are outside of my control. 

Some things I just can’t fix. So instead I simply trust the one who can.