Married With Children

She appeared at church, alone.


"Jack and I are separated," she offered. "I'm living at my mother's."


Three years ago they planned their wedding. Betrothed to a non-Christian, the bride hoped their romance would be just the thing. The impetus to push him toward church, and to the Lord. Their first major argument occurred at their wedding reception.


They just spent a year and a half renovating a fixer-upper. She picked white carpet. He wanted beige. She's at her mom's. He's at the house with the white carpet. He thinks she loves her dog more than him. Maybe she does. She thinks he complains too much.


Maybe your own marriage isn't as troubled as theirs. Maybe you haven't spent a single night at your mother's house. Maybe you're equally yoked.


But still, a thought will come to you sometime during marriage: "He isn't who I thought he was." 


It may take seven years for this to surface, or seven days, but surface it will. Maybe children will bring it out, or a crisis. He will disappoint you; and you, him.


What's next then? Do you spend the balance of your days in misery? Or do you cut your losses and move on?


Stay put, the Lord says. Forget about who you thought you married, and love the person in front of you, stinky socks, morning breath and all.


But I want to be in love! I don't want just a roommate. Is obedience to God worth it? Living in a loveless marriage for the rest of my life, while everyone else is happy? Isn't he a forgiving God? Can't he forgive me for divorcing, so that I can remarry? I won't make this mistake again!


The world is full of lonely people, Christians included, who just couldn't bring themselves to live the gospel.


Marriage exists, in part, to grow us in Him. It's about agape love mostly; eros love less so. Eros refers to romantic love, philia to brotherly love, and agape to sacrificial love...His Cross love.


It's been twelve years since I uttered it shy: "I do." Some days I look at him proud, certain he's the best man alive. Other days I lie next to him and feel nothing. Rarer, I even hate him. I believe all these emotions exist in healthy marriages.


When the children come and time alone is once a year or less, the marriage is especially vulnerable. Husbands want more intimate nights and wives just want to sleep through the night. She may understand her husband's needs, but she feels overwhelmed at all the obligations, intimacy included, in addition to mountains of laundry, endless cooking and cleaning, grocery shopping, nursing everyone back to health, and managing paperwork. 


It's only Tuesday. Johnny made Sally cry twice before lunch. In the throes of potty training, Sally peed on the floor and the living-room carpet. Johnny wet his bed four times this week, causing all other laundry to pile up. James can't write his name like all the other kids in preschool. What's wrong with him? The bank account's overdrawn because when the whole family had the flu last week, no deposits were made. The baby still nurses every three hours at night, though she's ten months old. Sally turned on the outside water faucet and no one knew. The water bill rose $100. Momma signed up to help in the nursery and then missed church for three Sundays because someone was sick or another crisis arose and she couldn't get in the shower in time--she could only get everyone else ready. None of these Sundays were her's to work, but what will they think of her?


The husband says on Tuesday night, "Can we be together tomorrow night?" Tomorrow night comes. James throws up twice by midnight and has a fever.


The husband says on Friday, "Can we be together tomorrow night?" Tomorrow night comes. A friend calls to say he's getting a divorce. Husband talks to him for two hours. The wife falls asleep and then at 11:00 PM, she gets up to change another wet bed.


The husband, off the phone now, makes advances. Frustrated by all the bed wetting and night wake-ups, she's not in the mood. He gets mad. She feels guilty and has insomnia.


Intimacy feels wonderful, but getting there is a battle for the overwhelmed mother.


When the husband has some time off to observe the chaos that can be child-rearing, his empathy for his wife increases. But vacations end. Time lapses and he forgets. When intimacy is the last thing on her mind at night, his heart grows resentful, or at the very least, sorrowful.


Without regular intimacy, including talking, misunderstandings pile up. A couple can lose touch, while not wanting or meaning to.


How does a couple survive the child-rearing years? That's the question. 


Happy Valentine's Day, by the way! If you're like us you'll be blessed to have one date in the next year. Valentine's Day becomes just another day, save for chocolates and fun for the kids. But don't despair. This season will pass all too quickly. Before you know it, you'll entwine in a romantic booth once again.


I plan to do a couple posts on marriage this month. But understand: We don't all have the same circumstances. These posts may be irrelevant to you and yours. I read a post from Ann Voskamp this week about marriage, and though I thought it splendid, I couldn't relate. Husband and I have never felt insecure in our marriage. We never wonder if we're loved enough. Each couple's background and challenges are unique; one size doesn't fit all, save for Biblical mandates on love, respect, and submission.


Jennifer Dukes Lee, an Editor for The High Calling, put together a linky on marriage this month. Highlights will be published on The High Calling on February 15th. Here is Ann Voskamp's marriage piece, published at incourage. Perhaps something on these sites will resonate with you and your marriage.


My advice on this Valentine's Day? Read a few chapters from the Song Of Solomon today. Your passion will bless him more than anything else.


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Cherish His Word

JOHN 14:23-24 Rieu
23 Jesus replied: 'If anyone loves me he will cherish my word; my Father will love him and we will come to him and make him our abode.
24 He that does not love me neglects my words. Yet the word you hear is not my own but that of the Father who sent me.scripture source

John 14:23-24 NKJ
23 Jesus answered and said to him, “If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him. 24 He who does not love Me does not keep My words; and the word which you hear is not Mine but the Father’s who sent Me.

scripture source

Do you love God? Show Him. Cherish His Word. Open your Bible today, friend. Only the enemy is standing in your way.

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A Story of Faithfulness

The Lord gave me a story today. Though dinner dishes and clothes need tending, I believe I'm supposed to share here first.

Sit with me a spell, friend?

A winter storm warning in effect, the forecast promised snow, wind, cold. It delivered, starting early.

Husband left right after breakfast for his half-day Saturday shift at a local church.

Twenty minutes later, the cell phone rings. His 1986 Buick broke down on the corner of a busy intersection. In the driving snow, with a real feel of 2 degrees outside, a mile from the church.

He calls our mechanic and tries to push the car completely off the road. The back end doesn't cooperate.

He'll walk to the church he says. He adds, for the millionth time, that the cursed white stuff from the sky better not show up in Heaven. 

My spirit droops at the negativity. And he hangs up.

I pray for him because I know how much he hates snow, and that car, and being American-poor.

Then I remember something else he said. Walk to the church?! He's going to walk to the church in a driving snow in single-digit temps?


I call back, telling him we'll pick him up and drive him to the church. He's too mad to object.

We pile in the van, most of us still in our Saturday pajamas. The roads aren't plowed, so it's slow travel. A couple of the kids sit nervous. They'd looked forward to drawing, coloring, painting, and baking, instead of this.

We find Daddy. The two of us together try to push the entire car off the road. But no, the back end still sits on the road.

Husband, calmer than I expected, drives with us for the mile to the church. The children sit happy and relieved, glad he's not too angry. (Except at the white stuff, which he mentions.)


Before he gets out of the van we discuss going back to the car in a few hours to try starting it again. We hope to save the tow truck costs.


Daddy safely delivered, the kids and Momma travel back home to our Saturday morning pursuits. Me, writing; the kids, creating.

Husband calls about two hours later. I expect to pile back in the van.

Even more distressed, he reports that his 1986 Buick--the ugly one without any paint--got towed away by the State Police according to our mechanic, who thinks he saw the tow truck driving away with it. A member of the church confirms that he, too, saw it getting towed. It's ugly enough that there's no mistaking it. Or shall I say humble enough?

It will cost about two hundred dollars to retrieve it and get it towed to Gary's garage. And that can't happen until Monday night, due to the severe snow this weekend.

Husband tells me about something else, too. A forty-car pile-up on a nearby freeway. He thanks the Lord we weren't in it, repenting about his anger and complaining spirit.

A kind staff member grieves with husband--the one who watched the car get towed. A music banquet going on, the pastor is there too, mingling in between working on his sermon. He walks up to my husband. "The church wants to help you with this."

This isn't our church, mind you. It's a liberal, watered-down gospel church, functioning like a universalist organization. Holiness isn't important to them, but social justice? Very important. They put Christian churches to shame.

My countenance falls at this offer of help. "Do we have to, Lord? I hate accepting help! It's so dreadful, Lord! Please don't make me do this!" (Not that it's my decision anyway.)

But there's something else.

A few days before this minor fiasco, we'd sent $200 to El Salvador for Nelson's family. (Part of tithe on some gift money.)

Did you get that? Because I didn't at first. We sent $200, and now we needed $200--which God graciously and quickly provided. He had a tidy plan the whole time!

When it hit me, I felt such shame.

I wanted Nelson to be blessed by the $200. By blessed I mean happy. Uplifted in spirit. Praising God, from whom all good things flow. Maybe obtaining a mattress with it and enough bedding for all three of them, or something to keep them safer in their urban gang area. I don't know their actual needs.

Just anything that would make daily life better. They need to know God cares. That He loves them!


My Heavenly Father desired the same for me...that I would feel happy and blessed. And yet I grumbled and complained. I didn't want to be that humble. I'm so dirty, still, after three years of American-style poverty. So headstrong and ugly about humility. I'm so sorry, Father. Change me!

For me this story means one thing. But for you, perhaps another?

In telling the boys about the helping hand from Daddy's church, I reminded them that we are to give generously, regardless of what little we have. God is always faithful, just as he was to the Widow of Zarephath, who gave up her oil and flour to feed Elijah.

We needn't fear as we give. We can give from a cheerful, excited heart!

And if you're like me, tell yourself this: When God gives to us through others, we should be wholly grateful and cheerful...not prideful, as I was. He loves to give good gifts to his children!

What about you? Is there a story of God's faithfulness you'd like to share? It will encourage us, friend.

1 Kings 17:8-16
⁸ Then the word of the LORD came to him: ⁹ “Go at once to Zarephath in the region of Sidon and stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” ¹⁰ So he went to Zarephath. When he came to the town gate, a widow was there gathering sticks. He called to her and asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar so I may have a drink?” ¹¹ As she was going to get it, he called, “And bring me, please, a piece of bread.”

 ¹² “As surely as the LORD your God lives,” she replied, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die.”

 ¹³ Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home and do as you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ For this is what the LORD, the God of Israel, says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the LORD sends rain on the land.’”

 ¹⁵ She went away and did as Elijah had told her. So there was food every day for Elijah and for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ For the jar of flour was not used up and the jug of oil did not run dry, in keeping with the word of the LORD spoken by Elijah.

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A Mother Muses

~ I love February for the hours spent creating--Valentines, heart cookies, cakes, funny poems, memories.

~ Every night lately the girls want to hear Salty Dog, by Gloria Rand. It's a long read and we're not quite sure what they love about it, except that the main character? A dog. Kids love dog books. Period. They don't have to be especially unique or cute, although that helps. 

It also provides schemata on sailing, which presents a new world for them. 

We will have to get a dog in the next couple years. Our kids will never forgive us otherwise; dog ownership never strays far from Peter's mind, especially. When he turned five we told him we'd get a dog when he turned ten. That seemed so far off and we thought surely we'd be ready, but now we have to consider the cost of dog food and health care. Smaller dogs eat less food, so we'll settle on something naturally small, but not too foo-fooish. It must have life and love fetching. No pampering some pink-bowed pooch around here! (Not that there's anything wrong with that...in case you have one in your arms right now.)

It's an understatement to say we're not house-pet parents. Cages? Okay, I guess; the hamster only got loose once. But a loose running animal? Shudder. The idea haunts our over-worked bones.

Like our Heavenly Father, however, we love to give good gift to our children. We're mentally preparing for a huge dose of sacrificial loving, as soon as our youngest can treat a pooch humanely. I think that means she'll allow the poor thing some occasional peace? I'm not sure you can have an entirely outdoor dog in northeast Ohio, especially without a garage. Just the muddy paws stretch my sacrificial parenting commitment. 

Tell me there's a special halo in Heaven for mothers who say yes to this childhood obsession? 

I do admit that the love between a child and a dog--the theme for many a famous novels--warms my softest places. It's a conspiracy, these books. All penned by adults who slept with their dogs all through childhood, no doubt. 

Dog hair and dander and E. Coli germs, oh my!

I caught her "reading" Salty Dog on her own. Upside down. That blessed me so! I had to rush to get a picture before she looked up.

~ Two brothers. Their relationship? Far from perfect, but blessed nonetheless. I do everything I can to make sure it lasts forever.

These two started writing e-mails to each other the other day, mostly so they'd both receive more e-mail. I suggested they express love and caring in their letters. Peter bullies Paul regularly, arising from academic and behavioral jealousy, and a lack of impulse control. The air needs to be cleared daily between them. Paul needs to know why Peter finds his brother special, and vice versa. In the first letter they listed four things they love about one another.

An hour or so later, I saw them sitting like this. When I suggested Peter sit in the adjoining chair so he'd be more comfortable, he declined. That blessed me so.

Dear Lord, you are so faithful to mothers! 


The scene changed about thirty minutes later, when Peter got to the saddest part of Where The Red Fern Grows.




My heart skipped when Peter walked up to me, crying hard. I noticed the book in his hand. All he could manage was this: "His dog died, Mommy." He sobbed and sobbed, just like the main character in the novel. He couldn't bring himself to finish the last several pages.

I held him and finished the novel through my own tears. Was it attachment to the characters that started the flood in my own eyes? Not necessarily. Seeing my son overcome with such grief hurt deeply. I felt exactly like the mother in the story. She watched her son grieve from the depths of his heart. Through her own tears she offered that the Lord has reasons for everything. The boy's heart, broken, couldn't accept that answer just then.

I knew finishing it would provide some closure for Peter, and for the heartbroken boy. The Lord did have a reason; the author weaved one into the story.

And the ending? It satisfied and amazed.

My children will face many trials and sorrows in the years to come. A mother's heart hurts sharply all the while! We can only hold them, cry with them, and remind them of the Truth.

A reason for everything? Yes. He uses everything.

And in the end? It's all for our good and His glory.


Romans 8:28
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

When a daughter or son looses a child, or a spouse, or a home, these words won't provide any more comfort than they did for the boy in the story. But as each sorrow unfolds and begins to hurt less, they'll see. 

In the meantime we hold, we cry with them, and we remind them of His love, remembering that His grace rests on them in ways we can't immediately understand. We trust in His grace for their darkest moments.

When you see your own child suffering, you understand better how our Heavenly Father feels when He sees us suffering. He suffers with us.

Purple Towels And Princesses

A gift certificate to spend, Mary tells us on the way to the library:

"I'm getting princess things so I can wear them to AWANA. I want to be a princess when I grow up and you have to dress like what you want to be."

Peter tries to change her mind, hoping she'll pick something at Toys R Us that all the siblings can enjoy together.

Peter:  "Mary. You can't be a princess. We're not a royal family. "


Mommy:  "We're not a royal family? Oh.  I thought we were. We have purple towels, you know."


Peter, exasperated:  "Mommy!"


Paul:  "Yeah, Mary. There's no such thing as royalty in America. You can't be a princess here."


Mary:  "Yes, I can."


Beth:  "I want a princess dress too!"  


Peter:  "You have to have a father and mother that are King and Queen, to be a princess. We don't have Kings and Queens here."


Mary:  "You guys are hurting my feelings."  


Mommy:  "Mary, when you get married, your husband will think you are his princess. And in God's eyes too; we are all his favorites, like princesses and princes in a way, because He is our King. And of course, you'll always be my little princess.


The van falls quiet for a few minutes. I vow to remember this conversation always, like so many we have in the van. Life is lived in the journey, not the destination.

I love journeying with this bunch.

Peter:  "Well, if she plays princess, can I pretend to be a prince?"

Mommy:  "Sure you can."


My sweet Peter has a foot in both worlds--childhood and adulthood. On the one hand, he thinks more like a grown-up now: if there's no royalty in America, then his sister can't be a princess. But a big part of him still loves fantasy and pretending. He'll come up with some grand scheme for all the siblings to be part of a royal court. They'll have a enchanted time, just as siblings ought to.

He's my imaginative one. I pray when he grows up, he'll be able to slip easily into an enchanted world.


With his own children.


I mourn the loss of play in my own life. I've fallen for adulthood. Fully.

Father, may my children never stop dreaming. May they always feel the possibilities.

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