Messy Beautiful Love (3 page)

When the Lord says, “Take dictation,” let me tell you, you type! And not only do you type, but you type it word for word.

He continued, “It doesn’t matter where you have been or what you have done, My grace is sufficient for you.”

I got a little choked up when that sentence came to me so clearly. It’s not every day that I get such a clear message. Yet I wondered
, Is it really God instructing me to speak directly to you? Am I really hearing His voice say with authority, “Write this down”?

Immediately I turned to my devotional for backup. Next to my Bible, I keep this book close and flip it open often. Like a kid tearing off paper on Christmas morning, I was anxious to see what was inside. Turning the pages, I prayed, “God if there is something in here that says, ‘My grace is sufficient for you,’ I’m going to pass out. Seriously, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I landed on the page, and no, that’s not what it said, but the message He gave me was deeper and more explicit than any I would have expected to read. He led me to the story of Peter, one of the twelve disciples, who was passionate to serve
Jesus. He reminded me of the incredible leader that Peter was when Jesus said, “Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it” (Matt. 16:18).

He showed me how Peter, who with passionate faith once walked upon the water to meet Jesus, was the same Peter who fell asleep after his Lord instructed him to watch and wait. This man who declared, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will” (Matt. 26:33
NIV
), was the same man who denied Him three times that very night just hours before His death.

And through His teaching, God taught me that grace is for sinners. It is by His grace that I humbly encourage you to seek something more for yourself and for your marriage. You may very well be in a good place today, but God prepares the heart for
tomorrow
.

Regardless of how long you’ve been married or how strong your relationship, it’s inevitable that you will struggle in some way. Love is a beautiful thing, but it’s messy at times. Whether we’re dealing with a difficult spouse, financial problems, sickness, aging parents, or death, there will be trials that threaten the bond of our marriages, which is why it’s imperative that we are prepared.

I can’t imagine where I’d be right now—this very minute—if Michael’s heart hadn’t been prepared for the mess that I made. When I married him, I planned on spending the rest
of my life with this man. I didn’t expect that his love for me would bring him to the cross.

That testimony of love powers my desire to be clay in the Potter’s hands. By the grace of God I want to be transformed into the wife my husband needs me to be.

Walking together through life—that’s a beautiful thing, but it definitely has its moments that are messier than others. It’s not a math equation that a routine formula can solve, nor is it straightforward or simple. Marriage can be complicated and frustrating at times—we’ve all been there—but when we yield our hearts to God, we experience the blessings that obedience brings.

This world is cynical when it comes to marriage, believing most won’t last. And those that do last? Well, surely one spouse must be a miserable soul. That’s what we tend to see when we look at the standard this world has to offer. God’s standard, on the other hand, is rich. He offers abundant life to those who are exercised by faith. Joy and peace are ours for the taking. Jesus assured us, “I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly” (John 10:10).

When I started exchanging God’s ideas for mine, I realized that a beautiful marriage is not only possible; it’s inevitable. That’s something to be excited about! That’s what this book is about: exchanging God’s ideas for ours and tuning out the world so that we might quietly tune in to Him.

Before we dig into the rest of the chapters, I want to ease your mind about something, and I want to be up-front about my purpose in writing this book. I didn’t write these words to make you feel guilty or inadequate or give you the idea that you don’t measure up. If in the end you
do
feel that way, we’ve both missed the mark. Matthew wrote that our Savior is “meek and lowly in heart,” and His “yoke is easy,” and His “burden is light” (11:29–30).

I’m a cracked vessel held together by grace, whose deepest desire is to encourage you in your marriage. I don’t have it all figured out, and I doubt that I ever will, but I’m learning to lean on the One who does. I’m learning that when I follow His wisdom in lieu of my own, I’m walking in peace, and that peace floods into my marriage.

Before writing this book, I sat down and considered the ways that I wanted to encourage you in your marriage and the areas in which I wanted to challenge you. I made a list of the areas that were dear to my heart and those that I deemed important to being a God-fearing wife. Before long, my thoughts turned to prayer. Will you pray with me?

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TWO
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Walk in Compassion and Grace

W
ITH CANS IN HAND
I
FIT THE LAST OF
the groceries into what we referred to as our pantry. It was a section of shelving off the kitchen that was intended for food storage, but when you live in a 750-square-foot home with a busy toddler and an in-house book bindery, the pantry is home to everything from diapers to office supplies.

This narrow nook was originally our kitchen. That was all we had when we moved into the little house at the end of the street—a kitchen no bigger than four by eight feet—complete with a single stainless-steel sink, a short countertop, and one
small row of cupboards. It was a tight space, but I didn’t mind too much because this tiny kitchen was home. It was one little corner of the world that I could call mine.

The term
galley kitchen
may sound glamorous to some, but let me assure you that it wasn’t. The cupboards were yellow, the walls were yellow, the ceiling was yellow, and the once-white curtains were yellow. The tile floor? Yellow.

There was no triangle to be found in this kitchen. It was more like an obstacle course in which the fridge and the stove were in a separate room. It’s no wonder I was in good shape back then. Making a meal was like running a triathlon with a baby in tow. Run I did, and I enjoyed every minute of it! I probably baked more buns in that house than the Pillsbury Doughboy has seen in a lifetime.

Nothing about that house was pretty, not the commercial gray carpet and not the white paint that covered every wall outside the pantry. It wasn’t big or beautiful; it was simply
enough
.

We had a claw-foot tub in the bathroom, which some people thought was nifty, but showers were out of the question for us. So was storage. Our two closets were so tiny that we could not fit a hanger in either of them, so we hung our clothes at an angle. Towels and sheets were stored in baskets, and canned food was often piled on top of the fridge.

Curb appeal was nonexistent. Our back door was the least attractive thing about the house and the very thing that stood
out the most. It was a wooden interior door, perhaps taken from the galley kitchen. This worn-out door stood about three feet away from the public sidewalk—an eyesore to anyone who walked by the house. But by the time we were finished setting up house, several people asked if we had hired an interior decorator, and others offered to buy it from us.

The gray carpeting was torn out, and the hardwood floors were refinished. The dining area was transformed into a kitchen with teal-colored walls and black-and-white-checkered flooring. We installed new cupboards and a countertop with a double porcelain sink. I finally got my triangle.

We purchased one of those vintage-style chrome kitchen tables, and Michael refinished the chairs in cherry-colored leather. It was always my dream to have a kitchen that felt like a soda pop shop, and this one definitely did.

I picked up a wallpaper border that was painted with vintage seed packets. It was blue and green, the perfect accent for the teal-colored walls. The harvest gold appliances found their way out the door, while white appliances made their way in. I’m not a huge fan of lace, but when I came across a bolt of tea-stained fabric that was stitched into the pattern of cows, I couldn’t resist picking up a few yards to make no-sew café curtains.

I loved to watch Michael as he worked on our home and to help him with things that I could. Truth be told, I’m not the best carpenter, but I can refill a cup of coffee like there’s
no tomorrow. Together we insulated the back porch and installed a beautiful window that faced our postage-stamp yard. A brand-new steel door complete with a window protected us from the elements of winter. For about forty dollars, I painted the back door a glossy, bright shade of yellow, and later we painted the exterior of the house brick red with hunter-green trim.

When I wasn’t with my best friend, Cello, I spent my afternoons hanging wallpaper, painting walls, sewing quilts, and playing with Brendan. There were few things I enjoyed as much as caring for my family and our little red house on the corner.

I’d love to say that those were the best years of our lives because in so many ways they were. Sure Brendan was colicky, which made for sleepless nights and tired mornings, but the time we had together was nothing less than incredible. We went to drive-in movies, took Brendan to swim at the park, danced to songs from the 1980s, and played Monopoly at the kitchen table. I was more in love than I had ever been, and I was happy just being a wife and a mom. Those were the days when our love was beautiful. The days
before
things got messy.

Life has a way of throwing you curveballs when you least expect them, and since I’m not great at baseball, I didn’t see this one coming. I don’t think my husband did either; we were just two young people in love with big dreams for the future.

Michael had been working for several years at a book bindery when things finally came to a screeching halt. It was closing its doors, which gave him only two options: pick up the pieces of this broken company or look for another job.

After taking it to prayer Michael felt that it was in our best interest to purchase the company. He said that as long as God was opening a door for him, he was ready to walk through it.

I was more of a doubting Thomas, wondering how any of this could possibly be good. We barely had enough money left to buy diapers, never mind purchasing a company, paying a lease on a building, and hiring employees. Michael’s answer was that if God was calling him to it, He would also provide a way.

Little did either of us know that our lives were about to go through the fire. You know the refiner’s fire that sounds so beautiful when you sing about it? That stuff burns, let me tell you! Imagine walking on hot coals in your bare feet with a one-hundred-pound weight on your shoulders. Make it two.

In our seventh year of marriage, Michael’s company, along with three of its employees, crammed their stuff into our little red house on the corner. The basement stairs were temporarily removed, and a hoist was put in to lower heavy equipment. The back room looking out into the yard became an office space, and my beautiful kitchen with the white porcelain sink
doubled as a staff room. Two large tables were jammed into the living room where hundreds of books were stacked and ready for binding. The air was filled with dust; the hardwood floors covered in paper. Customers came and went with their books, couriers walked in without knocking, employees sat at my kitchen table to eat, and I silently wept.

I’ll never forget the morning when I discovered that Brendan had chicken pox. Wrapped in a blanket and covered in spots, he sat on the couch in the midst of a factory. More than anything I wanted to take back his home and be the mom I once was. I wanted to serve him chicken soup on the couch and cuddle up under a blanket in the privacy of what
used
to be home. I wanted to clean up the mess our lives had become, but to tell you the truth, I felt hopeless. I had started feeling more like an employee than a wife, and I felt our friendship crumble away under the weight of this newfound world we had built for ourselves.

Most of us have good intentions. But while we desire to love people the way that they
should
be loved, our flesh tends to get in the way. When I say flesh, I’m talking about every weakness that contradicts love: being impatient, jealous, unkind, proud, selfish, or arrogant; demanding your own way; and getting angry when others don’t love you the way that you think you should be loved. My flesh was definitely in the way, and it was clouding the way I looked at my husband.
The pressure of providing for his family and his struggle to do so were taking a toll on our lives.