My Marriage Isn't Pretty

If you don't know me and my husband's story, all you need to know is that we started from one huge mess.
We started from destruction.
From the start,there was a lot of ugliness.

While so many newlyweds jump into marriage thinking the only fights they'll have to face with their spouse is who loves each other more, we came in completely beat up from the start.
We had fought to even get to the start. 

Marriage isn't pretty. 

The wedding isn't anything like real marriage.
Not everyone surrounding you is cheering you on as you cut loose on the dance floor.
Your in-laws aren't required to be on their best behavior and your biggest worry of if the tablecloths match the centerpieces becomes nothing but a tiny fragment compared to what you're now up against.

You cut the cake, you put away your new crock-pots (because we all know you get twenty of those things) and marital bliss begins, right?

Wrong.

Now,the fight begins. 

From the moment you make a promise to one another, that promise will be tried, pulled, punched and prodded.

I remember the day my dad got re-diagnosed with cancer for the fourth time and I collapsed in bitter tears into my husband's arms.
That was ugly.

I remember the both of us having to unpack all of our past, the one we had together but also the one with other people.
That was ugly. 

I remember my husband having to re-build the self-confidence in me that someone else had destroyed.
That was ugly.

I remember having to work through (and still continue to do so) my role as a step-parent.
That's ugly.

I remember having to patch the holes in my husband that were left from a previous marriage.
That was ugly.

I remember raising my voice at my husband as he was out in the rain getting me something to make me feel better while I was sick.
That was ugly.

You go through death together in marriage, some of that being death in yourselves.
Granted, I am no marriage expert. 
I have only been married going on two years, but me and Jarrod have been fighting for this for as long as I can remember and we have had more unpacking of pain to do than most ever will.

Marriage is a process of refining by fire. 
We go in thinking marriage is designed to add to us, to simply enhance what and who we already are. 
But really, marriage is designed to refine us, to break us down and to re-build us in a way that glorifies Christ all the more.

Refining by fire hurts.
It burns.
Just when you think every rough spot has been melted away, you're shoved back into the fire to be refined yet again.

Your selfishness, your bad attitude, your stubbornness, your greed, your low self-esteem:
It's all laid out and exposed within marriage and God's not surprised by that, actually, He designed it to be that way.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12New International Version (NIV)

9 Two are better than one,
    because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
    one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
    and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
    But how can one keep warm alone?

How cool is that? Your spouse isn't here just to make you feel good about yourself, they're here to stand with you, to help guard you, to keep you warm, to lift you up and to help refine you. 

For anyone who's majored in Literature, you've heard of the term "Foil" before, a character put into a piece to highlight the characteristics of another character. Now, this isn't to say your spouse is put into your story to highlight how awesome you are. 

Actually, they're put into God's story of your life to highlight how you could highlight Him more. 

Is my husband constantly pointing out all of my flaws for me, beating me over the head with how I could be a better wife, stepmother or Godly woman?

Of course not. He doesn't have to. 

That's not his job. 

God does that through him, though.

It's not our jobs to tell our husbands or wives (though I believe destructive behavior should be addressed) what they're doing wrong all the time.

It is our job to try our very best to highlight Christ in our marriage and through how we treat our spouse.

It is our job to display a lot of grace along the way.

Jarrod never has to say a word, yet by how he lives his life, He is highlighting the parts of me that could be more like Christ.

When I raised my voice at him as he drove in the rain to help me feel better, he responded in absolute patience and grace. 

That highlighted Christ. 

Ouch. I was refined in that moment. 

I am being refined by fire daily and I pray that I highlight Christ to the best of my ability within my marriage.

I love Jarrod and I want him to see aspects of Jesus through me as much as possible and I pray that the refining fire continues, as ugly as it may be.

When you get married, you die to yourself.

Death is never pretty.

The fact is: Marriage isn't pretty, but it is beautiful. 

A Toast to the Hurting on Mother's Day

Sunday morning I will not wake to the pidder patter of tiny feet, tip-toeing their way to my bedroom door to smother me in kisses or snuggles.

I will wake to a quiet, still house. 

Mother's Day. 

One of Hallmark's biggest marketing days. 

But when I scour the racks of cards for my own mother, I notice they're doing a fairly poor job. 

There's a section missing. 

There's a rack not there.

The section for the hurting. 

This day can mean breakfast in bed for some women, but isolation and grief for another. 

There is no section for the grieving mother. 

There is no section for the barren woman, longing to eat poorly made pancakes and to kiss tangled bed-head hair.

There is no section for the step mother, waking up alone in her bed, feeling completely forgotten. 

There may never be a Hallmark card for you hurting momma, but know you are loved. 

Know you are seen. 

Know you are wanted. 

Know most of all, that you are not alone. 

Did you lose your sweet babe, momma? 

Are you praying for a miracle, momma?

Are you feeling second-rate, momma? 

Are you feeling like a failure, momma?

Are you feeling lonely, momma? 

I don't know the flavor of your particular pain this Mother's Day. 

I don't know if you tried to be a great mother, but your child fell off the grid.

I don't know if you screamed and cursed at the Giver of life for stealing tiny breaths far too soon. 

I don't know if you spend your days loving on another's child like your own, never feeling recognized. 

I don't know if you are weary from the tests, the scans, the fertilization treatments; all leading to another pregnancy test in your waste basket. 

No one can taste the pain you've tasted, momma. 

No sympathetic looks or side hugs Sunday will make it better. 

This day designed to be filled with yellows roses and cheeky cards is often, for some of you, filled with curtain-drawn windows and loneliness. 

I want to speak life into you today, momma. 

I'm one of you. 

It is a day I typically dread. 

This year was seemingly going to follow suit, until Jesus saw me, lifted my chin and reminded me that I am never forgotten and He wants to celebrate with me. 

I don't know where you are or if your story looks anything like mine, but it's time to open the blinds on Mother's Day and let the Light come in. 

Celebrate the kick ass woman you are and all of the women around you. 

I will undoubtedly spend time with my own mother this weekend, but most of my time will be spent surrounded with other strong, beautiful, encouraging women; many without children or their own journey of hurt revolved around motherhood. 

I will celebrate my own journey and the journeys of the women around me. 

As women, we are asked to play many roles through various seasons of our lives. 

We play the lead role, then the back up, the stage hand and the set designer. 

Own whatever role you are in right now.

At this very season. 

The show can't go on without you. 

Grieving mother, barren mother, step-mother.

Get out and celebrate yourself. 

You don't need a flimsy paper card to tell you what you're worth or how much you are loved. 

Grab a glass of wine darling. 

Cheers to us! 

LGBT

LGBT

                Britney Davis

I’m told to hate the sin and love the sinner.

Whatever that means.

I’m told to love Daniel or whoever but to

Hate that he dresses like a woman on Friday nights.

I’m told to love him for who he is but to

Hate that he sometimes changes from his Wranglers to tights.

I’m told to love the bi-sexual girl in math class, but to

Hate that her girlfriend cooked her dinner last night.

I’m told to love gay people enough to tell them that God

Hates how they live their life.

That I should love the transgender enough to

Hate that they’re going to eternal damnation and to

tell them to simply change their mind.

That if they concentrate hard enough then they won’t want to

dress like a woman anymore or use a men’s restroom.

It’s all in the mind, just a struggle of desire.

That if they want a seat at the table or water from the well

they need to marry someone they don’t love because it’s

all a choice; love is always a choice.

That if they want to eat at the same buffet as the preachers

feeding their greasy bellies then they need to recant their old ways

and be straight like everybody else.

That we don’t hate them, we just hate what they are.

I’m told to hate the sin and love the sinner.

Whatever that means.