Ask

We sat riveted to the television set yesterday and Facebook yesterday for Hurricane Irma updates. My husband's son, Michael, had decided to stay and ride it out with his beloved dog Ella. Though he encouraged his wife and little daughters to flee to safety, he left us with concerns and anxiety over his outcome.

Standing in church yesterday listening to the words of the songs, powerful Holy Spirit-filled lyrics brought comfort and a deep centered peace to my innermost being. It was in that moment with arms raised to my God that I gave Him my all. Trust, honor, worship, adoration. In the middle of the storm, literally and figuratively, I knew His desire was for good and He would see Michael through as well as so many others we'd been praying for.

It may seem too easy to some--this complete letting go. A trust that you have deep inside your soul that God's plans are for you and not against you. I've seen it many times, you see in my life. Too many times to deny that His mighty Hand was at work and that prayer was heard.

As a young child, my mother had severe depression and anxiety issues. It wreaked such havoc on her health that she was hospitalized many times. Though I didn't completely understand, the innocent child that I was, believed. I never envisioned life without Mom. When things looked their bleakest, when family members doubted that she might return home, I always felt a sense of everything working out. I may not have prayed as I do now, but a quiet trust became such a big part of me.

When a few years later, Mom was well, our family knew that a miracle had occurred and our lives would be better for it. Never again did I see my mother go down the path of fear or darkness. My father was a praying man too, you see. And his father, my Nonno, another who prayed.

I would learn through the years to ask God for situations that would arise, if I should continue on a certain path, or let go. When I would strike off on my own, confusion set in. But if I remained steadfast in prayer, an answer always presented itself. Maybe not the one I wanted, but in time, I would see how the outcome was for my good.

There was prayer during my year-long battle with scoliosis. Prayer for my brother, a change-of-life baby that Mom was told to terminate due to health issues.

A difficult time for my son in his late teens almost got the best of me. Fear and worry began to engulf me, threatening all that was good. The prayers of so many would carry us through this battle, and nothing harmed us.

I prayed in my forties about a man I met. I would have to move away from the town, friends, and family I loved. God's signposts pointed the way: Go. But I never knew that there was a reason even deeper than love that would bring Jim and I together.

Jim grew up with drinking as a normal every day occurrence. I hadn't been around this sort of behavior before. I didn't understand his issues with binge drinking, or the need for alcohol every day of a person's life. But I would see him begin to change during these times. With my heart breaking, I wondered if I had done right by marrying this man. I loved him, yes, but it all became too much. He changed when he drank. And I wasn't sure I would be able to withstand all that the drinking brought on.

I began in earnest to pray. Not the usual, "Lord please bless Jim, amen" type of prayers. I'm talking about honest to goodness out loud prayer. Bringing all my fears, anxiety and concern before God. I knelt with my face in my carpet with tears streaming down at times. I rebuked Satan out loud and cast him away from my husband. Yet year after year, the behavior continued. Wouldn't God answer this prayer? Would He ever show me the way?

I'm happy to report that this December will be two years that my husband is sober. Without getting into the details of how he quit, I know that it was my Lord and Savior. For even Jim had been praying too. And the powerful prayers defeated the enemy--the bottle--and the hold it had on my husband. He often says that I helped save him. I like to believe we were put together for this reason and many others.

Years ago, I remember meeting an older gentleman in the dental office I worked in at the time. He spoke freely with me about God. He told me the way to God's heart and listening ear were to ask Him. I keep a prayer journal and occasionally I look back on what that man said to me, and all the prayers that were heard through the years. The Bible says: Ask and you shall receive.

Life has not been easy or perfect. I've had many defeats and battles that were lost sometimes due to my own making, and other times, they just happened. I lost both parents within nine months of one another recently. But my prayers were different then. I was able to truly ask what was best for them. With my heart shattering, I knew it was time to let them go. My prayers changed and became some of the hardest ones to pray.

Yes, I've learned to ask. I've learned to listen. I've learned that it's not always best for me to have everything I've ever wanted. This life is meant to live and we are not meant to be perfect. That, my friends, is for our Heavenly Father. For He is perfect. Just ask.

An Amazing Group of Young People

I think it was the movie "Signs" that said: There are no coincidences. I happen to believe that.

Mom and Dad are up in age, and their house is showing the signs of its own slowing down of sorts. Old, rotted wooden windows, peeling paint and a shower that's been caving in for several years.

My father had always been the type of guy who could repair anything. There wasn't much he couldn't do in his healthy, robust youth. We all looked to Dad as a sort-of super hero, and would call him for any jobs in our homes, large or small. When my father became a heart patient, the tables turned drastically. No longer could me or my brother call upon him for help. It was we who became the helpers, the caregivers.

I learned a lot though: how to cut hedges well, as Dad would sit by while I had the hedge trimmers in hand, guiding me with his words and the rubber end of his cane as he'd point and say "you missed a spot." I learned many other jobs: painting, gardening, grass-cutting, things only Dad could do. I felt a sense of pride.

As the years passed, my own life got in the way, and little by little, my parents house would succumb to the ravages of time. My brother and I had our own families, so we would do the best we could, but so many issues crept up; things we couldn't do ourselves, jobs that got way too big. Especially the bathroom shower.

I asked around. Did anyone know someone perhaps who could be of help? Does anyone do this type of work? As I read my list of home issues. I was always rewarded with the same answers: either "no," or "well, it will cost you a fortune." Rejected once again, I would walk away, hoping and praying that someone, anyone, would step up and give us the guidance needed to begin and complete this job, or some of the others.

I found myself praying on the way to work each day. One of my most recent prayers was: "Lord, I ask that you would let my Dad live to see goodness, favor and blessing on his house. I pray that somehow a miracle would occur to be a help to him." But time would pass, and the shower wall began to give way more and more. Dad tried his own hand at small attempts of repair with my brother, but it looked bad, and worse than that, it seemed unsafe and unhealthy.

Two months ago, my father came back from church with a paper bulletin in his hand. "Kar," he asked me, "what do you think this means? Catholic Youth Heart Camp? Do you think it is something for heart patients?"

I read over the paragraphs, my eyes widening as I saw all the jobs this youth camp allegedly did. There seemed to be nothing they wouldn't tackle. There was a telephone contact number of one of the nun's in Dad's church. I phoned the sister the following day and found out it was true! If a family was in particular need, we could sign up to have work done around the house; inside and out. I filled out paperwork, answered questions, and I got Mom and Dad's house on the list immediately.

Yesterday the nicest group of young people I may have ever met, showed up with their adult mentor/supervisor. As we walked around my parent's property, talking of all the jobs that needed attention, I found their positive attitudes refreshing. It seemed there was nothing they wouldn't be able to do.... and that included fixing the shower.

I am an emotional person. Especially when it comes to seeing a miracle before my eyes. I cried right then and there, right in front of the group of seven young people and their leader. I told them that they were an answer to a prayer I'd been praying for a while. I couldn't believe that God would send this group to my family at just the right moment. Not early, but certainly not late. That's how He rolls. His timing is so different from ours. When I want to give up and throw in the proverbial towel, God is there and has my back. Not only my back, but all of me! And, it seems, my family's back and all of them as well!

The youth group is still working there as I type this, but my parents are in awe of the kindness of the teenagers and their mentor. They are polite, caring, Godly, hard-working. They don't grumble or complain, but work with their whole hearts as unto the Lord. This is what the Bible tells us to do, and I've never seen it more than through this youth camp.

These are young people, from what I understand, who give up a week of their precious summer, raising their own money for a time of prayer, reflection and very hard work. They give of themselves unselfishly, and I believe they get back a generous portion of God's blessings.

I had an answered prayer. And it came in the form of a group of teens. God can use you, my friend. He can use me too. Maybe, just maybe we can be the answered prayer for someone else. It's very, very possible.

The Best Worst Year Ever

I got the title from a good friend of mine. There was a time in her life that she was going through one of the most difficult events ever, the death of her father. But, she said, there had been so many blessings that year, that she didn't want to look back at it as the worst year of her life. The good events were so abundant, so truly from God, that she told me "It was the best worst year ever."

That got me thinking. I, too, am in one of those best/worst times right now in my life. In early December, my stress level was at an all time high. My husband and I were fighting over pretty much everything. We had four days off together for Christmas shopping and frivolity, but we were both at a power struggle for first place with ideas and "how to do everything correctly." I was at the point that I wanted to go back to work to escape the most wonderful time of the year and the man in my life. My husband's stress level had also been through the roof as well, with extra long work hours and other issues he struggled with. I couldn't find a happy thought toward him, or one iota of compassion. My aging parents lay heavily on my mind at all times, and I felt the joy being sucked right out of me.

But. . . there were several blessings that crept up sneakily. I opened an email one morning from a Pittsburgh publishing company that wanted to feature my new book on their online television show. Now, I must admit, I was more than a little suspicious that this was a fraud. I chuckled about it, secretly wishing it was true. I did a little homework, a bit of research and found out it indeed was a real event! Eight other local authors and myself included, spoke about our books for the television cameras. I'm not quite sure what may come of this, but as I always say: Any publicity is good publicity. This unknown girl who struggles to make a name for herself as an author was given this incredible opportunity. It was a dream come true. But. . .

My husband took a terrible fall during a holiday family get together. It was so bad, he ended up in the hospital. Now, I must admit, the "Christmas Cheer" was flowing pretty freely during the party. So his faculties weren't quite up to par to begin with. But when he broke facial bones and scared me and his children to death, I couldn't help but become angry with liquor and the fact that he'd come from a family that liked to indulge. I was not brought up that way. It's odd for me to see people needing a drink to have a good time. So I haven't been thrilled with this type of behavior throughout our marriage. However, a few great things did come from this. No major problems for my husband. No neck or back fractures even though it was a tumble down outdoor cement steps. And the best part: A complete change of heart. My husband has not touched a drop of alcohol since it happened. This was something I'd been praying for many years.

Another sneaky blessing came in the form of another email one day. A popular cat anthology that I'd submitted a few paragraphs to, had accepted my story! Never before in my writing career have I been "chosen" for anything. I felt as giddy as a child while I danced around my house the day I found this news out.

My brother phoned me two nights ago. He said that our mother, who has dementia, had a terrible bout of diarrhea and was bleeding. He called an ambulance to take her to the emergency room. My husband and I were in the middle of watching the movie "War Room" at the time. I had been completely immersed in the story line and hoped it was only a fluke with Mom, I must confess. She'd mentioned eating a whole box of chocolate covered cherries, and we all wondered perhaps, if it was the "red" of the cherries they were seeing. I got a call later that they were admitting Mom to the hospital to run more tests. It was indeed blood that was found.

Now anyone with a parent or loved one with dementia must realize that a hospital visit can be devastating. Mom had been in the hospital last year, and it had wreaked such havoc with her mind, she truly didn't know where she was and why my father wasn't there with her every moment and sleeping with her at night. She came home depressed from that episode and way more confused than she had been. So I fretted: would this time be like that too? I went on to Facebook and typed a quick status about Mom going into the hospital. And about sixty-five people later, prayers were being offered in a major way.

Talk about the blessing this time. Not only did my family have the stamina needed to be there for Mom, but every hospital attendant, nurse and doctor treated her extremely kind. Everyone took the extra special time to explain things patiently to her again and again, and to comfort each one of us as we awaited tests. The biggest blessing came in the form of the male nurse I'd left Mom with last evening. I stayed as long as I possibly could. The male nurse whose name was Matt, had promised me she was in good hands. But Mom wasn't having a good night. Especially since she'd needed to drink prep for stomach tests in the morning. I had a very rough night, unable to sleep much, tossing and turning from worry. Would the test have to be cancelled if my mother didn't drink enough prep? Was she giving that nice male nurse a rough time?

When my father and I arrived at the hospital this morning, I walked over to Matt the nurse. He admitted that Mom had a fairly rough go of it through the night, but he'd been with her as much as possible, actually spending several hours with her. His demeanor and way that he spoke, assured me that he had been the right nurse for the job. He'd comforted her and reassured her. And when I talked with Mom a few minutes later, she couldn't stop talking about the wonderful young man who'd been with her through most of her scary night.

Mom's tests turned out wonderfully, she went through with flying colors and even had a clean bill of health. A very small issue had caused her problems, and she would be discharged in a few hours.

I sit here tonight thinking back over a full month. From early December when I thought I couldn't take another minute from the holiday stress, to today when I thought I couldn't take another minute from how tired I was. I believe with my whole heart and everything in me that it was prayer that sustained us all through these times. My husband and I have prayed out loud together for at least five years before we go to work every morning. Is our marriage perfect, nope. But have I seen some amazing changes in both our lives, some blessings that only can truly be accounted to our Heavenly Father? You bet. And the prayers of the Facebook friends during these last few days for Mom. They weren't only for her to be "okay." Those prayers sustained every member of my family, gave us the strength, humor and tenacity needed for all that we had to do. Those prayers helped put the right people in our paths, great nurses, good doctors and a positive experience for my mother. She talked with me earlier tonight about how nice everything was. She thanked me for being there and spoke highly of her care and treatment. For someone with dementia, she was acting pretty normal.

Yes, life is hard. I've made some of my own problems, and there are others that come from the natural rhythm of things. But in the midst of some of the worst times ever have come the best ones as well. For God has promised us that He will never leave us or forsake us. He upholds us with His hand. He loves us unconditionally and He is a blesser, my friends. The things I spoke about in this blog may not look to some people like miracles or really great things. But to me and my family, they are answered prayers. And the little extras, the little sneaky bonuses I've been given on top of it all, have really made this time of my life the best ever.

Mistakes are a part of life

I met with one of my oldest and dearest friends today for breakfast. After great, heartfelt talk, I almost broke into tears. I thanked this particular friend for being there through some of the toughest moments of my life. Not only the normal ups and downs caused by regular day to day living, but the moments where I brought grief upon myself.

I thought back to the times in my life where I made some of the stupidest decisions in my dating choices. This friend would patiently talk me through them and talk to me about God's forgiveness, encouraging me to read my bible. During these times, I would feel as if God Himself wouldn't want to hear from me, so I stayed away from Him, feeling as if I was hiding.

My friend once told me that God throws our sins into the "sea of forgetfulness" when we confess. Being brought up Catholic and Italian, guilt and sorrow were the usual motivators. I would beat myself up for the longest time over particular instances. I felt that my sins were the worst in the world, and surely even God would never forgive me. My choices in relationships were volatile, and I fretted many a night over the issues brought on by them.

Looking back now, I wish I'd have done many things differently. I found that I was "addicted to relationships," something I encourage young girls to think seriously about before jumping in with both feet to the wrong person. In my loneliness at times, I would obsess over the next person to date, the next frenzy of hurry up and wait for the phone to ring. And in my loneliness, I would make mistake after mistake many times living with the shame of a wrong decision, hurting only myself in the process.

Take time to get to know and love yourself. I wish I'd have done this many times over. I wish I could erase the pain of a failed marriage, an abusive boyfriend, if only I'd have done my homework a little better and known what was right for me instead of always feeling I had to "have someone."

Oh how much farther I'd be in life and better off if the control freaks wouldn't have monitored my every move. How can I blame them? I allowed it to happen.

I envy people who never loved and lost. Though I believe in true love, I also know now that not everyone has a need to be with a partner. There are people who are perfectly comfortable in their own skin, enjoying their life to the fullest. Their attitude is, "if it happens, it happens. If it doesn't, I'm okay with that too."

It's time to move on from my past. After all, mistakes are a part of life, and I've learned some serious lessons from them. But when I see my son who is well-adjusted, stable and happy, I know somehow, somewhere I made at least one really good decision.

God Bless America

My husband and I sat in the town diamond of Ligonier, Pennsylvania as it was set up for a brass band concert. Along with all the others, we carried our lawn chairs to be set up all over the sidewalks and streets near the town hall. I observed people talking and laughing with one another. I observed camaraderie and pleasantries being exchanged. As I looked around to all the quaint, charming shops nearby, I thought, this is what bliss is for me. An old-fashioned setting, and old-fashioned ways.

What really caught my attention, is the fact that nobody was on a cell phone. Nobody ignored another by being coldly impersonal with an electronic gadget attached to their ear, or their fingers furiously working the screen of the newest I-phone or gadget. It struck me in its simplicity that this is the very thing we lack nowadays. And this is the very reason I'm writing my futuristic tale about a society where we no longer communicate by speech.

The brass band began practicing their notes, warming up for the patriotic Fourth of July weekend concert. Smiles emanated from every member of their team. You could tell they loved what they were doing. Local cops came by and closed off the road from the rest of the world, and I felt like we were in a cozy cocoon of peacefulness.

Right before the concert, a pastor approached the microphone. A handsome, older gentleman with twinkling blue eyes. I could see by his face that he loved a good laugh. I could see by his demeanor, he had something important to say. He began by telling us all that he was there to give the invocation. He explained that prayer is so necessary in our "new world." God has been taken out of the equation all over our country. And he, the pastor, is one man that is not ashamed to stand up for his beliefs and not afraid to speak the name of God out loud in our society. He prayed for us all, and for our world. He spoke bravely from the heart and you could have heard a pin drop. Applause resounded all over when the man was finished, and as he walked back to where he was going to sit for the concert, many of us wanted to reach out, shake his hand, and tell him just what his words meant to us. I couldn't help but think once again of the dystopian world I'm writing about. How one brave man isn't afraid to speak out in a society which has outlawed words, privacy, and even religion.

I sat in awe as the band played marching tunes, patriotism abounding. Songs with God's name proudly uttered, and a feeling of pride in who we all were at that moment. It is an evening I will not soon forget. Let's be so brave. Let's not allow today's society to take away all that we hold dear. Let's continue to fellowship with one another, boldly proclaiming the name of God. Let's put aside the latest gadgets in hope of reaching out to another human being. What if we change the world one person at a time?

 Yes, God bless America! Please...

Someone Was Praying

My heart sports a fragile crack as I look at the face of true love. My parents, Rich and Eileen. Two people who have weathered true storms in their lives. Two people who have beat many odds. Two people who truly know what it means to love one another with all your heart.

My mom grew up in an abusive home. Her father drank and gambled, taking out his frustrations on his wife, who in turn, took out her own frustrations on the children. From an early age, my mother was told she wasn't wanted, she was an accident, a mistake. From an early age, Mom learned what it was like to crave love and not receive it. She would grow into her teen years, the beginnings of depression creeping up on her, food, sometimes her only solace. 

Dad grew up a little differently. Though his father was a drinker, there wasn't any violence in his home, and his mother, my Nonna, was a rock and pillar of strength and goodness. Qualities which would become such a part of my father as well.

Mom and Dad married young, she was only nineteen at the time, and he was twenty-five. That sounds like little kids to me as I look back now. I realize, however, marriage may have been an acceptable escape for my mother, and the handsome man promising a wonderful future, a true knight in shining armor to her.

Abuse and neglect take their toll on a person, and no matter how much love you finally have, they aren't easily shaken. Mom fell into a spiral of mental issues, thoughts that would plague her and shake our family to the very core. Hospitalization would follow, and my father, the rock of our family would remain by his wife's side, loving her gently, caring for me, his little girl, and holding a full time job.

There were times when I, as a child, would wonder if life would ever return to normal. If my mother would return to us whole and well. 

Someone was praying. I never knew this as a little girl, but the power of prayer was working behind the scenes. My grandparents and father prayed. I know there were others praying as well. In my little mind I never understood this concept, couldn't wrap a child's mind around it. Though I eagerly "wished" for good things, God heard it all, and in my early teen years, Mom was restored to us.

Tests of fire would continue in this rock-solid marriage though. Major surgery would befall me, their little girl, as scoliosis ravaged my body. And a late pregnancy would surface, causing one doctor to advise an abortion for my mother, claiming her health was at serious risk. Not one to falter any longer, this brave woman would say, "I'll have this baby, or die trying."

Someone was praying. Once again, God was there. My surgery, though difficult, went well. My brother was born, and Mom remained healthy through it all. Prayer would sustain this family and many good years would follow.

Perhaps nothing is as beautiful as love in the golden years. Once again, as my heart cracks a little more, I am reminded of strong bonds of love. For two people who remained by one another through moments of true catastrophe. Dad would become a heart patient in his retirement years. Several times, we almost lost him. A quadruple bypass and a defib/pacemaker would be a new part of his world.

Someone was praying. This time, it was me. Not only me, but many others as well. But this time, I learned the true, powerful answer of prayer. As I put my trust in God, He never failed us. Dad came through many years of congestive heart failure, hospital visits, and this time, it would be Mom who had to be strong.

And now, the love of almost sixty years of marriage. Dementia, health issues, an old house falling apart. Sometimes never enough money, yet always just enough. Mom's forgetfulness and Dad's health scares. So many things I just want to run and scream sometimes. Just two weeks ago, Mom was in the hospital. As anyone with a loved one suffering from dementia knows, this is devastating to them. A very confusing time. A week later, Dad would be hospitalized. And though it was very difficult, Mom found a way each day to sit by his bedside, waiting, praying, for his return home. Our family bonded together in a major way, and once again, these two people are reunited with one another in the little old home they've shared for so many years.

Love can withstand the test of time. The fires forged, the uphill battles waged and won. Love is everything and so much more. It's gray hair, wrinkles, arthritis and gout. It's pill containers, oxygen tanks, hospital stays and doctor visits. It's seeing the young beauty you once married, the handsome prince he was. It's all of these things. Mostly, it's the love of God, cementing commitment, trust and patience in two people willing to work at it. 

Someone IS praying! Let that someone be you and me. Let's pray for strong marriages, for a love that lasts a lifetime and beyond. Let's pray for resilience and strength, and an eye to see our spouse as they once were: beautiful, young, innocent and good.

Here's to my parents, Rich and Eileen. For all you've both taught me. For all the years of love. I love you both.

Prayer for Al-Anon

 A woman makes a decision. Hands clasped before her, eyes closed, she whispers into the stillness of the night.

 Does my husband know what it feels like watching him self-destruct, worshipping the glass god, a bottle? 

Does he know what it feels like to have a sinking pit in my stomach, wondering, will this day be different? Is this the day he’ll stop drinking?

Does he know what it feels like worrying about our friends, wondering what they think of him? How he spoke with me that day in front of them? Are they talking behind our backs? Has he said something offensive or hurt them in any way? To know what it feels like making excuses for him?

Does he know what it feels like wondering what I’m doing wrong? Was it something I said that pushed him that day? To hear words pour forth from him like poison, knowing it isn’t really him talking, but the demons in his tortured soul.

Does he know what it feels like to hope this might be the day he stops drinking. He’s promised so many times before. I even watched him pour the whole bottle down the drain. To have hope, but feel it dashed away when he picks up that one drink.

 Does he know what it feels like sitting back at events, watching and waiting, not enjoying one moment as I count the drinks he’s having. To worry if this may be the time he goes too far and I have to explain why I’m driving home yet again. To answer his questions, ones he won’t even remember the next day. 

Does he know how close I’ve been to leaving, giving up and letting go? 

Does he know what it feels like when I cry into my pillow night after night? Shedding a trail of hot tears and clutching the blanket in my fist while I scream silently out to God in the lateness of the hour.
Does he know what it feels like holding these feelings in day after day with nobody to tell, with shame, fear and silence as my constant companions? 

Does he?

She cries out from her very soul. A feeling begins to wash over her.
 

 Dear Lord, does my husband know just how much you’ve given me the strength to believe, hope and trust even when it has felt hopeless and bleak? To empower me with the knowledge that one day he’ll be free, free of this bondage, this glass god he worships. To let you become the true Lord of his life and witness the power of your greatness, your healing, your mercy. To know every day is a miracle, a fresh start, a new beginning and for one more day, we can make it with you on our side.

Help me to know you better.  I want to completely surrender to your will. My husband has his own burdens. Please help me to see him in a different light.

She feels something break within her. She feels something else. Hope.  

A bible verse comes to her and with it, a promise.

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

Rising to her feet, the whole armor of God upon her, she knows she can go on.

On Marriage and Commitment

     Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up. Galatians 6:9

     Tears streamed down my face as I clutched a shredded Kleenex in one hand. My sobs echoed loudly in the stillness of the room while I poured out my heart to the pastor who sat before me. I’d come to him seeking guidance about my husband and some of his recent, hurtful behavior. He’d disappointed me and let me down, making promises he wasn’t able to keep.

     My wounds from a previous marriage were fresh and raw. I’d been through so much pain; I vowed no other man would ever hurt me again.

     The pastor sat quietly, listening, scribbling notes every so often on a pad before him. “As I see it,” he said, leaning forward in his chair, “bold prayer from your heart is the answer. Treat him as you want to be treated, with kindness and respect.”

     Are you kidding? I thought. How could I do this when I’ve been the one so grievously wounded? He doesn’t deserve it.

     I slipped behind the wheel of my car that day deep in thought while glorious sunshine streamed through the windows. The warmth enveloped me, opened my heart to the feeling of God’s love surrounding me. Perhaps my hardened heart wasn’t allowing me to see how much unforgiveness I held onto from my past. Though my husband had been wrong in how he behaved, I realized the only person you can truly change is yourself.

       A little later in the day, a cup of tea sat before me upon the kitchen table, untouched as I began speaking to God as one would talk with a loving parent or dear friend.

     Help me to know you better.  I want to completely surrender to your will. My husband has his own burdens. Please help me to see him in a different light.

     Something inside me broke then. When he returned from work that evening, I spoke more kindly toward him. I made an effort to ask about his day, and really listen from my heart. Little by little, it became easier to affirm his good traits. It became easier to hold my tongue when I wanted to lash out in anger. My husband melted as I considered his needs first. He softened toward me when I began to love him with my whole heart.

     It’s been three years since I spoke to the pastor and surrendered myself to becoming a godly wife. Daily prayer has become a strong bond in this marriage. Before we leave for work, my husband and I sit in the stillness of our living room, hands clasped together while we speak aloud to our Father for guidance. This has been the greatest change of all: The power of spoken words which has rooted our love and commitment to one another more deeply than I ever thought possible.

        

        Father, I pray our commitment to you and each other will grow stronger with every passing day. May I continue to be a source of inspiration and encouragement to my husband and may our home be a safe haven he can return to each night.