Wife After God

At the recommendation of a good friend, I bought a devotional called Wife After God: Drawing Closer to God & Your Husband.

Cheesy title? Yes.

Cheesy book? Yes and no. Mostly no (and that's honest and coming from a chronically--hey, I just noticed the Greek etymology of kronos, meaning "time"--sarcastic individual)

I'm only halfway through,* but I feel like I'm getting a lot out of it.

First of all, I really like the way the chapters are set up. Each one contains Bible verses or short passages to read, a one- to two-page devotional, a suggested prayer, a challenge, and three insightful questions to ask yourself. The whole thing takes maybe fifteen minutes to complete.

However, right off the bat, the Enemy tried to take me out in two ways: 1) he accentuated the cheese factor, and 2) he highlighted every grammar mistake and typo the author made.

(Okay, the second one might've been mostly me. I'm assuaging it by allowing myself to mark up the book in pen. I may respectfully submit my suggested edits to the author when I'm done so that the errors don't get in the way of the content for other jerks like me.)

The Enemy almost won. But God checked me with a lesson I've been handed a thousand times: things are what you make them.

Is there cheese in a scripted prayer? Sure. Is there an element of trite-ness in some of the classic anecdotes? Yeah. Is there cringiness in a chapter on submission? You'd think so, but actually I thought the author handled that chapter particularly well.

But what if I decided to be bigger than that all that? What if I decided to get everything I could out of each chapter, to work with it instead of against it? I'm not "cool" because I'm incapable of learning from something that isn't my style. I'd actually be pretty shallow and unsophisticated.

(Honestly that rant was kind of a tangent, because the book ISN'T EVEN CHEESY, I just wanted to point out a way that the Enemy fought hard to deter me.)

I've been doing a Wife After God devotion almost every morning as I eat my breakfast and drink my tea. I read the prayer through once to get familiar with it, then I read it aloud and try to mean the words as I say them. If I get to a question that has an easy, "Sunday school answer," I will intentionally STOP and think harder, because clearly there's something present that Satan wants me to miss.

I don't know if I'm a better wife now than I was fifteen days ago, but I do feel more aware of my marriage and my interactions with Gabe. When I feel a sharp tone about to come out, I think I'm aware of it a split second earlier than I was, and sometimes I can temper it before it comes tearing out of my mouth. I'm trying to pass everything I say, think, and do through the filters of Respect Your Husband, How Can I Show Love in This Moment, and Is Maybe This Something I Can Just Let Go (#AdventuresInNotBeingPettyAF).

Please don't mistake my efforts for claiming success. I am not naturally a kind or patient person, and I'm not going to become one over night. But even just creating those three filters has awakened a new awareness in me. It can't be hurting.

Favorite Chapters So Far
"Day 4: Your Spouse is a Gift" - Such a lovely, fun, inspiring perspective! The challenge was to think of your husband as a gift and hug him the next time you saw him. I actually did "Day 4" while at my parents' house, sans Gabe, a few days before Sarah's wedding. When I finally saw him at the wedding rehearsal, I remembered the Challenge and felt such joy. He really is a gift to me :)

"Day 13: Coated in Pride" - I need all the lessons on pride that I can possibly get, and I know it and want to work on it. I did "Day 13" while we were on our anniversary trip, and tried to make an effort to let us do things Gabe's ways that day (and since, of course ;)). My ways are not the only ways. I do not always know best. And anyone who knows Gabe knows that he's incredibly considerate and humble. I don't need to fight to have my perspectives and preferences considered. It's my pride that tells me I do.

"Day 16: Submissiveness" - This chapter is handled so beautifully. It highlights the hierarchy that God has ordained, but reminds us that we submit--men and women alike--because Jesus submitted to God the Father. Submission is not weakness. It's peace, freedom, and strength.

I'm thinking that maybe I'll go through this devotional once a year and see what different insights and approaches I stumble upon as our marriage grows and changes.

Definitely would recommend to Christian wives.

~Stephanie

* I write these in advance, so I am actually done with the book now.

Inside My Mind: OCD

You know how some people need things to be centered or aligned at right angles? How some people need the volume on the radio turned to an even number or can't stand it when there are crumbs on their counters?

I think that's not OCD. And that's not what goes on in my head.

I have not been clinically diagnosed, nor does OCD (usually) interfere with my everyday life (much), so this post is just a general exposition on what goes on in my head for anyone who's interested. It may or may not have OCD, but I often wonder if I do.*

My "OCD" has a lot to do with counting. If I hear a noise that has a definite number of sounds to it, I must count to that number in my head. If a car horn outside goes "beep beep," my head voice needs to say "one two" in the same pitch and speed. If someone knocks at the door, I count "one-two-three-four-five" (or however many) after the person's fist has ceased pounding. If I pause from eating to drink, I take six sips. I can tell you that the staircase in my parents' house has eight-then-ten stairs, and that there are fourteen stairs to get up to our apartment, which really bothers me, because I prefer things in eight-counts because of my dance history. Why does fourteen bother me more than eighteen? I don't know. Maybe undershooting feels worse than overshooting.

That's another thing I believe about OCD: you don't get to choose what makes sense, what bothers you and what doesn't.

While I prefer to count things in eights, five is the most governing number. Five feels balanced to me: two on each side, one in the middle. (Why not three? I don't know.) Because of this, I need my radio to be on volumes that are multiples of five or at least not just one away from a multiple of five. One away from a multiple of five feels very precarious to me, and it triggers a stressed response. Volume on 16 is a no-go. Volume on 17 is fine.

My "OCD" has a lot to do with following silly processes out of sudden, irrational fear.

"If you don't step on each sidewalk crack, Gabe will get in a car accident."
"You have to settle your knee into the couch cushion like this or you'll get food poisoning."
"You need the door to make a clicking noise when you shut it or your mom will die."

Do I believe any of those thing? Of course not. Do I intentionally make them up or call them to mind? No. I have no idea where they come from. Do I follow them? Sometimes, if they don't take me too out of my way. And I do worry that if Gabe were to get in an accident, or I were to get food poisoning, or my mom were to die, I would never recover from the fact that I didn't do The Thing I Needed To Do. Even though I know that's insane.

My "OCD" has a lot to do with needing things to feel "right." What does "right" mean? You don't know, you just know that you'll feel it when something is. When I'm drinking tea, sometimes I get caught in a loop of touching the edge of the cup between my two front teeth. I have to do it until I get a touch that feels "right." Sometimes when I blink, it doesn't feel right, and I have to keep blinking until my eyelids hit one that feels "right." Usually I try very hard to resist the start of this process, lest I get stuck in repetition.

My "OCD" has a lot to do with needing trivial things to happen, really badly. If I feel that my knee needs to crack, then I really need it to crack. Not because it's hurting, but because I feel it and it needs to happen. Each time I try and fail to hear and feel that crack, my breath comes a little quicker, my heart pounds a little harder, and I feel my skin start to prickle with stress. It needs to pop. It needs to pop. I have to get it to pop.

Similar to the above, my "OCD" has a lot to do with repetitive motions or ticks that suddenly descend on you for no reason, and you get stressed if you don't do them. When I was in middle school, I discovered that if I pushed on one of my bottom teeth with my tongue, the tooth seemed to shift a little bit. I felt it, and almost heard a tiny little click. I became obsessed with doing that, feeling that, hearing that. It worried me. Was I actually loosening my tooth? But I couldn't stop. To this day I have to fight the urge sometimes, because if I start, I might not be able to stop.

My "OCD" has a lot to do with fearing things like that, with fearing that a motion or a tick or a thought is going to become obsessive and compulsive. Once, I noticed that I usually skip the last stair when going downstairs at my parents' house. I said, to someone or maybe even just to myself, "That's fast becoming a habit." Now, 90% of the times I pass that stair, I hear the phrase "fast becoming a habit" in my head. It is very annoying. I have a few things like that.

For me, my "OCD" gets worse when I'm stressed or already bothered by something. If I have too much on my mind or feel overwhelmed, the tiny OCD things that I can usually power through become very loud and very strong and my stress response to ignoring them compounds. The skin prickling, the heart pounding, the breath shortening, the desperate need to move my body all threaten to overwhelm me.

Usually my OCD tendencies are just background quirks. Yeah, I count noises in my head and take six sips of drink, but that has zero effect on my quality of life. I bet you never even noticed. Usually, I'm fine. Even at my worst, I'm usually okay, just irrationally stressed.

But still. As much as I hate political correctness, it rubs me the wrong way when people joke or insist that they have OCD. I don't know if I do, but if it's anything like what I deal with, it's not that funny and you probably don't have it. 

~Stephanie

* It's 2023 and I can confirm that I do XD

Minimalism Part 2: Thinking It Through

Minimalism Part 1: How It All Started

Do I believe that minimalism is the "right" way to live?

I typed that semi-rhetorical question intending to follow it with "No, of course not." But then when I processed it, I became less sure.

Is it, maybe, and I'm just too afraid to part with my stuff?

In the ancient church, Christians didn't have a lot of stuff, and what they had was largely community-owned. (*quietly slides political soapbox out from under the bed and climbs upon it* Note that that was a personal decision that occurred within the church, not something forced upon people by the government. *puts away soapbox*)

The Bible tells us to store up treasures in heaven, and that where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Materialism is a big problem in our culture. We use possessions to show status, make life easier (sometimes too easy?), and make us feel special. Christmas, Valentine's Day, and weddings have all been cluttered up by "stuff."

Minimalism is about putting "stuff" in its place: if a thing brings value to your life, keep it. If it doesn't, ditch it. If we're honest about what brings value, this test weeds out quite a few of our possessions.

Having less physical clutter tends to promote less mental and emotional clutter, too. Do you ever just feel stressed when your space is messy? I know I do. There's something so peaceful about a freshly-cleaned room. If you live a minimalist life, you experience that sense of peace constantly (or at least more often) because you don't have enough stuff to create a messy space.

I definitely love the idea of minimalism. But I'm NOT a dog person even though I exclaim when I pass a cute pupper, and I'm NOT a minimalist even though I love the idea of living in a clean, spare space.

Aspects of Minimalism I Like
The Purpose - As we figured out above, I genuinely see the point and value of minimalism. "Stuff" should not be master over us. The minute you start to feel controlled or oppressed by your own possessions, you need to make a change.

The Peace - I do feel a sense of peace when I'm surrounded by less. I feel clean, unhindered, like my body and soul have the space to unfurl.

The Process - I think it's healthy and helpful to assess your life with the eye of a minimalist. What things--both physical and non-physical--add value to your life? What things just take up space, actively get in your way, or bother you? Why do you still have (blank)? Why do you still do (blank)? Why are you still friends with (blank)?

The Look* - I actually really like minimalism as a style. In high school, when Pinterest was big and minimalism barely a thing, I would collect images of rooms of gray, white, and black; furnished with simple, clean-cut pieces; and decorated with single items placed on shelves and tables.

Aspects of Minimalism I Struggle With
The Someday Items - I am the person who can create an outfit for any occasion at any moment. Do I need a Great Gatsby-themed outfit? I can make it. Do I need a Lois Lane outfit? I can make it. Do I need a Winter outfit to go as one of the four seasons? I can make it. Why can I do this? Because I have pieces in my closet that are completely random and useless 90% of the time. But the 10% brings me a lot of joy. Minimalism would tell me to get rid of those completely random and usually useless items.

Clothes in General - This is probably because I'm still traumatized from my Pre-Wedding Purge, where I got rid of things I didn't want to move into our apartment or didn't think a "wife" would wear. (I know. Literally no idea why I thought getting married would instantly age me ten years and radically alter my personality. I'm still completely baffled and miffed at Past Me.) During this purge, I donated a lot of items that I've since really missed, which makes me hesitate to get rid of things.

Family Heirlooms - Do I need multiple complete china sets, multiple complete silver sets, a WWI helmet, and a bunch of heavy, dark, old furniture? You bet your bonnet I do not. But one day, I will have them, and they have been in my family for generations. Family is very important to me. Now, I know a minimalist--and even lots of non-minimalists--will tell me that family is not "stuff" and that I can love and respect my family without taking on a burden of possessions. My own family would tell me this. But I struggle with it, a lot.

Books, Duh - Minimalists can be all about reading books and bettering oneself, but they are not about owning books, especially not physical ones. Gabe and I are very much about owning books. One day we hope to have a library, and we've already got a pretty good start.

Do I believe that minimalism is the "right" way to live?

I don't know. But I'm leaning towards "yeah, maybe," and my lifestyle is starting to show it.

In Minimalism Part 3 (the irony of having a million posts on minimalism...), I'll be thinking about how minimalism has changed the way I view gifts and purchases.

~Stephanie

*Does it bother me that I couldn't come up with another P word for parallelism's sake? No, no it doesn't.**

**Yes, yes it does.

Jesus' Name

"The Enemy, he has to leave at the sound of of your great Name."

Do y'all take that seriously?

I don't know that I ever did until recently. I don't remember what was happening, but I felt the Enemy in my head so strongly. He was right there, in my thoughts, changing my thoughts, turning me toxic, tearing me down, invading my synapses, wreaking misery in me. I felt so trapped and helpless and frustrated. I wasn't strong enough for it. I didn't feel a way out. I would just have to wait out the storm, wait to feel like myself again.

Then "Your Great Name" by Natalie Grant popped into my head.

No, my thoughts/Satan insisted. That's not really how it works. You don't even want Jesus. Just feel the anger. It's fine. Let yourself be angry. It happens sometimes. You're only human.

You know how you're in a moment of sadness or anger or sin, and for a fleeting second, you remember that Jesus can help you, but then you just throw it in his face and walk away because you don't even want Jesus you're so mad? That's where I was.

But out of nowhere, this tiny tendril of strength, like a plant growing up through a crack in a rock, appeared.

The Enemy, he has to flee at the sound of your great Name.

"Jesus." Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Jesus.

The little tendril of strength was so small and so frail and so pixelated that it couldn't do much more. I was afraid that if I hesitated to think of something else to say, the tendril would vanish. No great prayers emerged, no profound thoughts. I had no smart retorts to fling at the Enemy. I just had Jesus' name.

But y'all.

It worked.

*mic drop*

*picks mic back up because I'm not actually done*

The more I said Jesus in my head, the bigger the tendril of strength got. And quickly, I felt Satan let go, lip curled in disgust and defeat. His mantle of evil fell off and I was free to think thoughts that belonged to me and God. I was free. Jesus broke the chains of the Enemy. With just his name.

I'm not kidding. This moment was life-changing.

Obviously I'm still a wreck and screw up all the time. But Satan can't be where God is. That's just the truth. And the more I try to cultivate a space of God in my mind and home, the bigger the tendril of strength is when it appears. Some days I do hesitate and I don't grab onto Jesus' name quickly and it's really, really hard or impossible to throw off the Enemy. But the closer God already is, the more real estate he takes up in my mind and home, the bigger the tendril, the quicker my reaction, the firmer my grasp.

If you can grab that tendril of Holy Spirit strength fast enough next time, just start saying Jesus' name in your head (or out loud). Seriously. If it feels like it's not working, say it louder, faster, stronger, more. Do not let the Enemy lie to you and say it won't work or isn't working. He has to leave at the sound of God's great name. And he does not want you to know that.

~Stephanie

Minimalism Part 1: How It All Started

It started one year ago, almost to the day.

Everyone gets the End-of-Vacation Blues, but coming back from our second anniversary trip was especially hard: we were abandoning a clean, bright, spacious hotel room for our cluttered, dark, cramped apartment. We were going from a bedroom where we could get out of bed on either side to a bedroom where one of us had to crawl across the mattress and get out on the other side. We were leaving a place that held what we needed and returning to a place that held more than we even wanted.

We got home around 11pm and sat on the couch, discouraged, grumpy, and unhappy to be home.

"What can we do?" I said, looking Gabe dead in the eye. "I can't live like this. This is miserable."

We brainstormed for a few minutes, about how to rearrange the furniture so that we could at least get out of the freaking bed on either side. It was a long, involved game of mental Tetris, but we had a plan with potential.

"How long do you think this would take?" I asked.

"A couple of hours probably," Gabe admitted.

"Let's do it."

Gabe stared at me, head turned in a wary way. I famously hate being up late. I famously hate (HATE) moving furniture. "Really?"

"Yes. But let's start now before I change my mind."

In the bedroom, we unearthed the IKEA desk from under its pile of textbooks, books, papers, homework, belts, stamps, figurines, stationery, loose change, notebooks, and pens. We moved the piles into the living room. We moved the desk itself into the living room.

In the bedroom, we unearthed the dresser from under its piles of mail, socks, jewelry, jewelry boxes, watches, bowls of trinkets, loose change, puzzles, and dead batteries. We moved the dresser to the opposite wall.

With great effort, we dislodged our mattress from the bed frame and moved it off the bed. We moved the bed to another wall and remade it. I nearly cried at how beautiful it was to see all the space on either side.

In the living room, we moved a small bookshelf, situated the IKEA desk in the corner, and moved an end table into the bedroom.

We were left staring at several piles of junk in each room, but the furniture looked good. The bones of the rooms looked good. It felt good.

We gave ourselves a two-day deadline to take care of the piles of junk. To my utter SHOCK, we actually made that deadline.

As I lay in bed each night, I could breathe easier. Our apartment was still cluttered, dark, and cramped, but I could see better that it didn't have to be. We'd gotten rid of most of the junk that had comprised the displaced piles, and it had felt really good. We didn't need most of it. We didn't even want most of it. We could breathe easier without it cluttering up our vision and, consequently, our minds.

I wanted more of that feeling.

The next week I went through the jewelry that had been on my side of the dresser and in my hanging jewelry organizer. I only ever wore about half of it, if that. I easily gave away or donated the pieces that I didn't need, and I've actually had no ragrets--which, I will say, is NOT always the case with me. #PurgeWisely #RIPFavoriteWhiteCropTopFromMyPre-MarriagePurge

Since then, I've been using fewer seasonal decorations, I've been purging my belongings in stages, and I've become less receptive to gifts and purchases.

Am I a minimalist now? No. Not at all. Not even close. All you have to do is listen to a real minimalist podcast or watch a real minimalist YouTuber (shameless plug for my friend Ashley's channel) to know that I'm far from it.

Would I like to be a minimalist? Honestly, I'm not sure. That's kind of what this blog is all about: figuring out what's actually Me.

In Minimalism Part 2, I'll be thinking through minimalism's pros and cons, what I agree with and what I disagree with, and the areas in which I find myself particularly struggling with the concept.

~Stephanie