For almost twenty-five years, these words have been my marching orders:
"Likewise wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives, when they see your respectful and pure conduct" (1 Peter 3:1–2).
Many a teary-eyed night I’ve wrestled with those words. Their heat has tested my faith. At times I’ve been carried in the strength that comes with the commands of God. But for too many years, I’ve wandered down dangerous paths and sat down to pout about my plight.
One of the more dangerous paths I’ve wandered down looks like the right way, filtered through the American prosperity gospel glasses I sometimes wear. It’s a path that allures with self-gratifying promises. It’s a poisoned wood that feeds my flesh and leads to delirious destruction. It says if I do all the right things, God will be pleased with me and my husband will believe. I’ve flexed my flesh and schemed of ways to get my husband to see if I’m right about God.
Maybe I should invite him to that seminar. Get him to read this book. Take him to that movie. Get him to go to that “get your best life now” church. Maybe if I dress sexier he’ll believe. Maybe if I just bend a little to his idols.
Down this path I’ve lugged a heavy yoke on weak shoulders and vainly strove under demands to do what only God can do. It’s a lying path.
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