I blew it.
My anger and rage came crashing down like a sudden summer
storm—loud, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. The kind that stirs up dust,
bends the trees, and leaves everything in disarray.
Our poor dog even tucked his tail and ran for cover. But it
was my husband who received the full force of my mother-bear rage. You know the
one: “You’re not cooperating with our goals! When was the last time you set
time aside for God? Why aren’t you leading this family spiritually? It’s not my
job to carry all the weight!”
I let the storm inside of me speak louder than the Spirit
within me. And after the winds settled, what remained wasn’t peace—it was
regret.
The words poured out fast. And just as quickly, I regretted
them.
Here we are, in the older season of our marriage, and still… I lose my cool.
We’ve walked through so much together. We’ve faced trials,
prayed over big decisions, and now we’re trying to live in such a way that
reflects Jesus more and more—especially to our children and grandchildren.
But sometimes, if I’m honest, it feels like I’m the
only one fighting for that vision.
And that’s where the problem begins: what I feel, what I perceive, what I think
he should be doing.
There’s a difference between observing and judging. Between
godly concern and emotional pressure. I’ve had to face this hard truth:
Just because I don’t see God working in him the way I
expect,
doesn’t mean God isn’t working.
Just because I carry things differently doesn’t mean my
husband is failing.
And just because I feel burdened doesn’t mean he’s ignoring God.
I’m not the Holy Spirit.
It’s not my job to evaluate his spiritual temperature or hold him accountable
for everything I think he’s not doing.
That’s God’s role. Not mine.
In our older years, we want to leave behind something
meaningful. We want our legacy to echo Christ. We want our marriage to preach
the gospel—without words. But I can’t accomplish that by controlling,
criticizing, or constantly correcting.
Instead, I’m learning (again) to let go of my expectations
and cling tighter to the promises of God.
“The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be
silent.”
—Exodus 14:14 (ESV)
There is peace when I surrender the role of judge and
return to the role of wife.
There is grace when I trust the pace of the Holy Spirit—not my own timetable.
There is joy when I stop replaying what he isn’t doing and start remembering
what God is already doing—in both of us.
Here are some Scriptures I return to when I need help
refocusing my heart and working on memorizing:
When I feel like the spiritual burden is all on me:
“For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his
name…”
—Isaiah 54:5
“My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of
my heart and my portion forever.”
—Psalm 73:26
When I’m tempted to speak too much:
“A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up
anger.”
—Proverbs 15:1
“Let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to
anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.”
—James 1:19–20
When I need to step back and let God work:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on
your own understanding.”
—Proverbs 3:5
“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him…”
—Psalm 37:7
What do I want to leave behind for my children and
grandchildren?
Not a perfect image.
Not a list of spiritual accomplishments.
Not stories about how I got everything right.
I want them to see a woman who surrendered often, repented
freely, and trusted God deeply.
I want them to know that faith isn’t about appearances—it’s about abiding.
And I want them to see that a wife can walk in strength and dignity, even when
her husband walks a different pace.
To the woman in her later years—who’s walked decades of
marriage, who has learned the rhythm of compromise and the ache of unmet
expectations, who’s longing to reflect Jesus well in this quieter season of
life:
You are not invisible.
You are not foolish for still hoping.
You are not called to be your husband’s Holy Spirit.
You are called to live faithfully, love quietly, speak
wisely, and trust deeply.
Let your life whisper the gospel to your husband, your
children, and your grandchildren. Your legacy is not in how perfect your
marriage looked—it’s in how surrendered your heart was, how forgiving your
words became, how gentle your strength grew.
And to the woman in her early years of marriage—tired from
sleepless nights and toddler tantrums, trying to raise your children to know
Jesus, while feeling like you’re carrying the spiritual weight alone:
I see you.
I was you.
I know the sting of praying alone. I know the heartbreak of
longing for your husband to take the lead, to initiate prayer at bedtime, to be
the one who says, “Let’s open God’s Word.” I know the frustration of feeling
like you’re building the house of faith with bricks made of exhaustion.
And here's what I want to tell you:
Keep building.
Even when it feels one-sided.
Even when you blow it.
Even when your words come out sharp instead of soft.
Even when you wonder if your husband will ever step into his role.
God sees you. God hears every whispered prayer over your
babies. And God is far more patient and faithful with your family than you can
imagine.
You don’t have to carry everything. You just have to carry
it to Jesus.
And one day—when your house is quieter, when your kids are
grown—you’ll look back and see that your faithfulness wasn’t wasted. It was planted.
You’ll see little seeds becoming trees of righteousness.
You’ll see God at work in places your eyes missed but your prayers never left.
So wherever you are in your journey—early years or later
years—
Whether you feel like you’ve got it together or like you just blew it again—
God’s grace is still yours.
His mercy is still new.
His plan is still unfolding.
“The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be
silent.”
—Exodus 14:14
Let’s finish this race well, dear sister.
Not by striving harder—but by surrendering deeper.
Not by demanding more—but by trusting more.
Your home is His.
Your husband is His.
Your children and grandchildren are His.
And so are you.
Held.
Loved.
Known.
Growing in grace.
Always.
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