Let’s face it, not one of our marriages is safe from the temptation of sexual sin. We’ve got it peering in our homes at night, heaving its buxom chest behind our computer screens, sprawling throughout our Sunday papers, and cat-calling at us from catalogs in the mailbox.

Not only that, but our men also face a physical blow against their faithfulness. According to Every Man’s Battle by Arterburn, Stoeker and Yorkey, a man’s body regenerates sperm every 72 hours. What this means is, every third day, in the midst of lust-inducing images shimmying around your man, he gets a testosterone boost to his system that drives him to one thing and one thing only: must…sow…oats.

Wild or not, the fact of the matter is our men face temptation everywhere, every day. It’s tangible, real and physical.

But guess what. In spite of the fact that sex seems to sell every imaginable product out there, and despite the fact that his own body packs its punch against a husband’s resolve, we wives are not powerless in this fight for our men. God’s word gave us a double-gloved punch to box the ears of the enemy to our marriage. It goes a little something like this.

Number one: Psalm 101:3 says, “I will set before my eyes no vile thing….” Know what this means? It means we can help our men by changing the channel on the TV, perhaps. Or we can stop getting those underwear catalogs (or at least be aware of the damage they do to him—maybe read them quickly and rip them up?). And we can refuse to take any step toward pornography in our sexual relationship. Don’t fall for the foolish advisor who suggests porn to “spice things up.” A thought of anyone else between the two of you equals a threesome. Besides that, imagining another person besides your spouse communicates that a spouse is not enough anymore. You are worth more than that and so is he. Don’t fall victim to any lies that will lead you two apart.

Number two: Besides the don’t I mentioned above, there’s also a do sent directly from God! Philippians 4:8 says, “…whatever is true… noble… right… pure… lovely… admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” Do you know what this has to do with your married sex life?

You.

That’s right! You are true. You are noble. You are right. You are pure, lovely, admirable. You are excellent and praiseworthy.

You are his wife!

Therefore I encourage you to offer yourself as the image to replace the “vile” pictures mentioned in Psalm 101. Hang out with your husband. Be his buddy, the image of his laughing companion. Turn the lights on when it’s time for a “nap.” Let him see your body, let him enjoy the wife of his youth. Allow him to relish in every curve of your hip, the roundness of your breast. Be the image of beauty he courts in his mind throughout the day. It’ll aid him in his fight. And you’ll find more joy in your togetherness than you’ve ever experienced before.

Sometimes it’s hard for women to get past their cellulite and stretch marks and move into this brand of intimacy. But I encourage you quite honestly to get over it. This is the freedom God intended in marriage. God gave you to your husband as a finely packaged gift. And it’s up to you to allow your husband the chance to open you up with the glimmer of surprise he hasn't seen since his childhood years on Christmas morning.

It’s great to be married.

Now get out there and fight for him! 

Ever feel like you spend most of your day repeating yourself? It's part of being a mom! Anita Renfroe says it all...

The other night I was reading my three-year-old the Bible story about baby Jesus (from the Storybook Bible, which I love. Great pictures. Great stories for little ones.) Anyway, even though these stories are simple, somehow they always send us into the uncharted territory of discussing theology with a three-year-old. (Don’t even get me started on the story of David and Goliath. I thought the poor kid was going to have nightmares.)

After I was done reading, AJ looked at me and said, “Mom, I want to see God.” I’m not quite sure why he said this. The three-year-old mind fascinates me. Maybe he was skeptical. Maybe he simply wanted to see what God looked like. Or maybe he was just trying to stall and find excuses to stay up later.

Whatever the reason he said it, his statement caught me off guard and I almost said the first thing that popped into my head (a common problem I have.) I almost said, “I know, Buddy, but no one can see God.” Something stopped me before I could get the words out.  One of those panic moments, where you think, wait a minute, I need to get this right. So I let his words hang out in silence for a few minutes. Then I said the second thing that came to mind: “Well … you can see God.”

His eyes got wide. “I can?”

I smiled and thought about all the times God had revealed himself to me. “Sure. Maybe not the way you’re thinking, but you can see pieces of God all around you.”  Then I told him some of my own stories. The first time I remember feeling like I had seen a piece of God. I was fourteen and on a backpacking trip. In the middle of the night we climbed to the top of Mt. Huron, a 14,000-foot peak, to watch the sunrise. As the sky lightened into a cerulean blue, then into pink, then into a red glow spreading up over the tops of countless snow-covered peaks, I could hardly stand. I thought I was pretty big stuff when I was fourteen. But that view reminded me I was small. Insignificant in this great big world full of beauty and color and creativity and goodness.  A great big world reflecting God.

I explained to my son that you can see pieces of God in people. Through compassion and grace and love.  I see pieces of God in my husband. In how he loves me, overlooks my weaknesses and gently draws out those parts of me he knows will shine. I see pieces of God in the missionaries I know. Isolated from family and friends and everything they’ve ever known, serving people, loving people. I see pieces of God in good books. In beautiful paintings. In my two boys who are so full of love.

This conversation with my son reminded me how often I focus on all of the horrible things lurking in the dark corners of our world. Instead I need to be searching for those glimpses of hope. Glimpses of God.

So let’s all focus on that today. When have you glimpsed a piece of God?

Joseph, my oldest son had a terrible cold that turned into a fever this week. He woke me up in the middle of the night coughing. And the next morning, his cough turned into a gag that made him vomit.

But—if you can imagine this—I rejoiced in it.

Yes, I did! Sounds crazy doesn’t it? Why on earth would I rejoice in a cough? Do I simply thrive on the bodily weakness of others? Do I dutifully accept the role of nursemaid over my little household?

Ha ha! Of course not.

I rejoice because this week’s trash can full of Kleenex stands in monument to a time in my family’s life where God reached a hand out from heaven and touched us.

When Joseph was about 2, he began having serious breathing problems. It wasn’t every day, all the time. It hadn’t been classified as asthma. But every time he picked up any little virus, sniffle or sneeze of any sort, his lungs seized up and he stopped breathing, often until his lips turned blue. By the time he was around 3, we rushed him to the hospital pretty much once every ten days.

If you’ve ever had a perpetually sick kid, maybe you were better at handling the pressure of the situation than we were. But I’ve got to tell you, when you’ve got two stressed parents who care way too much and want to do anything they can to save their child from brain damage, you’ve got a prescription for marital strife on your hands. It was mind-numbing. Heart-wrenching. Horrifying. And tiring.

Point is, it was tough. Every bit of it.

One afternoon, with another military relocation ready to spring on us from the corner of the next month, I flung myself onto the couch. “God, have mercy on us!” (Yes, it was that dramatic.)  How could we deal with a breathing crisis as we waded through packers, movers, an intercontinental car ride? “Lord, hear me, please!” What could happen to him on the road? What if his lips turned blue in the middle of nowhere? What if we were too far from an emergency room and we lost him? “God, I beg You to heal my son!”

Maybe this next part isn’t so strange if you’ve known God for a time, or maybe this is the craziest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. Whatever the case, my story goes like this. That very day, I happened to read James 5:14-15 in my daily Bible reading: “Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up….”

Astonished by this direct answer, my heart leapt with hope. But having been brought up conservatively, I quickly followed that up with a wide-eyed “No way!”

Imagine little nothing me going to my preacher, requesting a conference of our leaders and expecting them to pray over my little boy. The audacity of it! Surely those men had so many other things to do with their life. Surely they would think I was crazy, maybe even curving Scripture to fit the bends of my life. In my fabricated humility, I could feel it coming on: the most horrifying meekness known to man. Groveling weakness.

But then I looked at Joseph. I’d received an answer that very day. How dare I back off simply because of some arrogant threat of embarrassment!

So I packed my pride away and called the pastor of our church.

Thank goodness, he embraced my request with an opened heart. He pulled all the men together that he could and then they got back with me. Together those men listened to the trials we’d gone through. They heard me when I told about the petition for my son, the expedient answer written in The Word of God.

And then they prayed.

With all faith and assurance that God is the Healer, the Deliverer, the Creator of Divine leading, they called out for God to bless my son’s lungs.

As I listened to the words of these powerful men of God, my heart found total surrender in His will for my child. Upon the completion of the prayer, I knew no matter the outcome, God’s will would be done. I had followed His command in this situation, I had run the race He set out for me. I had asked for help from a source outside of our family’s own frantic prayers.

And now whether God healed Joseph completely and immediately, whether He led us to the correct doctors to encourage healing, or whether this ailment—much like the apostle Paul’s “thorn in the flesh”—remained with Joseph forever, I knew God Himself would sanctify and consecrate Joseph’s sickness. He would use our obedience and the prayers of the Saints for His glory. Through our son. One way or another.

Oh I can't wait to tell you the ending!

Even today when I think about it, it makes me still! Paralyzed by awe. Oh, the excitement and joy memorialized each time Joseph is blessed with a mere cold. Just a cough without a rush to any hospital near or far!

Joseph…our son…was healed!! So fully that he didn’t even get sick again…from anything for the next four years.

Astounding! And only by the grace of God. Who lives and reigns in the heavens and on earth.

And this is one of the many reasons why I believe in Him. Ha ha ha! It's laughable, really! Imagine seeing a memorial in a nasty old cough. God has such a great sense of humor!

Now I ask you, what kind of monuments has God built in your life?

Shoes and I have a bit of a sordid past. When I was in college, working my way semester by semester through my costly education, I had little money left for extraneous things, like shoes. When faced with a blow-out from the soles of my slipper-shoes, I’d simply duct tape them back on and keep walking until I found a little extra cash down the line.

Here recently (and out of college where it’s not quite as cool to duct tape your shoes up) all my cold weather shoes began imploding. One strap popped off, the soles split down the center of another, the pleather on my dressboots exploded around every seam…even the lining started hanging down on another pair, forcing my toes into an obstacle course each time I tried to put them on.

I tried to take many of my shoes to a "doctor", but he declared most of them unfit for surgery. So, there I was, back at the cross roads of shoelessness, seriously debating about whether or not to bring out the old roll of duct tape. After all, when ALL of your shoes have died, at which pair do you begin again?

Doot-doo-doo! In comes my shopping-savvy mother-in-law for a visit. Guess what her love language is. Yep, you guessed it: gifts! Sure enough, sensing my need somehow (was it the dilapidated heels flopping against the tiles when I greeted her??), she declared that she must take me to buy some shoes.

In the aisles of the shoe department, I found myself debating about which pair would be most logical. Because let's be honest, although I love it when women have on really great shoes—and certainly I’d love to be one of those who truly assert their womanhood via said shoes—the truth is my day to day life consists of walking my dog, working at my desk, walking to get my kids from school, house duties and then shoes off, jammies on and relax. Point is, although I’d love to look beautiful down to the soles of my feet, beautiful things are not the practical answer for my life.

Which got me thinking. I wonder how many women have tennis shoe lives yet long for ballet slippers. Or how many wear mules but admire those copper-colored patent leather Maryjanes?

Let’s do a poll for this. What is your favorite type of shoe? And if you have time, drop a note in the comment section. Do you feel like your dream shoe represents your life? Or is it more along the lines of what you’d prefer for your life (maybe at a different stage or under different circumstances…whatever)?

*Oh yeah, one last thing! I told you my mother-in-law was generous, right? She ended up offering to buy me two pairs! I know it; I’m incredibly spoiled. So I got some beautiful heels for church AND some practical soft leather Maryjane day shoes. Yes, I’ve shown them off to everyone I can think of…even you!    

I’m so tired! What a great night, though. I didn’t win the contest, but I got to hear Max Lucado speak, and that man has an amazing heart. I’m definitely disappointed, but, as everyone keeps reminding me, it was an honor to be chosen as one of five finalists. For once I can’t think of much to say, but I will share the encouragement God has provided me this very night. In My Utmost for His Highest, (written years ago) Oswald Chambers wrote an entry just for me. It is dated February 18:

“Let the past sleep, but let it sleep on the bosom of Christ, and go out into the irresistible future with Him. … If we are inspired of God, what is the next thing? To trust Him absolutely and to pray on the ground of his redemption. Never let a sense of failure corrupt your new action.”

Guess that means I don’t get to wallow in disappointment. Better add this latest dress to my collection and start focusing on those editor meetings I have scheduled in the morning!

Tomorrow night (Thursday) I will be sitting at a banquet waiting to learn whether or not one of my manuscripts will be published. I am one of four finalists in the Christian Writers Guild Operation First Novel contest. The winner receives a nice contract with Tyndale Publishing House and a $20,000 advance. But, most importantly to me, the winner will have their book published. To be truthful, I have been agonizing over this night for many weeks. I want to win. Is that horrible to admit? I want my book to get published. I’ve been writing fiction for over three years now. I’ve made sacrifices. The people I love have made sacrifices. All in order for me to pursue my dream: writing stories that teach people about grace. Writing stories that communicate reasons for hope.

As I’ve been anticipating this big night, I’ve thought a lot about the Olympic athletes we’re watching compete in Vancouver right now. (No, I’m not about to compare myself to an Olympic athlete. I am definitely not that tough!) They intrigue me. These people spend most of their early lives honing their athletic talent, training in their sport, living, eating and breathing their sport in order to pursue their dream. They amaze me. Their entire lives are devoted to one dream: winning gold. Most of them won’t—we know there are not enough gold medals to go around—but that is why they’re there. Pursuing excellence despite the risks and setbacks, despite the fear of failure. Can you imagine the disappointment they face when it doesn’t happen? When something goes wrong? I always feel sick for the favored figure skater who falls on the ice during what was sure to be a gold medal routine. For the skier or snowboarder who crashes. But most of them will come back and do it again. Most of them will forget that pain and keep competing. It’s in them, it’s part of who they are. I can understand that. Dreams don’t die when something goes wrong, they simply grow and change just like we do.

I know disappointment. I haven’t even counted how many rejections I’ve got from publishers and agents. It’s all part of the process. I simply file the rejections in a folder and move onto the next thing, but that doesn’t mean it’s not disappointing.  I’ll be truthful again. If I don’t win the contest tomorrow night, I will be disappointed.  Like I said, I want to win. But I also know that I’ll be genuinely thrilled to watch one of the other finalists win. It’s such a gift to be able to witness someone else achieve their dream, to take part in something like that. Besides, the most important thing I learned during the last three years is to open my hands and surrender my dreams to the one who wrote them into my heart. Our dreams are safe in God’s hands. If I don’t win, this simply isn’t the right time. I’ll keep working, keep sacrificing. I’ll keep on pursuing my dream. And I’ll let God use that pursuit to change me, to help me grow.

Stay tuned and check back on Friday … I’ll let you know how it went!

What are you dreaming about right now? How do you cope with disappointment? 

•  When you get sleep only in two hour doses and showers happen only after 5pm for the duration of time in which it takes the water to boil for dinner. 
• When the budget’s so tight, you can’t even remember what it’s like to have your nails done much less get a sassy little ’do. 
• When the great fear of your life is that someone will accuse you of wearing “mom jeans”, but you’re so desperate for clothes that stretch and move with you, you just can’t bother about it that much.
• When you buy white shirts not because they’re professional, crisp and sharp-looking but because it’s the only color you can drown in bleach to rid yourself of spaghetti stains or dried blood from your child’s nose.
• When the clothes in your closet are divided into sections: can wear now (not a whole lot), will wear after I lose some pounds (way too many), and formal nights only (too, too few).
• When you finally break down and wear blue eyeshadow just for that extra oomph, and your kids say you look weird.
• When you can’t choose a show to watch all by yourself because you’re so used to considering everyone else’s opinions all you know to do anymore is find a happy medium.

These are the times you start to forget who you are, what your talents are, what makes your heart sing. These are the times you forget what makes you happy, what drives you to do things, what makes you fall in love again. And again and again.

This Valentine’s Day, in order to demonstrate true love, I encourage you to be true to yourself.

• If you need to feel pretty again, don’t wish he’d notice all you do and offer to help. Use your voice. Ask your husband to take care of dinner so you can take the time to look really good today—including styling the hair, even swiping on some mascara.
• If you’re trying to be sensitive to a strained money situation, don’t hope that your husband will magically appear with a certificate to a local spa and prod you into spending time there. Tell him you’d like to get a real haircut, maybe a pedicure for Spring’s arrival. And together make it happen. Even if it takes you a couple of months to get the money and the appointment together, the promise that it’s coming will make it that much more exciting.
• If you feel great in a certain outfit, but your husband seems to prefer the old Polo you wore in the 90s, stick with what makes you feel beautiful today. After all, it’s not your outfit that attracts him, it’s the fire inside you that draws him your way.

Choose for yourself this day who you will represent. As for me and my house, we will represent the Lord. Intrinsic to that representation is an accurate demonstration of individuality. God made me into a force to be reckoned with when I run in His favor, in His Truth about who I am—or should I say whose I am?

Many of the things I feel I miss out on are simply because I don’t vocalize my needs. This is very feminine. I want to be romanced, understood, chased. I expect a man should know how to do this--especially after thirteen years together. But am I fair when I don’t tell him how to do this?

Love today by first remembering who you are. Then talking about it. It’ll be the best gift you can give the people of your life.

Around Valentine’s Day it seems like we often focus on girl-y images: pink stuff, flowers, heart-shaped boxes. Anyway, for a moment, I’d like to turn our eyes to more masculine ideas ... like men. From daddies to brothers to uncles to husbands and even some friends along the way, there are guys that give us women the tiniest glimpse into the powerful and masculine love of God, the ultimate valentine.

I come from a solid family with a good father and two big brothers. I’m also married now to a great man. I mention this because, as I look back on some of the sure-minded steps I’ve taken, I think I can attribute my surety to the powerful males in my life. I love these guys, and I want to share a little bit about how they’ve influenced me.

My daddy was my first love. He is the one who gave me the tiniest picture of God’s great adoration for me. One of my treasured memories of him was when I was about 8. I was in my purple cowboy hat and boots, getting ready to go on a date with him to the Houston Rodeo. I sang into the mirror, “I’m the happiest girl in the whole U.S.A.” (If your parents were into 80s country music, you might remember that song.)

The significance of this time, I think, is that my dad, through this and many other instances, established within me an internal assurance that I was worth good treatment and respect. He set my life on a healthy path, green with life and expectation. And he prevented me from settling, not only on which men I chose, but also on which pathways I looked for. After a purple hatted dance down fruited and flowering walkways, you never go back to arid rocks and dirt.

My brothers, too, ushered me in their own ways. Deep inside a woman’s mind, I think we all know our strengths. Maybe I’m wrong about this, but doesn’t the definition of reassurance imply that there is already assurance established? If so, doesn’t it make sense that if a woman really looks inside, she knows if she can dance or if she is beautiful or strong? It’s just that she needs someone to say, “Yes. You’re right. Now move in this. Go. Be you.” This is what my brothers did for me.

Of course, like all siblings, my brothers weren’t perfect in all they said. But when I was ten and struggling with the weight of a milk carton, my brother was the one who told me to suck it up and carry the thing. Guess what! He was right. I was strong enough to do it. And when I was eighteen and a size 8, laughing about my personal battle of the bulge, my other brother looked at me like I was insane. “You are not fat.” His voice was so matter-of-fact, so assured, and the words rang so true that I decide to cease that struggle forever after that. My brothers sought out and encouraged my strength. And they did it in a way that no kid-gloved female influence could.

And my husband. Wow. This valentine of mine has offered me so many strengths it’s hard to sum them up. But there is this one story that I remember often in times of decision insecurity. When I was a teacher, I got to teach the Bible as literature for a unit in the public high school in which I worked. The point was to show students the metaphors used in English literature. After all, what good is a reference to the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son if you really don’t know those stories?

Anyway, I came home nervous that my spiritual beliefs would spill over into the lesson in an inappropriate way. I did not want to proselytize, but holy smokes, the Bible was my very favorite book in the universe! Would I be able to zip my lips at the appropriate times? My husband looked at me with such fire I had to listen to him. “You teach what you need to teach,” he said. “If you get fired for it, then you get fired.”

I was so encouraged by that reassurance. Inside me I knew I could be a professional and I could lead kids in my own steady, effective and appropriate way. But there was this whisper of doubt that told me I might hurt others with my zeal. And I really didn’t want to do that. But the man in my life came in and squashed that doubt. He pulled me together, gave me the punch of truth I needed and sent me right on out there. Of course I didn’t get fired. The kids loved the unit, and later, outside of class and at an appropriate time, students occasionally asked me about my beliefs.

The blessing in my husband's words was security. He encouraged me to make decisions and run with them. Sure I might mess up. I might make mistakes. Alternatively, even if I did everything right, there may be people out there who still misunderstand me. But there’s not much I can do about things like that. So the message was to be the person I had to be and live in the powerful life I felt growing inside me. How could anyone doubt that wisdom?

Have you missed out on the blessing of men in your life, or do you have children right now who seem to miss the strong assurance of a man's hand? Take heart! God stands before you now with a romance like you've never imagined. He is the stuff that dreams are made of, and He longs to sweep you off your feet. Introduce yourself to Him, introduce your children to Him. He is the fullest and truest love you'll ever know. And chances are, after you've opened your heart to God, He will bring forth others to show you a physical example of His love, too.

"...Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed His love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for [us]." I Jn 4:7-10 

Happy Valentine's Day, my friend.

You've heard from me and the Bible. Now it's your turn. Is there a man in your life who helped shape you? Or have you dreamed of a great someone I may have described? I’d love to hear about it.