I sat in our kitchen with my head in my hands. Tears streamed down my face as my patient husband listened to my ramblings. I lamented the cluttered counters, the sink of dirty dishes, the piles of laundry, and the list of more important things still undone.
I thought about my responsibilities at church: the women’s class on Sunday, the kids on Wednesday night, the Christmas program that is yet unplanned, the help my pastor-husband needs from me and the requests still unanswered. I thought of hurting children and broken families and how inadequate I am to make a difference.
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The Best Marriage Advice I Ever Received
With the wisdom of 19 years, I sat across the desk from the most godly man I had ever known. My pastor, an immigrant from Greece, was an unlikely leader of our small-town homogeneous congregation. I had very little exposure to people outside of our white middle-class world and his accent added to his authority.
My soon-to-be husband sat next to me as we started our marriage counseling. We must have appeared so young, naive, and blissfully ignorant — indeed, we were. I saw these meetings as a test; I needed to have the right answers to all his questions. Where will you go to church? Do you want children? How many? What makes you think you’re ready to make this decision?
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