I woke up to an empty(ish) house for the second morning today. My five-month-old son and two pups are here, all three sleeping peacefully while a light rain hits the roof.

Ahhhhhhhhh.

I exhale air from the base of my lungs that likely entered my body many months ago. The realization of its exit is both refreshing and torturing. Only now, in this stillness, can I feel how wound up my body has been.

I keep glancing outside to take in the scenery. An even thin layer of clouds covers the sky, filtering the harsh sunlight of the last few days. It provides a gentle grey backdrop contrasted with bright green grass, fresh from the rain. It’s an atmosphere my soul resonates with.

My favorite “chill” album plays in the background while I sip my bougie single-origin cup of Ethiopian coffee. The last time I played it on repeat like this was a few years ago when I escaped to Maine on a solo trip. I had needed a brief getaway from day-to-day life that had become nearly unmanageable.

The trip came a little over a year after our first son joined our home. Becoming a mom for the first time to a kid with seven years of life already under his belt wasn’t as glorious as Instagram made it look. My heart was fully swooned by him – yet that didn’t erase the trauma of his past or present circumstances – trauma that would soon bring unexplored traumas to the surface for my husband and me.

Sometimes the simplest things are the hardest things for us adults, aren’t they?

Trusting.

Forgiving.

Letting go.

Accepting.

Believing.

Relaxing.

I’ve found the older I get, the more complicated those things become. Shouldn’t it be opposite? Shouldn’t growing up and maturing mean getting better at this whole life thing?

But when I think about someone who is able to do all of those things well – trust, forgive, let go, accept, believe, relax…the first picture that comes to mind is that of a child.

A kid.

To be more specific, I think of the kid that was a part of the family next to me at the public pool last summer (side-note: the public pool is a miserable experience past the age of 13). This little boy, probably six, embodied many of these words within just a few minutes.

It all started when he and his little brother, maybe four years old, were taking turns jumping off the side of the pool into their dad’s arms. And by “taking turns” I mean the younger brother kept taking his turn and cutting off Johny (yes, I just named the older one Johny because, well, that’s just a classic kid name and it felt right).

It was pouring outside and the temperature was dropping so I knew I needed to get on the road soon, but my roommate and I couldn’t seem to stop chatting. I blew off my dad when he called and told me the weather forecast and that if I was going to make the trip to Ohio I better go now.

I figured I would get on the road in a minute.

An hour later I finally made my way to my car to begin my two-and-a-half hour trip to see Brandon. Long-distance dating was the worst.

I drove on that same highway like I had driven a million times before, but this time was different.

I guess the temperature finally hit freezing as I was passing that semi. My car suddenly spun out of control and I saw myself heading sideways into an 18-wheeler at 70 mph.

My entire life abortion has been a topic I’ve worked hard to avoid. Because my entire life abortions have happened, people have argued, and abortions just keep happening.

I distinctly remember being in debate class my junior year of high school when the topic of abortion was announced. I sat and listened as the “right wing” and “left wing” of the classroom yelled back and forth about women’s rights and the definition of life.

Usually a very outspoken member of the class, I didn’t say one word that day. I put my head down to join the “sleepers” in the classroom, giving me an automatic zero.

But I wasn’t sleeping. I was crying.

Today marks Part 3 of our series centered on pornography and how it affects women, particularly in the church (go here for Part 1, here for Part 2). I want to make it clear that my dear husband is fighting the good fight and is finding victory in this area. I also want to make it clear that I’m not writing anything that has not been approved, and even encouraged by him. We both agree there seems to be a lack of understanding and help for women that are affected by pornography and we hope that together we can begin talking about the issues of porn and lust in a way that isn’t often talked about. Our prayer is that it begins conversations that need to be had and offers help to women who feel like they are barely hanging on

I’ll never forget that horrific line I read in that popular, Christian marriage book that Brandon and I were told to read during our pre-marital counseling. It went something like this,

”The wife lacking in spontaneity may unknowingly be driving her husband into the arms of another woman.”

Ugh. What bull.

It has taken a long time to reverse the damage that one line made on my heart during those fragile months of engagement. I read that line over and over again, internalizing the idea that if I was not “enough” for my husband sexually then I would lead him to an affair.

Don’t get me wrong, that book had a lot of great points. And the author was trying to show wives the importance of loving their husbands physically, but the notion that a woman is ever responsible for her husband staying faithful to her is a lie from the pit of hell.

This blog was not an original part of the series I had in mind, but after hearing from so many women via private messages or emails, I decided we couldn’t have this series without making this one truth clear for a wife struggling with a husband’s lust issue. So let’s go on and throw it out there.

Sweet woman, YOU are not the problem.

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