When Your Loved One Doesn't Love God
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[0 Comment]With every new year, Lisa hopes, "Maybe this is the year my husband will become a Christian." Meanwhile, she sits with her kids in church trying not to feel resentful as she watches other families—husband, wife and 2.3 children—filling the pews around her.
"I have to fight the lump in my throat," she says. "My mind races: I'm angry and worried and scared all at the same time. I try not to think about it, but what if he dies tonight? I get so tired of praying and waiting. And I'm tired of the tension at home, especially on Sunday mornings. I know it's wrong, but as I sit and count the couples, I can't help thinking, 'Why doesn't God do something!'"
In the past 20 years, I've often asked that question. The answer, of course, is that God is doing something—and he's keeping and sustaining me within my "unequal yoke."
That term comes from 2 Corinthians 6:14, where Paul admonishes Christians not to pair themselves with a "different kind." Unless a yoked team of oxen moves at the same pace and travels in the same direction, the yoke chokes one and pinches the other. The marriage of a believer to an unbeliever often hinders the believer's life with God and can cause both partners pain and discomfort.
Barry and I were unbelievers when we married, and back then a relationship with God was the last thing on our minds. Three years went by filled with partying, softball and the birth of our first daughter. Then I prayed a simple prayer that changed my life forever.
Unfortunately for Barry, I was an obnoxious "Jesus freak" right from the start. I didn't "share" my faith; I pushed and shoved. I wrote the handbook on how not to win your spouse to Christ. I trumpeted my every minute change: "See how loving and humble I am?" I prayed loudly in Barry's presence and made sure he knew he was a sinner destined for hell. I gave him every gospel tract I could find and added a Bible verse at the end of my notes to him.
Not surprisingly, we were soon at odds. I blamed our problems on his unholiness and his ungodly friends; he said I was a lunatic. One minute I'd be blasting Christian music and scattering opened Bibles around the house, the next I'd be crying and pleading with him to go to church with me.
When he wouldn't go, I'd sulk and make him sorry. He was sorry all right—sorry he married me. I wanted a Christian husband (preferably him); he wanted his old wife back, Jesus-free.
Then I read a book on prayer that challenged my whole approach. I decided, "That's it! I'll pray for Barry for the next 80 years, if that's what it takes. And I'm going to love him. Period." That was 19 years ago, and I'm still praying, but I'm no longer pining away in self-absorbed isolation waiting for his salvation to bring us fulfillment. I've decided that if it takes 80 years, then I want those years to be enjoyable for both of us—despite our spiritual differences.
Originally published in: Marriage Partnership, 1999, Spring
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