Author: Samantha Barnes

20-something Arkansan navigating through the early years of marriage with Eric, a stud of a husband, and Ridley, a border collie pup.

of storms and canoes and the adventures of marriage

The cliche is that your first year of marriage is the hardest.

For Eric and I, our first year was hard, but not in the sense of our relationship. That seemed to be the easy part – and could have been intentional from the Lord since we went through so much with jobs and finances and decisions. We were definitely in the “honeymoon” stage of our relationship for the entire first year.

Then, week one of year two hit, and all of a sudden we were in the middle of a storm. We fought against this odd disconnect between us for several weeks. We were constantly frustrated at each other – usually for little things that never seemed to bother us before. Like my irritation at the crunching sound when he ate un-popped kernels at the bottom of his popcorn bowl, which then caused me to . Silly, right?

Marriage is like paddling a canoe. When you encounter storms, one of you can’t paddle alone to get through it. If a canoe is paddled only on one side, it will start to spin. And spinning in the midst of crashing waves and pelting rain never made anyone feel better.

We fasted and prayed (even though praying together was awkward and never what we wanted to do). It would be better for a day, then come right back. I wanted so badly to make things better, but at the same time my pride convinced me that Eric was the one who needed to apologize. That month and a half – from our one-year anniversary until mid-December – was harder on our relationship than our whole first year combined.

We are not out of the clear. I don’t think any marriage is ever 100% “safe.” The God-ordained goal of marriage is to reflect His relationship with His bride, the Church – and we have an enemy who wants to destroy anything having to do with God’s glory. But the fact that we will have storms to face – together – is part of the adventure of marriage.

Paddling is a canoe is about teamwork. You have to paddle together, on opposite sides, to keep the canoe straight. You have be in unison. Both travelers need to do their part to steer and speed the canoe. Otherwise, it’s easy to become bitter at someone for being lazy, and one will wear himself out before the other.

Ice Skating

Unity is one of the greatest needs when encountering storms. If only one spouse is willing to lay down personal pride and work through it, then they will not succeed together. Eric and I both had to decide to fight this storm, to admit faults and to choose vulnerability. Oftentimes, I have noticed that the problem starts in my flesh – I am choosing to hold on to hurt because he said something I know he didn’t mean. Or I am annoyed that he didn’t do something. I think, though, that the Enemy knows how to use these little ticks and turn them into fuel for the fire – Eric running late in the morning turns into “He is always running late. He knows that being on time is a big deal to me, but he chooses to ignore that. He probably does it on purpose. I can’t believe he doesn’t care about my feelings or about our reputation. People will never rely on us.”

All of a sudden, a missed alarm turns into a husband who is out to destroy our reputation! Yeah right, Satan.

Whether it starts out with your flesh or is direct spiritual attack, you have to expect storms when it comes to relationships – whether you are married or single. It means 1) that you are human (therefore, imperfect) and 2) that you are doing something the enemy hates. Which, in my mind, is affirmation for my marriage.

Not that I want to taunt Satan to “bring it.” But, at the same time, I have a husband who has proven he wants to fight for us, and I have a God who is on my side.

We will just keep on paddling together, choosing to live by faith and not in fear of what might be coming ahead of us.

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learning to not focus on fear

“There is nothing like suspense and anxiety for barricading a human’s mind against the Enemy. He wants men to be concerned with what they do; our business is to keep them thinking about what will happen to them.” -C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (from the perspective of a demon, thus God is the Enemy, if you haven’t read this book before)

Until the past several months, I never thought of myself as a fearful person. Lately, though, I have been plagued by irrational what-ifs. During the day time, I am embarrassed to admit the crazy scenarios played out in my head.

At night, though, they seem so plausible.

Which is why I laid very still last night, listening to Eric’s breathing but also listening for any unusual sounds in the house. Which is difficult, because our house already makes strange random sounds  – tree branches remind us that they need to be trimmed when they scratch our windows, the wood floor creaks as the heat switches on and off, and the wind seemed unusually loud and unpredictable.

Eric and I prayed against fear, but just as I would feel myself start to drift to sleep, I would startle awake and eye the light crack under the door for any sort of moving shadows in the hall.

Ridiculous. I know.

Not only did we pray, though, but I have been memorizing Scripture lately to help me fight fear.

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?” -Psalm 56:3-4

“God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea… the Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress.” -Psalm 45:1-2, 7

Yet I chose to dwell on the fear. It was a conscious decision to keep imagining what could happen if an intruder was in our house. Why he would be, I don’t know, but at the time, it felt so real.

And I don’t know why I don’t choose faith. Why I don’t choose to trust. Do I not believe that God is in control? Do I not believe that He is watching out for His children? Yes, bad things happen, and yes, there is sin in the world, but do I trust that He is holding me (and Eric) no matter what? And – the big question – what do I have to fear of death? Death is the “worst-case scenario” when I find myself trapped in this battle, but as a Christian, I have no need to fear death. My God is victorious over death.

And, as Eric always reminds me, I have a strong man to protect me ;)

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brrr in the air

Winter is here.

Despite the warmer temperatures during the day, I feel it. My feet feel it on chilled hardwood each morning. The gray skyline boasts of dwindling sunlight while the air teases my taste buds, hinting at snow symptoms without actually releasing any moisture save rain.

Plus the fact that my cold-natured self can’t handle the temps in the mornings OR evenings, so I layer up with my puffy Mountain Hardwear jacket, even if the promised high is in the 50s or 60s.

There are things I welcome about winter: oversized sweaters textured with corduroy pants. Thick wool socks to skate around our house. Snuggling on the couch with the hubby. Hearty stews and soups to crumble in crackers. Crackling fires (or the memory of them until Eric and I live in a home with a fireplace). Cinnamon-scented candles. { Except for the candle with the wick that drifted off to the side last night, overheating the glass and burning a blister into my finger. } Frost-filmed grass. 

frost from porch

Winter makes me want to write poetry. Actually, the transition into any new season brings on this desire. I haven’t written anything since completing my honors thesis a year and a half ago, so until I am disciplined enough to put pencil to paper, here is my poem on winter from my thesis collection.

TO WINTER

Come like a cat on silent paws.
Come like a sneak attack.

Come first only at night.
Come for the fallen leaves.

Come through my window –
Come creeping through unplastered crevice.

Come with sour, self-centered eyes.
Come bite my toes through threadbare wool.

Come rub your neck against my ankles.
Come shed a chill I can’t brush off.

 

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Immanuel

Immanuel. God with us.

This morning, I felt really encouraged by this quality of our God. I love the context of this name in Scripture, how it was prophesied in Isaiah as an answer to a rebellious king and fulfilled in Matthew to save a rebellious nation.

It is incredible that we have a God who wants a relationship with us. So badly, in fact, that He became flesh and bone. Felt loneliness and pain. Experienced horrific torture and death and, worst of all, separation from His Father. All so that we would not be separated from Him.

When I am conscious of it, I can see evidence of His Presence daily in my life. As I look back over the past year, I can clearly see Him walking through it with me, even if I felt alone and in the dark at the time.

Like when Eric lost his job last spring. I look back on that moment as one of my favorite moments of the past year – and of our first year of marriage. We were sitting on the porch on the hammock after work when Eric told me, and I just remember hugging him, tears welling up in my eyes, and feeling this sense of uncertainty about the future but peace about the present. Feeling more unified to Eric than ever before. And feeling more needy for God than ever before.

The catch, though, is that you sometimes have to look for Him. His Presence, while constant, is not always blatant. And it is not always evidenced in the ways we would want it to be.

Like when we entered September and recognized that seminary – a goal we had set our hearts on for six months – was not a possibility, at least not at the moment. We knew it had to mean that God had something different for us, something better. I felt confused – we had prayed earnestly about this and had were so certain about this direction. But we moved forward in faith knowing that God was involved somehow. And we are still moving forward in faith. We still feel that we are called to vocational ministry, and Immanuel keeps walking with us through unexpected jobs and unexpected opportunities.

O come, O come, Immanuel, and ransom my sinful heart from not always choosing to see Your Presence with me.

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story writing

I read about cinnamon tea once in a book. It sounded so delightful and romantic that I went out and bought some, then snuggled on the couch with my book and pretended like I was the heroine of the story.

Today, as the first day of October, seemed like the perfect opportunity to pull out the cinnamon tea and sip.

I love to picture myself as the heroine in a book. I narrate in my head what the writer would say about particular circumstances – everything from the constant creaking of our 4Runner  as I drive around town to my emotions at the end of the day’s events.

In real life, lately, I have felt more like the victim.  And I am realizing it is because I characterize myself as such. The perspective I take on the story affects how I see the story being played out. If every situation seems to fall short of what I wish would happen, I don’t see any progress in the story. The current is against me, and I can’t swim upstream. And I victimize myself so much that I end up hopeless, surrendered to despair and doubt of my purpose in the plot.

All of this – my perspective on myself and the story, the characterization I have assigned myself, the attitude I use to react to life’s lemons – is a reflection of how I view God. Because He is, after all, the author.

It all of a sudden changes from, “Things aren’t going my way” to “God doesn’t care about what I want. His plan isn’t good enough. He must not really love me, or I wouldn’t have to walk through this chapter.”

But I would never say or think that.

Not intentionally, anyway.

What do I actually believe about God?

  • Do I believe that He offers me rest? (Matthew 11:28-29)
  • Do I believe that He cares for me? (1 Peter 5:7)
  • Do I believe that He will provide the desires of my heart? (Psalm 37:4)
  • Do I believe that He will establish my steps? (Proverbs 16:9)
  • Do I believe that He knows where I am going, even if I can’t see? (Job 23:8-10)

Unless I put that head knowledge into practice, I will go through life as a victim – I will feel alone and hopeless and directionless and vulnerable to each and every attack.

I cannot change the fact that there is a villain in the story.

But I can change the way I approach this enemy – I can remember that, as a heroine, I am not alone. I am desired by the God of the universe, and protected by the Almighty Father.

My course has been mapped out by the ultimate story writer, but it is up to me to change my perspective on where the story is going.

He is plotting something great, and it’s okay that I can’t figure out what will happen next. That’s the thrill of reading a book.

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beauty of transition

It hasn’t hit yet.

But it is getting close. I can taste it in the air.

I can’t help but get this slighty giddy feeling in my stomach, as if I am about to embark on a new adventure. Almost the same feeling I had when I first started dating Eric : anticipation for the next day, hopefulness for the unknown, a longing for time together yet afraid of it passing by too quickly.

Of course, dating my husband was better, because that led to marriage. Which means spending the rest of our lives together. So he is a much better version of fall.

There is something so splendid about fall : the nip in the air, the feeling of an oversized sweater, a mug of hot tea warming my hands, and burrowing in sleep into the blankets on our bed (which have previously been kicked off the bed for the last three months). I want to take long walks and move through my day a little bit more slowly.

It also sends this craving through me for more time with the Lord. I really see God’s nature come alive. It’s like every single one of my five senses are engaged with Him during this time, and I would be perfectly content to simply sit alone with my journal and the Word. Other times of the year, I can’t stand to be by myself for extended periods of time, introvert I am not.

As it is approaching, though, I am already worried about missing it. Worried about the leaves changing too quickly and the weather becoming too cold. Worried about not getting to be outside enough and not savoring this special feeling.

But I don’t want to be so worried about the moment passing that I don’t enjoy the moment, too caught up in my concerns to not catch the beauty of the transition around me.

And I don’t want to be so entangled in what seems to be my personal thorns-in-the-flesh that I miss this season of life.

I am too easily bogged down with the things I am dissatisfied about. My focus turns towards the negative, even if it is something I can’t fix. And I know that this time is passing me by. Eric and I are almost at the one year mark of marriage, and for the past four months, I feel like I have characterized our time as this deep valley – I have been constantly clambering to get out of this pit, and it seems like the only thing I get in return is dirt in my fingernails from trying to climb out.

But this is a significant time in our marriage.

I have heard so many people say that they look back on the early stages of their marriage – when they are dirt poor and have no clue what they want to do with their lives – and they remember them being some of the happiest times of their lives. I don’t want to just look back and remember being happy; I want to recognize it in the present.

I don’t want to regret that the leaves will fall before they even change colors.

Carpe diem, I suppose. Everything is a transition into something new.

Seize the moment. Seize the adventure. Even if it’s not where I think I want to be right now. Each piece of autumn is beautiful, whether the beginning or end. And I know God is writing my story the same way.

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come

After a full day of wearing many hats (problem solver, complaints department, personal shopper, bad news bearer), it feels good to just sit. To zone out a little. To allow Norah Jones’s crooning to loosen the furrows in my forehead. To expectantly listen for the Lord.

The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.” And let the one who hears say, “Come.” And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.” {Revelation 22.17}

Dear Lord, I am thirsty.
I am needy.
I am useless.
Yet You want me?

The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. {Zephaniah 3.17}

We aren’t just invited to “come” because God is a people-pleaser who can’t leave anyone out. He is not extending His hand out of guilt. He wants us! Wants me! He desires to just be with me.

The best way I can understand this longing to be in someone’s presence is through my experiences with my husband. Even if we aren’t necessarily talking – reading books together on the couch or driving down back highways with the windows open – I sincerely enjoy his presence.  After a long day at work, all I want to do is to curl up on the couch and lean my head against his shoulder. When he went through a period at work where he was staying up late to finish tasks, I requested that he work by lamp light in our bedroom so that I could just know he was there while I was falling asleep.

But as much as I love being around him, there are times where I need separation. Actually, as I write this, I am home alone – I sent him off to community group without me because I just needed the house to myself. I needed to decompress and work things out in myself.

God’s not like that.

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. {Ezekiel 36:25}

This is where the analogy breaks down. God’s love is perfect. He doesn’t tire of us, even when we our emotions are in a funk. Even when we screw up. Even when no one else wants to be around us, God still longs for us. Wants to redeem us. Wants to hold us and change us.

I don’t want to be thankful for this season, honestly. It’s hard to be thankful when you feel lost. And I feel scared that, if I am thankful, God won’t bring change. Then I read this passage in Jesus Calling the other day:

Expect to encounter adversity in your life, remembering that you live in a deeply fallen world. Stop trying to find a way that circumvents difficulties. The main problem with an easy life is that it masks your need for Me.

Crapdangit.

An easy life is what I want. Honestly speaking. Which is why I don’t want to be thankful during the now. Because nothing happening right now is easy.

But if God is good, this is good. All of it. It will never be satisfyingly good, because that’s what heaven is for. And once I become too attached to earth, I don’t want heaven. And I don’t want God to grow me because I am comfortable and it will hurt.

God, I’m not comfortable. This hurts. But it reminds me that I need You. So I guess it’s what I want in the end. So Lord, I’m coming into Your presence, broken as I am, and trusting that You won’t give up on me.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. {Lamentations 3.22-3}

PTL.

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the gospel of my today

“We dilute the beauty of the gospel story when we divorce it from our lives, our worlds, the words and images that God is writing right now on our souls.” [Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet]

As I finished reading Bittersweet for the multiple-teenth time, this line convicted me. The essay discusses how essential our stories are – how our testimony is more powerful than any academic lecture. When people discuss who God is in their life, Biblical concepts become more relatable. Not only is it easier to listen to, but it is also easier to relate to.

But I don’t always want to share the messy parts of my life. Those are meant to be hid under the bed, in the basement, or on high closet shelves where I keep the rest of my stuff that I don’t want to organize or show off.

Even though that’s what the Gospel is based on. Jesus took our wreckage, and made it beautiful. His sacrifice changed us from hopeless to hopeful. If we were capable of taking care of ourselves, we would not need Him to rescue us. But I am finding I need this rescue daily. 

You could look at me right now, in this moment, and think that my life is picture perfect. I am lounging on patio furniture in our screened in porch (decorated with glowing stringed lights, of course), typing away, while my hunk of a husband serenades me with the guitar. Atypical for an Arkansas August evening, the weather feels like it is much cooler than the 89* my WeatherBug app tells me it is, and the crickets are chirping in a rhythm to match Eric’s strumming. It feels like a movie-worthy moment.

The truth, though, is that the past two weeks have felt like I am driving a car that breaks down every thirty-three miles. And never at the right exit signs. And always where there is no cell phone reception. And I could go on about how desperate I have felt at times.

Work has been a roller coaster of busyness but good conversations with coworkers but rude customers but friends leaving but small victories but stress. I don’t always handle the hard days like I should. Instead of leaning on the Lord’s strength, I choose to sulk or allow people whom I have never even met to hurt me, even though they don’t know me. And even though they are normally acting irrationally.

I choose to push forward on my own, convincing myself that I am tough enough, but at the end of the day, I repeatedly find that I have failed.

Eric and I had a rough week last week. Out of  the five weekday evenings, we spent four with other friends. We had separate plans every single morning before work. We had separate lunch plans almost every day. Eric had a couple of interviews which seemed unfruitful, and I didn’t know how to respond. We probably didn’t communicate like we could have. One night, I waited until he fell asleep then crept out to the living room to journal, because I was too embarrassed to admit to him how tired and distant I was feeling.

So where is the Gospel in this?

Right now. This redemptive moment. My day wasn’t any easier at work. My husband has two more interviews tomorrow.  We have lots more to sort out when it comes to our next steps together in life direction.

In the midst of what is the biggest storm we have experienced together through this point in our marriage (today is our nine month anniversary, by the way), we get to end the evening quietly. God is good. Though we are two broken people, we have a marriage that works despite difficulty. We are well taken care of and provided for. We have not given up in the midst of failures, and we are forgiven for our selfishness.

Redemption doesn’t always mean that you have reached the “happily ever after” ending of a story. Redemption happens while the story is still going on. Redemption happens even without a found resolution.

My story is certainly not over. But the Gospel is being played out daily, as I realize more and more how big God is, and more and more how much I need Him. I am going to be more honest about the state of my life, no matter how unorganized and out of tune it may seem, because I need to continually focus on the composition God is arranging and rearranging.

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deo volente

I am a planner.

If you want to spend time with me, you most likely need to ask a week in advance. Even if I don’t have a scheduled appointment one day, I most likely have already worked out in my head exactly how I want to spend that “free” slot of time.

I need goals and measurable ideas of “success” to motivate me. I want to know what is expected so that I can plan out my time. If I am in the middle of a project I don’t like, the best way for me to get through is to know where the finish line is – whether it is an amount of time or a list of things to get accomplished.

“…you do not know what tomorrow will bring… Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord will, we will live and do this or that.” -James 4.14a, 15

“Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring.” -Proverbs 27.1

I have a problem with this. I like to think that I know what tomorrow will look like. I mean, I planned it out a week ago! I have thought through all possible scenarios, and there is no way anything unexpected will change the plan because there is nothing unexpected.

This gets even harder when it comes to big life plans. Senior year of college, I was 100% sure my step after graduation was to raise support and intern with a parachurch ministry on the UA campus. I had prayed about it, I had received confirmation from others, I had spent hours working on the application, and I was accepted. You would think that all of that added up to the Lord making  a way for that plan.

You would think.

A month and a half before graduation, there was a 180 degree turn in my plans. Not of my doing. Only of God’s. And while I know that His plan is ultimately best, it did not feel that way at the time – even now, I am not sure I fully understand.

Sometimes I hate that He can play a trump card like that.

“God hath wisely left us in the dark concerning future events. We are taught to keep up a constance sense of our dependence on the will of God. We must remember that our times are not in our own hands, but at the disposal of God, and therefore must be submissive to him.” – Matthew Henry

I don’t want to submit to His will. I want to have a plan, and I want to stick with it. When carefully planned events change at the last minute, I get stressed out. I get frustrated. Because I put so much preparation into something, I feel like I deserve for it to work out.

I guess, in the kingdom of God, we don’t get what we deserve. In this broken world, I shouldn’t expect anything different.

As Eric and I talk through and pray about possible next steps for us, I start to get scared that God will change our plans. My confidence is shaky, so I do my best to ignore the fact that God still has the possibility to change our plans.

“But on taking leave of them [Paul] said, ‘I will return to you if God wills,’ and he set sail from Ephesus.” -Romans 18.21

How did Paul get to this point? How do you develop an attitude of approaching each situation with the realization that God could very well have other things in mind, despite any confidence you currently possess? How do you live your life in an attitude of submission, being willing to allow God to have the upper hand in the course of your life?

If you have an easy way to get there, let me know.

Right now, the only thing I know to do is to move forward until I run into a wall and I have to change direction.

If God wills it, Eric and I will get to pursue a seminary education, and we will get to start within the next year. 

I used to say that I was writing my life in pencil to help me view it as temporal and easily changed. I have been starting to reach for a pen. This is something I want to put down in thick, permanent ink. But I guess there’s always white-out for that.

Deo Volente. God willing.

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dark choice

I haven’t caught any lightning bugs lately.
 
I haven’t even looked for them. I’ve been inside, shut blinds, resenting darkness. But it’s probably my own fault for not wandering to look for light source. Or at least turning on a lamp.
 
When children are afraid of the dark, they beg for a night light. Or the hall light with a cracked open bedroom door. To rid yourself of the dark, you cling to light. Apparently, not me. Apparently, I choose to sit in darkness. I moan, I complain, I cry, I ask God questions. My husband bears the brunt of it, too. And as much as I long to see, I feel stuck. Immobility has overtaken my mentality.
 
As much as I want to be positive. As hard as I try to walk by faith. As many times as I have convinced myself that this is all a part of God’s plan.
 
I am here. I feel like I am quickly losing the fight, and part of the reason for my defeat is not the Enemy, but my own fleshly failures. I am choosing to give up, to sit and mope. I’ve fought long enough, and I don’t want to any more. Which means the only person deserving of my consequences is myself. 
 
I know there will be redemption in the end – I can’t wait to see how glory is formed from the opposite – but right now I might just need to sit in the darkness and continue to question. Maybe in the darkness I can listen for a Divine Voice to make sense of all. 
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