Category:Living in Love

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How to Change a Man

How to change a man

You’ve probably heard the saying that when a man marries a woman he’s hoping she’ll never change, whereas a woman marries a man hoping that he will.

It’s often more than a hope for her. He may actually be her Main Project.

But men are not projects. They are people.

I don’t like to be the bearer of bad tidings, ladies, but God only created one perfect man so far … and it took Him nearly 60 years to refine him.  Okay. Forgive me for bragging about the Love of My Life. I admit he’s not really perfect. He’s just close enough to perfect for me. [Queue country music …]

On the Bright Side, however, if the Lord is doing such a great job on My Cute Boy, I believe He can do the same with yours!  Your man can be so much more, and you can actually help him become Your Fearless Leader in the Dance of Romance!

Your man wants to be your Leader in the Dance of Romance … to protect you, guide you, and hold you … to choreograph Your Dance to maximize your pleasure in being with him.

Women have so much influence over a man’s life, and we don’t even realize it! Because much of the time we’re shooting ourselves in the foot. Doing all the things that make him worse (more defensive) … instead of doing things to encourage his self-improvement … things that he actually wants you to do that will naturally shape his behavior in a positive direction!

Learn more about how to change your man here.

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How to Stop the Lies

There’s a Love Story inside each of us. Our Heavenly Father put it there Himself.  However, the father of lies has been messing with our minds since … well, for a very long time.  He tells us that we’re not lovable and/or that other people don’t or won’t love us.  And he gets away with it for awhile, mostly because we don’t know or fully realize the Truth about who we are in Jesus.

Have you been following this story?

So many things had happened that shaped how she saw herself.  First she lost her daddy before she turned 3 years old.  By the age of 7, she began to experience intense shame for who she was.

Now she was 14 … and living alone. The kitchen sink was full of sewage. No one knew, but her … and the Lord. Instead of crying, she plunged. And plunged some more. And as she plunged, she sang aloud every hymn she’d ever learned. How Great Thou Art. Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us. Glorious Freedom. All four verses of every song she knew.

Sing the wondrous love of Jesus
Sing his mercy and his grace
In the mansions bright and blessed
He’ll prepare for us a place.

When we all get to Heaven
What a day of rejoicing that will be
When we all see Jesus
We’ll sing and shout the victory.

Instead of singing and plunging her way through her fears, she should have told someone so they could call a plumber.  It all seems pointless now.  Or does it?  How could she have made it through such a dark time without the Lord?

Many times throughout the years, life struggles would cause her to question the reliability of His love for her.  But she always knew He was there.

[callout]I know this story well.
Because it’s mine.[/callout]

However, these are only a few chapters of my story … chapters that have their origins in early life experiences and beliefs I’d held about who I was.  There have been many more chapters since then.  You can read more of them here.

But, best of all, I am learning that the best chapters are still ahead for me.

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Visibly Shaken

Beginning where we left off last time … No wonder she escaped so often … sometimes to neighbors’.  Sometimes to her only friend’s house.  Mostly to her church.  She felt safe at church.  She knew it’s where she belonged.

When she was younger and lived on the other side of town, she’d ridden the Sunday School bus with her older brother.  They’d walk two blocks to stand on the corner in front of the Christian Bookstore and pitch pennies while they waited to be picked up.  Back then, she only got to go on an occasional Sunday morning.

Thanks to an urban renewal project, however, they had to move to another house, which was back in the old neighborhood.  The best thing about it: Now church was just six blocks from home.  Before the family owned a car, she’d walk there and back three times each and every week – Sunday morning services, Sunday evening services, and Wednesday night prayer meetings.

The summer she was 12, she left church shortly after dark to walk home.  She remembered that it was that particular June because she was wearing the polka dot blouse and matching wraparound skirt she’d make in 7th grade home economics that spring.  Ever cautious about her surroundings, she watched and listened as she headed for home.

Just a block or two from the church, she heard footsteps behind her and looked over her shoulder.  It was a man in a checkered shirt.  Not wanting to appear afraid, she turned her head back in the direction she was going and quickened her steps, but only slightly so as to appear calmer than she actually felt.  Kansas was always rainy in June, and the sidewalks had puddles here and there – mostly small, but some large.  She lengthened her stride to make it over one of them – at the same instant the man did.

He wrapped his arm around her neck, slapping his hand tightly over her mouth, and commanded, “Don’t scream.”

Then he yanked her purse from her hand and took off.  She didn’t know in which direction.  Her heart was pounding so hard she couldn’t think.  As soon as the man had let her go, she began screaming at the top of her lungs.  Instinctively, she headed back to the church.  Visibly shaken and out of breath, she ran into the foyer where several adults were still visiting.  Her Sunday School teacher offered her comfort as she told the story.  The police were called, and the pastor gave her a ride home.

She didn’t sleep well for months. Lots of months.
Now she was 14 … and living alone.

To be continued …

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