If you are a feminist, do not read this article. You will only be compelled to send me angry letters and/or hate mail. If you are a saintly wife who has (what you consider, anyway) a drumstick for a husband, do not read this--you'll also be irritated and send me angry letters and complain about why I could never understand your personal plight. If you are a whiney, spoiled woman who either does or doesn't recognize it, WELCOME! And if you are an imperfect wife married to an imperfect husband, you may find this letter of interest ...

When my husband took my hand at the end of the aisle on our wedding day, it was the luckiest day of his life. I thought as myself as being intriguing, entertaining, quick-witted and an object of sheer loveliness (one moment please ... gag). What he had actually married was a selfish, stubborn, egotistical, whiney, manipulative, greedy, demanding, bratty, unstable weirdsmobile. What a lucky guy...

Now, for the sake of accuracy, I should say that I wasn't all THAT bad--I had some redeeming qualities (one being that I truly did want to serve God and live a Christian life); as a matter of fact, I had enough good qualities to keep me feeling secure in my faith. Therefore, I focused instead on what was wrong with my husband.

In our first year of marriage, my darling would work all day and then come home to a house that needed to be cleaned and no dinner on the table. Also to a sour wife who was mad that she had to be bored and cooped up by herself at home without a car (oh, if only she had a car). This poor, unsuspecting man would generally respond with patience and love. Sometimes he'd even clean the house, put together a tasty dinner and try to console his pouty young wife. We were very poor; we had but one car and soon several kids, a lot of credit card debt and continual runs of bad luck. And if he ever dared to ask me to help with anything--especially regarding our income--I'd let him have it. After all, he is supposed to be the family provider. How dare he ask me to help out with money matters. Making money, budgeting money, and saving money all fell under his department, and God help him if he didn't live up to my expectations.

But he was still the lucky one because I was a clever, pretty little thing. And while his humility and patience did quite a bit to soften and change my heart over the first seven years, it seemed I was also changing him. While he was trying his best to build me up, I was unintentionally tearing him down. In those first years, I was mostly consumed with my own happiness, my own contentment, and my own emotional well-being. I was so focused on myself that I didn't notice that my husband was growing weary with his rotten lot in life. Now, naturally, no one would believe my husband is--or was--perfect. Of course he had/has his faults and errors.

However, my problem during that period of my life was that I was only interested in focusing on his faults. Oh sure, I'd acknowledge that I could be a little moody--but after all, HE was the reason why I was moody in the first place. That's what a helpful wife does, right? It was my job to point out his errors and weaknesses and then analyze how it affected my physical, spiritual, or emotional well-being. After all, every Christian I knew declared that a godly husband was the head of the household and was responsible for the happiness, godliness, and well-being of the family. And I was to help him be that godly man.