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I've rehearsed this scene in my mind 10,000 times: My husband, Barry, walks through the front door and says he has a surprise for me. He asks, "What's the one thing you want most in the world?" At first I'm confused, but when I look into his eyes, I know. He doesn't have to say it, but he does anyway: "I've given my life to Christ." But after years of praying, waiting, and hoping, so far that's still a daydream.
BARRY AND I met and married 24 years ago. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing: He liked my then-red hair and green eyes; I liked his broad shoulders and sense of humor. Plus, he was easy to talk to. As unbelievers, neither of us had a clue what our future would be. We just thought a life together would be a kick. A relationship with Christ was the last thing on our minds!
Our first three years of marriage were filled with partying, softball, and the birth of our first daughter. Then, almost without warning, God drew me into a relationship with himself. After overhearing some Christians in the office where I worked talk about heaven, I began asking questions. Although I'd attended church as a child, I knew nothing about the Bible and salvation. Then one day after a long talk with Rita, one of my coworkers, I prayed a simple prayer: "Jesus save me!" That prayer forever changed my life—and my marriage as I knew it.
Unfortunately for Barry, right from the start I was one of those obnoxious "Jesus freaks." I didn't share my new faith with my husband; I pushed, forced, and shoved. Believe me, I wrote the handbook on how not to win your spouse to Christ. I didn't speak, I preached. I didn't live out my faith quietly; I trumpeted my every minute change. I'd say, "See what God's done in my life? See how loving and humble I now am?" I prayed loudly in Barry's presence and made sure he knew he was a sinner destined for hell. I even packed gospel tracts in his lunch and added a Bible verse at the end of all my love notes to him.
To Barry's credit, he remained incredibly patient. (Maybe he was just tuning me out.) Most of the time he avoided my religious rampages by tinkering with our car. Sometimes, though, he'd get angry and yell, "Stop with all the Jesus stuff!" Barry told me he threw the gospel tracts away because they embarrassed him in front of his friends. Once in a while he'd get a pained look on his face and say he wanted his "old wife" back—Jesus-free.
Soon we were at odds with each other. I blamed any and all our marital problems on his unsaved status. After all, if we were both Christians, life would be "happy-ever-after." Or so I imagined. I tried even harder: blasting my Christian music and scattering opened Bibles around the house; crying and pleading with him to go to church with me. Sometimes, Barry would go. But instead of enjoying him next to me in church, I'd sit there chewing nervously on the end of my pen, praying madly that this would be The Day. Afterwards, I'd quiz him in the car, "What did you think of the sermon? Did you like the music?"
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