“Could you come with me to visit my sister and her husband?” a friend asked my husband. “They’re having serious marriage problems. My brother-in-law saw how God is working in our marriage and asked me how it happened. Can you tell them how God could change their marriage, too?”
At dusk that evening, my husband, and I, waited with our friend outside his sister’s home. Half an hour later a dilapidated red pickup chugged up and shuddered to a stop. An overweight man with grease-covered clothes and a perpetual smile heaved himself out from behind the steering wheel, while his pretty, fashionably dressed wife hopped out of the passenger seat.
“Come in! Come in!” they invited, guiding us to the stairway which led to their living quarters.
“Excuse the mess,” the wife apologized, swiping clothes from the couches so we could take seats. The room was elaborately furnished but dirty. A deep layer of dust covered the top of the large-screen television set, the end tables… everything.
“Lord, give us wisdom,” I silently implored as we took seats across from the couple. How could we connect with folks we scarcely knew, and who did not have God in their lives?
The husband talked. His wife had failed him miserably and had cheated on him many times. She was presently meeting with a new boyfriend, a young chap she had learned to know on the street. “But I’ll forgive you all that,” promised the husband, “If you are willing to start over, be my wife, and be a mom to our children. I know you’ve failed, but we all fail. Let’s start over, Dear.”
The wife sat in stony silence. Our friend talked, pleading with his sister and brother-in-law to be reconciled. My husband talked about God and His plan for marriage, urging them to turn to Him.
Finally, the wife opened her mouth. Bitterness poured out; dishonor; old dirt. “You never show me that you care. You never buy me anything. Why should I try to please you anymore?”
The husband joined the fray. Both talked at once, on and on, louder and louder.
We sat with sagging hearts, listening, praying, thinking. I tried to imagine how the wife must have felt. She was pretty and young. Why stay at home to clean, cook, and wash clothes for a hulk of a husband who spent his days leaning over greasy motors and crawling under dirty cars? Why, when she could have fun on the street with a cool, young fellow who made her feel so-o-o special?
Finally, the couple ran out of steam. We sat in sad silence. “I’m sorry,” my husband stated finally, “but we can’t help you. The only one who can help you is God. And if you don’t want His help, there’s no hope for your marriage.”
“Yeah, I really should go to church,” mumbled the husband.
“Ha, ha,” sneered the wife. “Just see you become a Mennonite yet!” We rose and shook hands, promised our prayers, and left.
After we left that evening, more harsh words flew between the couple. Their two children came upon the scene and, siding with their father, drove their mother from the house.
From far in the distance came a sound of music—and what else? Singing. Joyful shouting. A wife threw open the shutter from a window facing the street, leaned out, and peered up the road. Oh, yes, today is the day my husband went to bring the Ark of the Covenant home. But why are they making such a ruckus over it?
Into the city danced the parade, singing, shouting, and blowing trumpets. David danced with all his might, his heart overflowing with thanks to God. After agonizing years of fleeing from Saul, God had established him as king. And now the Ark of the Lord was finally returning to its proper dwelling place… God be praised!
As David leaped and shouted his way up the street, his wife looked down from her perch at the window with a dark scowl on her face. Just look at how his robe flies around as he dances. Doesn’t he have any shame?! And hollering like that… what a way for a king to act! Doesn’t he care what others think?!
David returned home several hours later—tired, but happy—to bless his household. It had been a good day. He could tell his wife, Michal, all about it at the supper table.
But she beat him to the subject. [“My, but didn’t you act gloriously today,”] were her frosty words. David must have looked confused. [“I mean, jumping around like that in front of the maidens, just like a vain fellow from off the streets!”]
David must have been smitten. [“I was doing it to the Lord, to the one who chose me to be king instead of your father.”]
I imagine Michal wincing. Ouch! [“Why do you have to throw that in my face?”]
[“I know I am low in your esteem,”]* continued David, [“but those maidens you mentioned, they esteem me.”]
I think of the wayward lady in town who was chased from home by her children, and I wonder who will care for her forty years from now when her pretty face is wrinkled, and her back is bent.
I picture Michal’s lonely old age. The account ends by saying she had no children until her dying day. I doubt if her king-husband bothered to stop in with her anymore. Why would he? He received honor aplenty from others. I also wonder if Michal’s dishonor and their fall-out weakened King David. Several chapters later tell of his eyes roving to a neighbor’s wife and the resulting sin.
All wives are tempted to dishonor their husbands. We are tempted to dishonor regardless of whether our husband is a king or a mechanic, godly or ungodly.
Every day I choose to honor or dishonor the husband God gave me. I can skip alongside him, supporting with enthusiasm, or I can hang out the window, watching with scorn in my heart. I can focus on what he does well and compliment him, or I can nag about what he does wrong. My choice determines the reciprocating favor or loss. My choice affects, not only my husband and me, but also a cloud of witnesses… my children, my sisters in Christ, and my neighbors.
“And the wife see that she reverence her husband.”
(Ephesians 5:33b)
* This is how the Spanish Bible says it; the thought is clearer than in the English translation.
