There's Hope Even When Your Children Know About the Cow Pies

Picture your marriage as a grassy field. You enter it at the beginning full of hope and joy. You look out into the future, and you see beautiful flowers and trees and rolling hills. And that beauty is what you see in each other. Your relationship is the field and the flowers and the rolling hills. But before long, you begin to step in cow pies. Some seasons of your marriage they may seem to be everywhere. Late at night they are especially prevalent. These are the sins and flaws and idiosyncrasies and weaknesses and annoying habits in you and in your spouse. You try to forgive them and endure them with grace.

But they have a way of dominating the relationship. It may not even be true, but sometimes it feels like that’s all there is—cow pies. Noël and I have come to believe that the combination of forbearance and forgiveness leads to the creation of a compost pile. That’s where you shovel the cow pies.

You both look at each other and simply admit that there are a lot of cow pies. But you say to each other: You know, there is more to this relationship than cow pies. And we are losing sight of that because we keep focusing on these cow pies. Let’s throw them all in the compost pile. When we have to, we will go there and smell it and feel bad and deal with it the best we can. And then we are going to walk away from that pile and set our eyes on the rest of the field. We will pick some favorite paths and hills that we know are not strewn with cow pies. And we will be thankful for the part of the field that is sweet.

Our hands may be dirty. And our backs may ache from all the shoveling. But one thing we know: We will not pitch our tent by the compost pile. We will only go there when we must. This is a gift of grace that we will give each other again and again and again—because we are chosen and holy and loved.

~John Piper, This Momentary Marriage

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Today my Mountain Man and I celebrate 26 years of marriage. It really does seem like just yesterday when we said, "I do." In my many years of reading, I've come across some godly authors who never remember their parents fighting. Such an admirable thing it is! 

But that's not my memory, and, sadly, it won't be my children's, either. My children have too often heard me speak of the cow pies of our married life. And I'm surely not going to romanticize the cow pies to you and call them "beautiful ugly" or something like that. The cow pies are what make marriages so hard. They wound us, and they expose our selfishness. Sometimes they even seem too much to bear.

But God sustains us. God keeps us from pitching our tent, as Piper says, near the compost pile, and He keeps us from tearing down our tent altogether.

And because God is the one who keeps us, I have hope that even though our children can't say they've never seen or heard us fight or argue, they can say that they know what repentance and faithfulness and forgiveness look like in the grassy field of marriage, and more importantly, they know the One who is the Giver of it all.

And that really is beautiful.

With love,

Trisha