Submission is an "icky" word.

"I will never be a submissive pushover. If my husband thinks that I'm going to bow down, and "respect" all the foolish decisions he'll make, he's got another thing coming. It's not in my personality. AT. ALL."



I drove to a coffee shop today. My beautiful Mom took all 4 of our blessings, so that I could have a Baby Moon with my Handsome Man, this weekend. We're about 5 weeks away from the arrival of our 5th child, and my house needed some organizational TLC. So, the kiddos went to Nanny and Grandpapa's, Mark is at work until this evening, and I'm by myself in our new house. It's quite exciting to have some alone time, even though I'm an extreme extrovert. So I woke up, kissed Mark goodbye, and drove down to the local coffee shop, ordered a coffee, and coffee cake, and plopped down on the squishiest chair I could find. As soon as I sat down, 2 women at a table 20 feet from me discussed the "icky" word of submission. The quote above was the dialogue I heard. It was in reference to a friend who had become "religious", and started "bowing down to her husband who decided to become a deacon in a church".

Submission.

This word easily draws 2 very different crowds.

1. The person who likes it.
2. The person who loathes it.

I was easily person #2, for a very long time.

Anyone who knew me in high school, knew me in my first (and only) year of college, knew this about me. Spunk, sass, and southern class. An easy illustration of my everyday happenings for over 3 years. I was out to prove to adults that I could adult (I couldn't.), to guys that I didn't need them, and to prove to myself that a wild heart was safest, because its perpetual motion couldn't be squashed, or broken.

I dated guys, and in a cat-mouse game challenged them to keep up with me. They couldn't, and would often easily bore me. I'd move on. I worked at a video store, when I met Mark. And he completely knocked me off my tracks. I was a freight train, moving at an alarming speed, and he simply threw a stick on the train tracks.

The way he did it?

He simply asked me about my theology. Not even necessarily my religious theology, but my where I stood on life issues. But that wasn't what knocked me off my tracks. That's an easy question to ask someone. He did something so profound, so quiet, so peaceful, so annoying, really.

He listened.

He sat for hours on the floor of that video store, and let me ramble on and on about God, life, hurt, etc. When I'd very pointedly say an opinion on a matter, almost baiting him to debate with me, he simply ask me a thought-provoking question, that caused me to actually think, and not just shoot from the hip.

I've always joked that he's the ice cold water that God used to pour on my firecracker attitude.

Even now, 7 years of marriage, 5 children later, he's still that to me.

But you want to know the difference between the 18 year old, hot-headed, know-it-all, and who I am now?

Submission.

He's not a challenge I try to break, anymore. I don't have to prove how strong I am, or how wise I am.

He knows I'm strong. And he still loves me. He lets his quiet strength weaken me, in a "Wow my heart is beating really fast, because of how attractive you are right now."

Thanks to my Daddy, and his amazing ability to build ANYTHING, I caught the mechanical bug, and even took a carpentry class in high school. I made it to a district competition for the school, and was the only girl. I loooooooooved it.

Mark, on a regular basis, tells people that I know more about how things operate, than most men.

"You wouldn't know this about her, because most people just think she can be a mom, and make pretty food, but she's incredibly gifted, mechanically."

I spent many nights at the carwash, with Mark, fixing parts, shortening chains, figuring out the inner workings of a water system, etc. AND I LOVED IT. But I loved it not because I was strong enough to do it, but because Mark was secure enough to say "Hey babe, how do you think this works? What should I do to fix it? Could you come up here, and help me figure this out?"

That is like taking a match, striking it, and setting my firecracker attitude on fire. It fills me up, to see a man strong enough to lead an entire family, but humble enough to ask for his wife's tiny hands to change the pin on a chain, in a carwash, because his hands are too big.

See, that's what I've learned about submission.

It's not about suppressing, belittling, destroying, tearing down, or weakening.

It's about tenderly guiding, whatever personality you may be dealing with.

For our marriage, it's the cold water to the firecracker.

In other marriages, the woman is the cool wave that washes over her hot-headed husband. Her driven, unwavering, staunch, hot-headed husband. It's her silent prayers, and her gentle words, that completely derail him. It's the strength of her arms, holding him, letting him know his strength isn't needed at the moment.

That's submission.

I learned very early in my marriage that throwing a tea cup, in anger, at our sink, and screaming at my husband wasn't going to work. You know what he didn't do? He didn't fight back. He didn't take the bait. He didn't yell back.

He stood, calmly, with his back leaned up against the wall, arms folded, one leg propped up against the wall. And he calmly said "I'm sorry you feel that way, but that's not true. I love you, and you know that." And he walked out the door, got in the car, drove for long enough to completely freak me out, convincing myself that he had left me. Then he'd show back up, let me run to his arms, pick me up, take a deep breath in, and whisper "We love each other. This is just an attack." He let me sob like a broken child healing from wounds, he'd let me use his t-shirt sleeve to wipe my tears, he'd rub the small of my back and whisper "It's okay. It's going to be okay, babe."

Even though I'm ashamed of those moments. The moments where I'd throw my rings at him, and say "I'M DONE." It's embarrassing to admit, but it's a beautiful representation of submission. Not me submitting, but rather, his submission to God.

See that's the catalyst that every domineering, overpowering control freak forgets, about submission. If it's a one way street, someone will get run over. If there is only a woman submitting to her husband, it could lead to an unhealthy, abusive relationship.

It's when the man submits to God, that there is balance, and order.

And if a man isn't submitting to God, it's the woman, going to God, crying out to him.

I've had many a moment where I yelled at God in my prayers "THIS ISN'T FAIR.", and He'd simply say:

I know.

I would wait, as if God was my body guard, for Him to strike Mark with a Heavenly bolt of wisdom, and it wouldn't come. "THIS ISN'T FAIR, GOD."

I know.

"Aren't you going to DO something, God?!?"

Aren't you?

"I am! I'm telling you this isn't fair. That I hate this. That I want him to change his mind!"

That's how I feel about my children that are lost.

"But God, can't you focus on me right now?"

Are you focusing on me?

"Well, yes. I mean, no, not really."

"God, would you forgive me of my selfishness? Would you break my pride? I want to respect Mark, but I'm struggling. I want to submit, but it literally makes my heart hurt, at the thought of not saying anything. I don't want to be kind. Can you give me Your strength? Can you show me how to be grace, and mercy?"

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

And so I do.

That's all the strength I can muster.

Then after a brief pause, where Mark and I seek Him, separately, and it usually plays out like this:

"I'm sorry. I was being selfish. Would you please forgive me?"

Tears well up in my eyes, and stream down my cheeks.

"You hurt my feelings."

"I know. Would you for give me?"

"You're forgiven."

"I love you, Sierra."

"I love you more, Mark."

He still scoops me in his lap, takes a deep breath in, and whispers "This is just an attack. I love you.", while rubbing the small of my back.

I still wipe my tears on his shirt sleeve, and whisper "I love you too."


Submission doesn't look like the world makes it out to be. Yes, in rare, unfortunate cases, submission on a one way street leads to a car wreck. A woman or man abused, and left feeling vulnerable, and unloved. That's not submission. That's suppression.

Submission is simply two broken people coming together, and finding wholeness in a God that loves them more than they could even love each other.

I've often told young couples, or singles that the way you find each other, or your future mate, is simply being on your knees at the foot of the Cross. Eyes closed, hands raised towards Heaven,  then when you open your eyes, and look beside you, there he is. A man, on his knees, eyes closed, hands raised towards Heaven. As your eyes lock, he reaches over, intertwines his hand in yours, and you both raise your free hand, eyes closed, and praise your Creator. Together, separately.

A man submitting to God, and the cautions of his wife. A woman submitting to God, and the steps her husband guides his family through.

Sometimes, submission is putting on my battle clothes, and fighting for our marriage, for our children, and for my husband, in his weakness.

Sometimes, submission is watching my husband suit up for battle, and keeping him fed, keeping my words towards heaven, crying out for strength for him.

But every time, it is good. It's not icky. It's hard. But it's worth it.

Just like our submission to Him.

It's good, hard, worth it. 

"I will trust you to guide us. I will trust that you won't lead us astray. I will trust that you know what is best for our family. I will trust you, Mark. I love you."

"I will trust you to guide us. I will trust that you won't lead us astray. I will trust that You know what is best for our family. I will trust You, Lord. I love you."


"Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and His is the Savior of the body. Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wife be to their own husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish. So husbands out to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself." Ephesians 5: 22-28



If you skipped over that verse, because you've read it a hundred times, read it 101 times.

My favorite part is the end. Talking about the husband presenting his family to Christ, and loving his wife like he loves himself.

Now that is what a true love story looks like.