Honest Ramblings

I love it when I have plans to be all spiritual and mature and then WHAM! God decides it's time for me to stop faking it and get real for a minute. By now, most people know I am anything but proper, reserved, or got it all together. It's easy to be a mess in front of others when I am staring at a screen and don't need to see the faces.
So here I am.
I had this whole blog planned. I actually have it written out. Besides some grammatical issues and a final thought to add, it's done. And yet here I sit, having this internal battle to push publish. Why?
Well, it's just not authentic.
I've been told my best writing is when I am raw and honest. And even though what I was writing about was really on my heart all week, I find my mind and heart drifting further and further from that topic and resting on the now.
Grief at Christmas. 
I'm a lot of things, but a worrier isn't really one of them. I mean, I tend to believe things will work out. I don't even worry much about what people think about me anymore. When I hit my thirties I realized I have a good man, great kids, and a God who loves me unconditionally. So if someone doesn't like how I do things, that's OK. Can't win 'em all!
But I am seriously self conscious about one area in my life and the opinions of others when it comes to my grief.
I don't even know why I care. But I waste countless hours worrying that people think I grieve too much, too little, too often, not enough. I cry all the time... or I never cry and must be cold.
I'm stuck in the past or I moved too quick into the future.
Honestly, it's brought me close to the point of nervous break down. Ha. You think I am kidding. Welcome to the circus in my head.
But occasionally, depending on the amount of sleep I have gotten, where I am at in my cycle, (it's a real thing, people), and how far away my last meal was, I have this moment of clarity and I remember the answer is just yes.
Yes, I grieve too much.
Yes, I grieve too little.
Yes, I cry like all the time.
Yes, I never cry and I often feel cold.
I'm stuck in the past and have moved too fast into the future.
This. Is. Grief.
There is literally no straight line. No right or wrong. No predicting where it will take me.
Holidays bring on the amplified version. My tears are wetter, my cries louder. My quiet times are much too silent and I just don't want to talk to a soul.
This is where I am at. And I would be doing myself a disservice if I sat here with a happy post about Mary, the mother of Jesus, ignoring the big heavy baggage that is literally blocking my view.

This year is year two without Molly for Christmas. I think the second year is the hardest. The first year, we were so very numb. It was survival mode. It was us, pinching ourselves to see if we were actually still alive. It was smiling because we didn't even know what we felt, so "happy" seemed safe.
But now, I have a better grip on things.
It plain sucks. Yes, I know. That's an icky word. But I don't have a better one.
It started with our Christmas card and just went downhill from there. How to incorporate Molly in our family photo and keep her presence in our family alive in a photo, because God truly knows, she is in our family everyday, every conversation, and every thought.
The social obligations are so tricky. The girls need them. And if I was honest with myself, a part of me does too, but it's so tiring.
There are so many days that I just don't understand why it had to be Molly. Why any child. I'll be the first to raise my hand in heaven and ask that question.
But I don't get answers right now.
I get photos, memories, videos, and stories, for which I am forever grateful, but some days it's just not enough. 

So there you have it. Very uplifting for this Christmas season.(Insert sarcasm font!)
If anything, perhaps it will help those who have little to be upset about, little pain this Christmas season, little regret or sadness to be thankful for what they do have.
I know I am thankful for my girls. I am thankful that I have them with me this year. Peter doesn't. And those who lost their only child don't and nothing could break my heart more than for them.
Honestly though, my most important source of gratitude comes from the gift of Jesus. I would be lost without Him. I may be sad, numb, weary, and alone, but I am not unloved or lost. I am loved and found.

Honesty is the Best Policy

The whispering in the hallway as you pass by. The overheard snickers in the room next door. The rumors of hurtful words and spoken lies. The rejection felt as you walk past, shameful, embarrassed, and lonely.
No. This is not a description of high school.
This is a picture of what you can find in the local church.

Sad isn't it? But the truth is, as ladies of the church, we are in a bad way and something needs to be done. 

There are few things that really rile me up, but when I see women exclude another or gossip and judge in a place that was founded on love.... well, the words, "Shame on you!" are not the first that come to mind. My words are, well, let's say spicier and more forceful.
Listen, it's so very hard to be a woman in 2016. America has bred this unobtainable notion of a woman who is all things to all people.
She is wife, mother, worker. She is church greeter, nursery worker, Sunday school teacher. She is teacher, PTA board member, head of bake sale. She is beautiful, fit, sexy. She is all things and does it with a smile.

Honestly, it's exhausting. And I know very well I am not the only woman that tries to keep up with this rat race.
How is it that we continue to lose our vision as women?
We continually judge ourselves, judge one another, and walk out of church feeling defeated when glimpsing around at all the "perfect women."
I think what we lack is some good old fashion honesty.
Honesty is a hard thing to live out. This means we will be letting down our walls, showing some serious vulnerability, and (gasp), allowing others to see our big, old, hot mess of a self.
I'm going to take the first step.
Listen, I do not exercise. Let's get that clear. Yes, I know. I am  like 50lbs over weight, my body is a mess from multiple surgeries and could use some stretching and strength training. Running a mile has not be done since middle school and that was because it was forced. My family history is littered with heart disease and early deaths. So ya, I know I need to literally get my butt in gear. But before you start telling me to go to bed earlier so I can wake earlier and get in those thirty minutes of cardio, don't bother. I know the statistics, tips, and I've seen every graph. It's really applying it that is the issue.
I love my husband. I've never been shy about saying that. But if I was honest, I don't love him nearly like I should. I've pretended to be asleep when he reaches over to "kiss me good night." I've treated him like a child more times than I can count. And if I told you how many times I've snapped at him in front of the girls, well, it would be a very high number.
Speaking of girls, I will be absolutely shocked if they don't need therapy because of me sometime in their life. I mean, I love them. But sometimes I don't like them. (Can I say that? Well, I just did.) Personalities clash and this girl gets worn out. So I lash out. And nag. And roll my eyes. And snap. And basically every other bad behavior you see my girls do, I guarantee you they saw Mama do it first.
Just because I educate them at home doesn't mean I find it to be the most thrilling job in the world. In fact, there are plenty of days that I gaze out the window and fantasize about going back to school to get my degree and then run far, far away from my school room to go talk to people taller than 4'3.
What I'm saying is, this is me.
When we start sharing our struggles with one another this beautiful thing happens. Those listening start to lose the tension in their shoulders, the tightness in their jaw, and wipe off that fake smile and put a real one on their face.
Why?
It's simple. We all like to know that we are "normal". We all like to know that we are really doing OK. We all like to get encouragement. Because like I have said so many times, this life is hard. No joke. But we have to remember that we are ALL living it. And we are all succeeding, all failing, all kind of getting it right, and all kind of getting it wrong.
If we aren't honest with on another though, then how are we going to make changes and grow in the right direction?
Didn't Paul tell us to pray for one another? Well, if you don't tell me what to pray for, than I can't help you.

"You know girl, I am really struggling today. This boss that I have is going to make me lose my mind. If he gives me one more project, I may just hurl my laptop at him and quit."
"Sister, my days are so lonely. I feel surrounded by people, and yet have no one to talk to. I need a friend. Will you pray?"
"I ate 5 donuts yesterday. This dieting will either kill me or I'll kill my husband. Jesus help me now."

I challenge you today to find a friend, find an acquaintance, heck, find a stranger on your commute home on the bus, and share a little humanity. Perhaps you want to start simple and don't scare them away, but I assure you, you will get a smile, you will hear a sigh of relief, and you will receive a blessing beyond words.
We are in this life together, folks. It only makes sense to lift one another up by encouraging them that they are not alone.
Because you are not alone.
Trust me. I am a Disasterville over here, but we are going to make it through. 

Remember not to forget

Teaching long division is like going to the doctor for an amputation and finding out there are no numbing medications. I find myself often gazing at the wall, envisioning banging my head against it so that I can feel something other than fury and frustration. (Listen, I  know I need Jesus. I'm working on it.) Since I know that bashing my head against the wall is not an option, I decide to swing the pendulum the other way and be super sweet and patient. That lasts for about 4.7 seconds and then I just give up.
Why is it so hard to remember something we learned so long ago? 
If only I could go back to fourth grade and sit in the back of the class while Mr. Galati taught two digit division, my life would be saved, and maybe I would have a few less wrinkles on my forward from thinking so hard.
But as usual, human nature gets a hold of me and I forget. 
This rings true in other areas of life, including much more important lessons.
Two years ago, I wrote a blog that you can see here. It recently popped up in some searching for an unrelated blog and when I saw a picture of Molly and Peter under the tree I stopped.
It's been no secret to my family and close friends that this season has been a difficult one so far for our family, but I think the average person wouldn't have a clue that we are a little bit of a mess. OK. That is an understatement. I put money in stock for Kleenex this past week because we've gone through so many boxes I figure I should start making some money off of this.
Here, though, was a reminder of a lesson that was hand picked for me that I so foolishly forgot.
God knew.
God knew when Molly was born, on June 17, 2014, and on the day we received that train where we would all be this Christmas. Miles and dimensions apart, He knew that we would be struggling as we unpacked the train. When I opened ornaments that had Molly's picture or was covered in glitter by her, He knew my heart would ache. And so, that is why on that day two years ago, He was teaching me to remember.
Remember the smile on her face as the train was assembled. Remember the giggles in the room as the girls watched it go around. Even though we don't have it now the same way, we HAD it, and that is a precious, precious gift.
What is even more amazing is that on that day, He was already preparing my heart to have no more Christmas's on earth with Molly. He was slowly introducing the truth to me so that I can begin my lifelong journey, how ever long that will be, not fully complete on Christmas.
There will be so many beautiful, fun memories ahead, I know, but I am so thankful for the ones we got as a family of five. Dancing like sugar plum fairies in the kitchen, being covered in frosting and stepping over thousands of sprinkles on the floor while decorating cookies, sitting around the Christmas tree, watching the train go round and round as we thank God for the hope of the season.
This is my lesson for today. 
At Christmas, He asks us to remember. 
Of course He wants us to remember Him first and foremost, wrapped up in the manager. Giving away his place on a royal throne to come to this dingy earth and serve us with the ultimate token of service... giving His life.
But I think He also finds it good for us to remember other things, such as the blessings of the year past. The joy of family. The hardships we came out of. The broken hearts that we face too. For from our  broken hearts we can find out more about who He is. What He wants from us. And what He is doing. 

So today, as I pass our Christmas tree and see the many reminders and even when I am working on division for the hundredth time, I want to remember His grace that was supplied two years ago, and His grace that He supplies today. 

'Tis the Season

As we get closer to December 25th, the bells seem to chime louder, cookies pile higher, and the lights get brighter. We are blasted, from November 1st, with the reminder of what the average American thinks of when it comes to Christmas. I'm not talking about the birth of Christ. I am talking about the nostalgia, traditions, and family of the season. 

Family. 

That word rest so heavy on my heart tonight.
Being military, I have always been sensitive to others without family near them during the holidays. We've hosted people over our house almost every holiday. Whether it was a couple of lonely airmen, a new family that just moved to base, or a large group of vagabonds that we really don't know, all have been welcome. 

But there was a group of people that I just couldn't relate to. I didn't fully have the heart to know where they were coming from or how their holiday may feel.
This group was those that lost loved ones.
Obviously, now I am in that group. One that yes, I have been in for a long time, given that I have lost beloved grandparents and a few friends. But never has there been such a year, until last year, where the empty space at the table was like a loud ringing in the ears, reminding me over and over that the seat was empty.
I'm so sorry that anyone else has to face this. 

My heart breaks because I know how deep this pain runs. It literally has taken my breath away and brought me to my knees.
There is nothing on this earth that can mend this wound. The season has torn it open and no wrappings or ribbons can close it.
I'm learning to just embrace it.
I used to feel ashamed of crying.
I used to be embarrassed if anyone saw that I had an ounce of emotion about anything.
Why?
I really have no other answer to that than pride. Letting down my walls means I am human.
But oh, how I wish to look at letting down my walls as a way to show that I live. The amount of tears I drop on the floor are the amount of hours I think of my love for Molly and Peter, who is deployed. I see crying as a way to let out my love for them.
May sound funny to look at crying that way, but the more I love someone, the more it hurts when they leave.
I love Molly so deeply. She began life in my body and ended it in my arms. I have always had her with me her whole life. I knew her breath, her heartbeat, and her song. To no longer have that in my life... well, there really are no words. But there are tears.
I don't know what to do about this season. Usually I have some kind of plan. I usually have a verse or a Bible story to apply to my latest trouble. Heck, I at least have a song. This time, I have nothing.
Perhaps, that is not true.
I have One to cling to. But no words to speak. I fall into His arms, lifeless. He must carry me. Get me to my next destination. Mother for me. Teach for me. Cook for me. Clean for me. He must be the strength that is needed right now, because my strength is spent grieving, just for a season.
Like Christmas, soon after a new year comes. New beginnings. Time of reflection, renewals, and starts. I'm not saying I am out of commission until January, I am just saying that this is a period of time that I will cry. And that is alright. I embrace my grief like a warm blanket. I wrap it around me for warmth and a reminder to feel.
Feel the love. Feel the pain. Feel the loss. 

Confessions of a Reformed Nag

How many times do I have to tell him? I mean, really! It's pretty simple. All I wanted him to do is simply swing by the post office. But no, that was too much of a task to remember. Meanwhile, I am here, kids everywhere, and a house to manage. A clean house at that! Why is it clean? No thanks to him! I wash the dishes, clean ALL the clothes, make the meals, including his lunch when he comes home in the middle of the day. I get the kids down for naps, make sure they are clean, and I even teach them all about the love of Jesus. How else are they going to learn about love?! I got 12 days worth of stuff done today and all he could manage to do was come home. Now I have to get to the post office tomorrow when I have a slew of things to do. I should tell him what I think. Ya! That will make him see. That will teach him. I'm gonna say something...

This was a typical conversation that would go on inside my brain about five years ago. 

Perhaps I am the only one with an inner dialogue filled with questions and responses, or maybe I am the only one to admit to such lunacy, but either way, my crazy is a real thing.
It seemed to always start with a small annoyance. But then it grew and grew until I allowed my anger and bitterness to come out into full blown nag mode.
I realize that the term "nag" is not a very popular one given that it has been overused by husbands throughout generations. Plus, it's harsh. But listen, I am fully allowed to use harsh words and truths when speaking about myself. And truth is what I am giving. 

Let me explain paint a picture for you of my typical nag look. 
Hands placed firmly on hips.
Stance is wide legged and tall.
Eyes rolling into head.
Finger sometimes wagging.
Sound familiar?
(Note: Looks may vary. There is also sitting while tapping toe, sighing, speed walking through house while quickly bending and picking up clutter, and my personal favorite, the look of death. If you do not know this look, count yourself lucky.)
For years, I thought I was the opposite of what we deem a nag. I thought I bit my tongue way more than I really did. I assumed, also, that if it wasn't said, then I was doing OK. However, the seeds of annoyance were tenderly nourished and cared for in my heart. I would remember to feed them with frequent visits to history class in remembering all the things that were wrong with my husband. I would shine MY truth upon them as I replayed time and time again of hurts and wrong doings that were directed towards me, or at least, they felt directed. I loved my seedlings because they affirmed to me that I was in the right and he was in the wrong. I was the sacrificing wife and he was the loser who didn't notice what I gave day in and day out.

Here's the truth.

Nagging doesn't always come in the form of constant verbal scolding. This is the picture we have in our head though. Nagging is really a heart issue that tends to be quiet for a while and then slowly and steadily seep out. 

"A continual dropping in a very rainy day and a contentious woman are alike." ~Proverbs 27:15

That drip, drip, dripping that drives us crazy is the same one that cracks and breaks away the foundations of a marriage. It's exhausting, really for both parties involved, and yet it's the easiest of pits to fall into. I would often find myself displeased for one reason or another, but instead of waiting for the right time to bring up legit concerns and desires, I would tap away, like a chisel, over and over again trying to make some kind of desired sculpture. Instead, I was clobbering the man God gave me with words for my mallet.
Water in droplet form is not damaging, but you take multiple droplets and put them together, you get a puddle. This will muddy up your shoes. Then you add more drops and you have a pool. From there, when more are added, you find yourself in an ocean with no end in sight. Words are so much like these beads of water. Slowly growing into a bigger problem, little digs here and there, little corrections and nit picks reshape the very thing that is before you. 

It's never my job to reshape my husband. 

That's God's job. My job is to lift him up when he is down. To support him when the load is heavy. To cheer him on as he is conquering the very thing before him. As his wife, his partner, my task is never to recreate or change him through negative words and nagging. 

The day my husband puts Proverbs 25:24 into practice is the day that I have utterly failed as a wife. 

"It is better to dwell in the corner of the housetop, than with a brawling woman and in a wide house."

So the question is, what changed? Since this is the confessions of a reformed  nag, I guess I should tell you what happened.
It was one look he gave me.
We had just finished arguing over something so trivial. I mean down right stupid. I was on my normal rant and I barely stopped to breath when he looked up at me and simply looked defeated and tired. I thought that is what I wanted. I thought I wanted to win and feel like I was right. But it wasn't at all what I really desired. To see the man I love look at me with such failure, well, it was all I could do but cry right then and there. How did I get to this point? Why did I feel it more necessary to be right than to help, support, and love?
It was from that moment on that I decided to only move forward and to become better.
I prayed to God to first do a change in me. My heart was oozing with pride and I knew there was only room for love or self. I needed to make a choice. I had to die to self. That's what marriage is all about, really. Continually, daily deciding that they are more important than ourselves and giving it our all. Sounds impossible?

Ha. It sure is. Absolutely and utterly impossible without the Lord. Thankfully, with Him, all things can be done.
I suppose it's time to be real honest here and rename the post to, "Confessions of a  Semi-Reformed Nag" because my real world is still with many moments of nagging. In fact, I just got a blow to my gut the other day, (which inspired this post) that I still need to shut my mouth way more than I do and get a better attitude. What can I say? I'm not perfect. But I strive to be better each and every day, fully taking into consideration my goals for marriage. And I assure you, chasing my husband up to the roof for some peace and quiet is NOT one of my goals.
So here's to another day, another choice, or one hundred, to keep my mouth closed, my heart opened, and make the right decisions on what is more important, being right or doing right. 

Grateful Matrimony

In the spirit of Thanksgiving week, it seems only fitting to talk about gratitude in marriage. It's thankfulness and contentment that make peace in a home. Showing appreciation is the very fabric that warms our love for one another.
And yet, being around our spouses seems to bring out our worst at times. The familiarity breeds this spirit of criticism and  harshness within our four walls. Words can shoot out like grenades and wound one another. Grace is often replaced with brutality as we spit out looks and words that leave lasting scars.

Living with a thankful heart in marriage can be so hard at times, especially when the spouse is anything but gracious and kind back, but it's crucial to see the good in one another in order to continue forward. 

Let's just talk about laundry for a moment. 

How can laundry help me to be thankful? Well, I am so glad you asked.

Perhaps my husband is the only male on earth that has a hard time locating the dirty laundry basket, so forgive me if you can not sympathize. His laundry goes into three categories. One is clean and put away. (This is the one I take care of when it comes out of the drier.) Two is absolutely filthy and scummy clothing that goes directly into the washing machine. Then there is this third, obscure class of clothing that for the life of me, I just don't understand. It's that undecided category where he's not committed to calling the item dirty, but it's not clean enough to be put back in the drawer. It then just lingers at the end of the bed, or even on the floor, nowhere near the basket.

I've learned that there are two choices to deal with this sorting system. Embrace or explode. I'd like to say that I have always embraced his choices for housekeeping, parenting, spousing, and even teaching with a smile and thumbs up, but alas, I am human and I frequently have chosen the other alternative and exploded on sight.

If only I would always take option two. Gratefulness. 

It's easy for me to see this side right now as I sit in my big, quiet house, kids asleep and husband gone. I would give anything to see his socks on the floor. I wish I just pulled out his uniform from the dryer and I was hanging it up. This would all mean that he was here. 

I am so thankful for the man he is. When I see those nasty PT clothes balled up in the corner. You know, the ones that smell like corn chips because he was sweating so bad? I don't want to see dirty laundry out of place, but I need to see a hard working man that constantly supplies for his family. Or how about a career that God has supplied for him that has brought so many opportunities for us?
This is what we all need. Not just as married people but as human beings. Instead of focusing on the things that bring discontentment and dissatisfaction, we must find that sparkle of hope, that bit of beauty in the moment to get us to the next.
When we appreciate our spouses and embrace all their peculiarities and annoyances with thankfulness, then we are truly showing love. Not just to them. But to God, the One who made them.
Can we just call ungratefulness what it really is?
Pride.
You are telling your spouse that they are not good enough.
More so, you are telling God that HE is not good enough. You are saying He has not supplied what He should have in a spouse. Ouch. That truth hurts me a little too much.

Sometimes knowing you should be grateful and actually applying it are two very different things. But here are some things that I keep running through my heart and mind when the unthankfulness begins to take over.

 They are here
Don't ever take for granted that your mate is actually with you. Our family knows too well that one doctor visit can change your entire life. One car accident. One heart attack. There are many people who so desperately wish they could grumble over the things their spouse does, but they can't because he or she is gone. You are not promised tomorrow with anyone. Keeping that perspective really helps  to wipe away the non-essentials and focus on what is important.

Sometimes it's just best to laugh
We all have our quirks. And it's amazing how cute they are in the beginning of a relationship and how they slowly change into annoyances and frustrations. We find it so much easier to laugh about these things than to bicker about them in our house.
An example of this comes in the form of wool socks. (Why am I always talking about laundry?)
 Peter has kept these worn out, old wool socks for years. They have sat in the same box through 4 moves and it really bugged me. I mean, I just didn't get why he couldn't just throw them away. We  had fights over some socks, people. It sounds so silly now, but at the time, when I allowed myself to get all heated and worked up, things ended in disaster. Feelings were hurt and tempers were hot.
But now, I just see socks. It's a joke with us finally after all these years. And when Peter decided to get rid of them, (well, most of them) this past move, a part of me was a little sad. Our game was coming to an end. It had become a staple of our relationship in a way.
"See that box of socks there. Let me tell you about those socks. One day, Peter will find the most amazing use for them and then I will have to tell him he was right all along."

The little things really add up
When our hearts are not set on the thankful dial, little expressions of love go unnoticed and fall by the wayside. An unloaded dishwasher, a sweet text in the middle of the day, or a shared sunset as you drive home from grocery shopping can be lost when we are not looking out for them. Constantly being alert to our surroundings and noticing the good our husband or wife is doing can make or break our connections.

I want to be intentionally thankful in my life. I desire to see all the little things so they add up to one big, "You are so special to me. Thank you for being you." It certainly doesn't come naturally, but it can be achieved. We just need to have the desire to put aside whatever it is that we are holding onto and just look at what we have. Once we can do that, then I think we may be surprised how many more showers of blessing follow. 

Sex:Marriage's Glue

Sex.

Let that word just sit there on the screen for a moment. 

Are you uncomfortable? Intrigued? Squirming? Or were you even just thinking about it? 

The funny thing is, sex makes the world go round, being the very way we populate the human race, and yet we often fear to really sit down with a cup of coffee and talk about it. 

Yes. I know. It's personal. 

Perhaps it's not a taboo subject for everybody, but when it comes to the average married couple it seems to be a point of limited communication, a source of frustration, and the word "enjoyable" is not always associated with it. 

Why is that? 

Well, since I don't have a psychology degree and I haven't spoken to every married couple in the world, I can only go off of what I know. And what I know is that many married couples I have come in contact with and observed have either been poorly educated on what the real purposes of sex is or their views are flat out distorted. 

The great news is, the One who invented sex has had a lot to say about it. 

That's right folks. The very God that requires us to repent, asks us to serve, and encourages us to grow in a deeper knowledge of who He is, also wants us to have a good old romp in the hay with our spouse. 

Cue flashback...

It's about 4 weeks before my wedding. And yes, I proudly proclaim that I was a virgin when I got married. But the real shocker of it all was although I was very exposed to the sexual side of the world, partly because I was a victim of child molestation and partly because I had a colorful exposure to the world around me, I had no clue what I was in for. I mean, sure, I got the mechanics of it all, or at least I thought I did. But really I was simply lost when it came to the world of sex within a marriage. 

How often am I supposed to do this thing? Is it a sin to enjoy it? What if I am not in the mood, then what? 

Ah, questions. I had so many back then. And they continued for years after I was married. It really wasn't until I began to study what God said about sex that my chains fell off and life got so much better. The marriage bed became sacred and holy, instead of scary and at times, a chore.

Paul knew that the Corinthians had their ideas of sex skewed. I mean, the time that they lived in was full of  people tying religion and sex together in this weird and sick twist. Not much different from today, the culture had turned something simply divine into an abdominal act.
But in I Corinthians 7:3-6, he starts talking to married couples and gives it to them straight. My kind of guy.
"Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband. The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife. Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again, that Satan tempts you not for your incontinency."

That's a mouthful, right? Let's make this a little easier.
To give due benevolence simply means, "If she/he wants it, give it."
Now before you go wagging your finger at  me and getting defensive, consider this. The day you gave your vows, I am sure somewhere in there you made the statement of being one. The husband and wife become one body, joined together until death makes them part. Would you deny your body food when it is hungry? No, of course not. Would you tell your body "no" when it thirsted? I hope not. Would you tell a broken foot, "Not now. I have a headache," when it needed medical attention? I highly doubt it. Then why is it so easy to deny our other half the very thing that they need:sex?
I fully realize that there are exceptions to the rule at times. And I know that there are those that are in abusive relationships that other factors come into play. But for right now, I am talking to the average married couple. Why would you deny your spouse an essential element to your marriage? Sex is the glue that keeps a couple together. It's vital.
You see that part in the passage that says Satan will tempt us for not often coming together? That's legit. That's a real thing.
Sex is a fantastic way to connect. It's intimacy in it's highest form
.
(Warning: If you are related to me or knew me before I was, say, ten, be warned. Personal sex talk ahead. Dad, that specifically means you!)

Let me just get real for a second.
When Peter and I were going through some struggles in marriage, communication being the main issue, we decided to do something extreme. No, we didn't go to counselling, although I am a very big advocate for it. We didn't do a bible devotion on marriage or how to talk to your spouse. We did something that required no words. We had sex for a month straight. No lie. We dedicated 30 days to our marriage to always say "yes". It was the easiest and most enjoyable way to reset our marriage and get on track.
When the part of the equation of ,"I don't feel like it because he..." or " I don't want to because she..."  was taken out, we were free to show love in one of the best ways. There was no wringing of the hands when we got into bed. "Will he want it tonight?" "Will she be willing to tonight?" It was always yes! We were free to just get into being together and not dwell on what the other did or said that day. It was like we came to the marriage bed already forgiving the other and just showing love in the purest form.
We walked away from that month changed. I mean really, really different... for the better. In fact, we were so happy with the outcome, we kept it going. (Insert a slight blush.) When new issues come into play in our marriage, we find that getting to the basics is what brings us back together. You can't make love when you are angry or bitter. It's not enjoyable when there is resentment. But it is so wonderful when you know your spouse is fully willing to be present, lay aside all strife and malice, and just enjoy this beautiful gift God gave us.
I suppose what I am trying to say is that sex is an amazing thing that God has given to the married couple. Why would we refuse a gift? Why would we take the thing a King has given and hide it in the back of the closet, rarely to be used?
Folks, it only gets better with use. It's like that old college sweatshirt. The one that is your absolute favorite to wear. The reason it's the best is because it's fibers have been perfected and softened by much use. It's the same with sex. The more you participate, the better it gets. And honestly, like the sweater, the more you'll want to wear it.