Bending My Will

by Jennifer Greene-Sullivan

When Anya was ten months old, on December 21, 2001, my paternal grandfather, B.C. Greene, died.

Grief has always arrived slowly for me. When someone I love passes away, I feel as though I am moving through water while the rest of the world continues at its normal pace. I need time to process. Time to understand. Time to catch up to what my heart already knows.

The day Papa died, my daddy asked me to go stay with my grandmother because he thought she would need help. At the time, I didn’t understand the request. I loaded up baby Anya and headed to Grandma’s house.

When we arrived, Grandma handed me a grocery list.

“Love, I need you to pick up these items,” she said.

I glanced at the list and then back at her.

“What are you doing, Grandma?”

“I’m going to cook one more big family meal like your papa would have wanted,” she replied. “Then I’m done. I will never cook for the family again.”

I was stunned.

There was nothing physically wrong with her. She was capable of cooking. She was capable of hosting. Why would she suddenly stop gathering the family around her table?

So I asked.

Her response has followed me for nearly twenty-five years.

“Jennifer, you don’t know what it is like to bend your will and your life for someone else like I have. If he wanted it, I did it. I am free now. I won’t ever do anything I do not want to do again.”

At twenty-four years old, I didn’t understand.

Standing there with my daughter in my arms, I wondered what she meant. Had she viewed her fifty-five-year marriage as a burden? Had she felt trapped? Had she been unhappy?

I had questions, but her tone made it clear the conversation was over.

Life moved forward.

Two years later, I would find myself divorced. My reasons were not the same as my grandmother’s. Yet over the years, I often found myself returning to that moment in her kitchen and replaying her words.

Lately, I have found myself returning there again.

Scripture teaches wives to submit to their husbands, but it also teaches husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the church. Jesus did not dominate His bride. He died for her. He sacrificed Himself for her. Biblical marriage was never intended to be a one-sided surrender. It was meant to be marked by mutual love, honor, and sacrifice.

Several weeks ago, I made the decision to return to the classroom.

Teaching has never simply been a career for me. It is woven into who I am. It is my calling, my ministry, and one of the primary ways God has allowed me to serve others throughout my life.

The decision brought excitement, but it also brought conflict.

Over the last two years, my world has grown smaller. My dependence has grown greater. In some ways, my creativity feels like the only thing that remains entirely my own. No one can write the words God gives me. No one can paint the images He places in my heart. No one can imagine the stories He entrusts to me.

Those gifts came from the Lord.

They are part of who He created me to be.

Now, at forty-eight years old, sitting in this tiny house office on property my husband owns, I find myself understanding my grandmother’s words in a way I never could at twenty-four.

I understand what it means to bend your will.

I understand what it means to sacrifice.

I understand how easy it is to lose pieces of yourself while trying to keep peace.

What I do not know is whether my grandmother regretted those sacrifices. I never asked. Perhaps she never would have answered.

What I do know is that I no longer hear bitterness in her words.

I hear exhaustion.

I hear a woman who spent decades pouring herself into her family.

I hear someone who had finally reached the end of a very long season.

And for the first time, I understand her.

As for me, I am still in the middle of my story. I am trying to follow the Lord faithfully. I am trying to honor my husband while also honoring the calling God has placed on my life. Some days I do that well. Other days I do it poorly.

Most days, I simply keep showing up and asking God for wisdom.

As I think about Papa, Grandma, marriage, sacrifice, and calling, I find myself praying the same simple prayer:

Father, strengthen me.

Help me endure.

Help me persevere.

I am running a little low on gumption over here.

Perhaps that is why the dogwood bloom I painted this week has lingered in my thoughts. When I first completed the line work, I liked the flower well enough. I chose the colors myself and added the watercolor washes. Yet, something was missing. The flower looked flat. It lacked depth. I could see its potential, but I could not yet see its fullness.

So I returned to it.

I studied it. I added shadows. I stepped away and came back again. With each layer, the flower began to change. The shadows did not diminish its beauty. They revealed it. They gave shape to petals that had previously appeared one-dimensional. They created depth where there had only been outlines.

As I worked, I realized how often God uses the same process in our lives.

Most of us welcome the bright colors. We celebrate the blessings, the victories, and the seasons when everything seems to be blooming. Yet it is often the shadows that create the depth. The difficult conversations, the disappointments, the sacrifices, the waiting, and the unanswered questions become the places where God shapes us most profoundly.

When I look back at my grandmother now, I no longer see only the woman standing in her kitchen declaring her freedom. I see the years that shaped her. I see the sacrifices I could not understand at twenty-four. I see the shadows that gave dimension to her life.

When I look at my own life, I am beginning to see the same thing.

I would never have chosen every circumstance. I would never have volunteered for every hardship. Yet God has used each season to reveal something deeper than I could have seen otherwise. He has been shaping my faith, refining my character, and teaching me to trust Him when I cannot clearly see the finished picture.

The dogwood is still not perfect.

Neither am I.

But perhaps that is not the point.

Perhaps the point is that the Master Artist is not finished with me yet.

Scripture

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6 (ESV)

God never abandons His work midway through the process. He continues shaping, refining, and growing us through every season. While we often focus on what is unfinished, God sees the completed masterpiece from the very beginning.

Challenge

Think about an area of your life where you feel discouraged, weary, or unfinished.

Perhaps it is your marriage. Perhaps it is a relationship with a child. Perhaps it is your career, your calling, your faith, or a dream that seems delayed. Instead of focusing on what still needs fixing, ask God to show you how He has already been at work.

This week, take a few minutes to reflect on where you were five years ago and where you are today. Thank Him for the growth you can see, and trust Him with the parts of the story that remain unfinished.

Prayer

Father,

Thank You for being patient with me while You continue Your work in my life. Too often I focus on what is broken, unfinished, or difficult instead of recognizing the ways You have already been faithful. Help me trust You in the process. When I grow weary, strengthen me. When I become discouraged, remind me that You are still working. Give me eyes to see Your hand in both the highlights and the shadows of my life. Thank You for the people You have placed in my story, for the lessons You continue to teach me, and for the assurance that You are not finished with me yet.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

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