I'm Married Now! Order Printed Copy

Author: Jessie Owens
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About the Book

"I'm Married Now!" is a book that offers guidance and advice for newlyweds as they navigate the ups and downs of married life. The author, Jessie Owens, shares personal experiences and practical tips to help couples build a strong and lasting relationship. This book provides insights on communication, love, and conflict resolution, aimed at helping newlyweds create a happy and fulfilling marriage.

Charles Wesley

"O for a thousand tongues to sing / My dear Redeemer's praise / The glories of my God and King, / The triumphs of his grace!" He was said to have averaged 10 poetic lines a day for 50 years. He wrote 8,989 hymns, 10 times the volume composed by the only other candidate (Isaac Watts) who could conceivably claim to be the world's greatest hymn writer. He composed some of the most memorable and lasting hymns of the church: "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," "And Can It Be," "O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing," "Love Divine, All Loves Excelling," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," "Christ the Lord Is Risen Today," "Soldiers of Christ, Arise," and "Rejoice! the Lord Is King!" And yet he is often referred to as the "forgotten Wesley." His brother John is considered the organizational genius behind the founding of Methodism. But without the hymns of Charles, the Methodist movement may have gone nowhere. As one historian put it, "The early Methodists were taught and led as much through [Charles's] hymns as through sermons and [John] Wesley's pamphlets." Language scholar Charles Wesley was the eighteenth of Samuel and Susannah Wesley's nineteen children (only 10 lived to maturity). He was born prematurely in December 1707 and appeared dead. He lay silent, wrapped in wool, for weeks. When older, Charles joined his siblings as each day his mother, Susannah, who knew Greek, Latin, and French, methodically taught them for six hours. Charles then spent 13 years at Westminster School, where the only language allowed in public was Latin. He added nine years at Oxford, where he received his master's degree. It was said that he could reel off the Latin poet Virgil by the half hour. It was off to Oxford University next, and to counteract the spiritual tepidity of the school, Charles formed the Holy Club, and with two or three others celebrated Communion weekly and observed a strict regimen of spiritual study. Because of the group's religious regimen, which later included early rising, Bible study, and prison ministry, members were called "methodists." In 1735 Charles joined his brother John (they were now both ordained), to become a missionary in the colony of Georgia—John as chaplain of the rough outpost and Charles as secretary to Governor Oglethorpe. Shot at, slandered, suffering sickness, shunned even by Oglethorpe, Charles could have echoed brother John's sentiments as they dejectedly returned to England the following year: "I went to America to convert the Indians, but, oh, who will convert me?" It turned out to be the Moravians. After returning to England, Charles taught English to Moravian Peter Böhler, who prompted Charles to look at the state of his soul more deeply. During May 1738, Charles began reading Martin Luther's volume on Galatians while ill. He wrote in his diary, "I labored, waited, and prayed to feel 'who loved me, and gave himself for me.'" He shortly found himself convinced, and journaled, "I now found myself at peace with God, and rejoice in hope of loving Christ." Two days later he began writing a hymn celebrating his conversion. Evangelistic preacher At evangelist George Whitefield's instigation, John and Charles eventually submitted to "be more vile" and do the unthinkable: preach outside of church buildings. In his journal entries from 1739 to 1743, Charles computed the number of those to whom he had preached. Of only those crowds for whom he stated a figure, the total during these five years comes to 149,400. From June 24 through July 8, 1738, Charles reported preaching twice to crowds of ten thousand at Moorfields, once called "that Coney Island of the eighteenth century." He preached to 20,000 at Kennington Common plus gave a sermon on justification before the University of Oxford. On a trip to Wales in 1747, the adventurous evangelist, now 40 years old, met 20-year-old Sally Gwynne, whom he soon married. By all accounts, their marriage was a happy one. Charles continued to travel and preach, sometimes creating tension with John, who complained that "I do not even know when and where you intend to go." His last nationwide trip was in 1756. After that, his health led him gradually to withdraw from itinerant ministry. He spent the remainder of his life in Bristol and London, preaching at Methodist chapels. Magnificent obsession Throughout his adult life, Charles wrote verse, predominantly hymns for use in Methodist meetings. He produced 56 volumes of hymns in 53 years, producing in his lyrics what brother John called a "distinct and full account of scriptural Christianity." The Methodists became known (and sometimes mocked) for their exuberant singing of Charles's hymns. A contemporary observer recorded, "The song of the Methodists is the most beautiful I ever heard … They sing in a proper way, with devotion, serene mind and charm." Charles Wesley quickly earned admiration for his ability to capture universal Christian experience in memorable verse. In the following century, Henry Ward Beecher declared, "I would rather have written that hymn of Wesley's, 'Jesus, Lover of My Soul,' than to have the fame of all the kings that ever sat on the earth." The compiler of the massive Dictionary of Hymnology, John Julian, concluded that "perhaps, taking quantity and quality into consideration, [Charles Wesley was] the greatest hymn-writer of all ages."

Lord, Make Us Diligent and Desperate

“Lord, make me as holy as a pardoned sinner can be made.” This prayer, often found on the lips of Robert Murray McCheyne, strikes a chord in every Christian soul. When the Holy Spirit makes his home in us, holiness ceases to be the stuffy obligation we thought it was. All of a sudden, holiness feels like heaven in our hearts, and every earthly longing bows the knee to this burning, bright desire: “Lord, make me holy.” As we look ahead to a new year, how might we expect the Holy Spirit to fulfill that longing? One answer may not be surprising, but it is easily forgotten and neglected. To make us holy, the Spirit leads us on the pathways of Scripture, prayer, and the other means of grace. And along the way, he shapes our posture to align with two fundamental truths: Holiness cannot be found apart from the Spirit’s means of grace; therefore, we must be diligent in the use of them. Holiness cannot be found in the means of grace themselves; therefore, we must be desperate for the Spirit to work through them. Diligence and desperation: these are the postures that honor the Spirit’s means of grace. And by his design, they are our only hope for true holiness. Lord, Make Us Diligent Some of us hesitate to associate the sanctifying work of the Spirit with a word like diligence. We can be prone to think of the Spirit’s ministry in terms of spontaneity and flexibility, not discipline and diligence. But unless we read the Bible attentively, pray devotedly, and gather for worship regularly, the holiness that comes from the Spirit will not be ours. In other words: no diligence, no holiness. “No Christian drifts into holiness. The flesh is too weak, the devil too deceitful, and the world too alluring.” The Bible’s description of the growing Christian hums with activity and effort. Such a Christian does not read the Bible merely when he gets around to it; instead, he aims to meditate “day and night” (Psalm 1:2) — thinking over the word (2 Timothy 2:7), attending to the word (Proverbs 2:2), storing up the word (Psalm 119:11). He does not pray a few vague petitions on his way to work; rather, he endeavors to “continue steadfastly in prayer” (Colossians 4:2), devoting his whole mind to the task (1 Peter 4:7) as he struggles on behalf of himself and others (Colossians 4:12). And he does not simply gather with the church when his schedule allows; he exhorts (and is exhorted) “every day” (Hebrews 3:13), “not neglecting to meet” with his brothers and sisters (Hebrews 10:25). Just as no twig drifts upstream, so no Christian drifts into holiness. The flesh is too weak, the devil too deceitful, and the world too alluring. When it comes to holiness, the Spirit speaks the same command to us as the one he spoke two thousand years ago: strive (Hebrews 12:14). Holy Habits Sometimes, of course, our striving toward holiness does not seem like striving at all. We feel carried along by the Spirit, filled with a power that scorns sin and sends us with joy to the means of grace. These are precious experiences. But they can lead us astray if we begin to expect that the path to holiness will always feel like flying on eagles’ wings. The reality is that much of our progress toward holiness requires painful, painstaking effort — though not joyless — carried along by a stubborn faith that clings to God’s promise. J.I. Packer offers the realism many of us need to hear: “Holiness teaching that skips over disciplined persistence in the well-doing that forms holy habits is . . . weak; habit-forming is the Spirit’s ordinary way of leading us on in holiness” (Keep in Step with the Spirit, 90). In the moment, of course, “habit-forming” may not feel very spiritual — at least if by spiritual we mean an uplifted or ecstatic emotional state. It will probably feel like ordinary hard work. But keeping in step with the Spirit is sometimes as simple as, well, taking the next difficult step in faith: Throw the covers off and get up. Resist the urge to get lost in your phone or email. Push through distractions in your prayers. Whatever it takes, keep the reward in view, and form the habits that put you in the places where the wind of the Spirit blows. So, as we pray for more holiness in the year ahead, we might also ask, “Lord, make us diligent.” Lord, Make Us Desperate And yet, woe to us if diligence is our only watchword in the pursuit of holiness. The Pharisee in Jesus’s parable could claim diligence — far more than many of us can claim. “I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get” (Luke 18:11–12). All the means of grace are on display in this man. He knows the Scriptures. He prays. He gathers in the temple. And he is lost. “Whatever it takes, form the habits that put you in the places where the wind of the Spirit blows.” Diligence, if left without the seasoning of humble desperation, becomes the bitterest of all roots. As John Murray writes, “If we are not keenly sensitive to our own helplessness, then we can make the use of means of sanctification the minister of self-righteousness and pride” (Redemption Accomplished and Applied, 156). If we devote ourselves to the means of grace without depending on the God of grace, then the means may only serve our self-righteousness. In the pursuit of holiness, as in every other area of life, the first of Jesus’s Beatitudes abides: “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matthew 5:3). Blessed are those who know they can see nothing on their own (1 Corinthians 2:14). Blessed are those who can say with the apostle, “We do not know what to pray for as we ought” (Romans 8:26). Blessed are those who, like the tax collector in the parable, know that mercy is their only hope (Luke 18:13). Diligence can put our face in front of the Bible, but it cannot show us wonders there (Psalm 119:18). Only the Spirit can do that — and he loves to do so for the desperate. ‘Give Me Life!’ The author of Psalm 119 models what desperate diligence might sound like in practice. All throughout the psalm, notes of diligence and notes of desperation meld into a harmony that can come only from the Holy Spirit. To call the psalmist diligent puts it mildly: “With my whole heart I seek you” (Psalm 119:10). “I will keep your law continually, forever and ever” (Psalm 119:44). “I hasten and do not delay to keep your commandments” (Psalm 119:60). “Your testimonies are my meditation” (Psalm 119:99). “Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous rules” (Psalm 119:164). Here is diligence indeed. Yet it is the diligence of a man who knows, deep down, that he is hopeless apart from his God. Hear his desperation: “My soul clings to the dust; give me life according to your word!” (Psalm 119:25). “Put false ways far from me and graciously teach me your law!” (Psalm 119:29). “Incline my heart to your testimonies, and not to selfish gain!” (Psalm 119:36). “May my heart be blameless in your statutes, that I may not be put to shame!” (Psalm 119:80). “I am your servant; give me understanding, that I may know your testimonies!” (Psalm 119:125). The psalmist knew what we often forget: holiness requires hard work, but it is never the product of mere hard work. From first to last, holiness is a gift of grace. And so, we pray not only, “Lord, make us diligent,” but, “Lord, make us desperate.” Lord, Show Us Christ By diligence and desperation, the Spirit leads us onward to holiness. But if we are going to embody these two postures in the upcoming year, then we need to remember what we really mean by holiness. Too easily, we talk about holiness merely as a set of abstract moral virtues — patience, love, peace, generosity, boldness — and not as what it really is: Christlikeness. To be holy is to be near Christ and like Christ; the pursuit of holiness, therefore, is the pursuit of him. If we conceive of holiness merely as moral virtue, then our diligence and desperation will likely dry up after a time. But if Christ is at the center of our pursuit, then we have a goal glorious enough to summon all of our energy, all of our longings, all of our attention, all through the year. “Diligence can put our face in front of the Bible, but it cannot show us wonders there.” Rise up early for Christ, read and meditate and memorize for Christ, pray and fast for Christ, gather and worship for Christ — not to be more accepted by him than you already are, but to enjoy him more than you already do. Whatever else we gain this year cannot compare with knowing him, loving him, trusting him more dearly than we do now. “Oh, if ye saw the beauty of Jesus, and smelled the fragrance of his love,” Samuel Rutherford once wrote, “you would run through fire and water to be at him” (The Letters of Samuel Rutherford, 111). This, ultimately, is the Holy Spirit’s passion and purpose in all the means of grace: to glorify Christ in our eyes so that we become like him (John 16:14; 2 Corinthians 3:18). So, if we want God to make us as holy as pardoned sinners can be made, we will ask for more diligence and desperation. And underneath both of these, we will say, “God, show us Christ.” Article by Scott Hubbard