A year ago, I was finishing up my wedding dress fittings and finalizing the details for the day I would promise the rest of my life to my love.
He wasn’t the man I was supposed to marry. But he was the man I fell in love with, and he gave me everything I never even knew I needed in a partner.
I grew up in a very religious home and part of a subculture where isolation unto our own kind was of the utmost importance. For me to choose a man that I was “equally yoked” with was one of the biggest choices of my life.
A man who shared my core beliefs was a man who could lead me spiritually and a man who could hold me accountable to my faith in Jesus. That was the husband I was told to search for.
And for most of my life, that was the kind of partner I wanted.
I believed that my role in life was to be a good submissive wife to my husband. I believed that the purpose of my life was to get married and have little children who I could raise to have a personal relationship with Jesus. As a woman of faith, that was my heart’s greatest desire.
There was a big problem with this plan, however.
I was raised in a very isolated family and was set up for a path of exceptional loneliness.
In my home, I was taught from a very young age to believe that we were part of a remnant of true believers. This remnant was so tiny, we held little hope of ever meeting other true believers to have fellowship with. As the daughter of a self-proclaimed “discernment” minister & “cult researcher,” I was also led to believe that 99% of Christians around us were sheep who were all too easily deceived by the devil’s lies. There was little hope of finding a man who:
- Was part of the small remnant of Christians to which my family belonged
- Was spiritually mature enough and discerning enough to be my spiritual leader.
One thing was for certain, however: to choose a man outside of the faithful remnant, or outside of Christianity, was spiritual suicide. I was promised that choosing a husband who did not share my beliefs was asking to be taken down a path where I would one day lose my faith, and therefore my salvation. I was also promised that any children I would have would not grow up with Jesus.
This was all terrifying to a young woman who loved God deeply and did her very best to seek the truth always.
And then one day, a funny thing happened:
As I pursued truth, I learned that I didn’t need a spiritual leader. I learned that God was just as accessible to me as a single woman as any man. I learned that I was given a mind that was quick and sharp to discern what draws me closer to God and what pulls me away.
The chilling realization I came to was that it was the system in which I was raised that was pulling me away.
My family expected me to submit to their beliefs and their guidance to be spiritually safe.
My conservative evangelical subculture expected me to seek out mortal and fallible men to be guided into all truth and righteousness.
Everyone wanted me to look to mere humans instead of God to grow in my faith.
So as I let the chains of man-made traditions and religion fall away from my soul, I found myself questioning the guiding rules that I’d had for most of my life.
The Christian men I was meeting either were not emotionally mature enough for me to even consider dating, or they didn’t know what they wanted and left me on the hook when a relationship was never a real possibility for us. A few were even overtly abusive.
I saw a lot of sexism and legalism in many of their lives that destroyed any interest that I might have otherwise had. I also saw a lot of fear and a lot of hate for those that their culture had othered: mainly nonChristians, LGBTQ+, and BIPOC people (particularly immigrants).
I knew I deserved better. I knew that if I were to become a mother one day that my children would deserve better too.
I just didn’t know how to find a man worth my time or energy.
So I decided to learn how to date for the sake of learning how to date. I was pushing 30 at this point, but better late than never.
As I met a few nice guys and simultaneously enjoyed this dating thing and was terrified of it (thanks, purity culture!), I came to the realization that I don’t actually need a Christian man to be safe and content in my life.
If I don’t need my husband to be my spiritual leader, why would it even matter if he were a Christian if we shared common values outside of faith?
I also knew that there was no guarantee that any children I had would become, or remain, Christian even if I married the godliest man on the planet. Christianity, as evangelicals love to proclaim, is a relationship. And like any relationship, it can change, or end, or never even begin in the first place. And on my death bed, would I have wanted a husband that tried to force faith on my kids? Or one that gave space and safety for our children to get curious about faith and decide for themselves what path to follow?
I’d choose safe and gentle every time.
So I stopped looking for a Christian man to date, and I started to look for a good and kind man who saw me as his equal.
That’s where my (now) husband came in.
We knew each other for years as acquaintances before we became close friends. And over the course of a year of being good friends, we developed feelings for one another. Eventually we talked about where we both stood and decided to give love a chance.
I am so happy we did, because now I see how beautiful this life is that we built together, and it takes my breath away. Ten years ago me had no idea how supportive and loving a relationship can be when two people enter as equals, always wanting the best for one another.
And I almost missed out on this love because my family and my subculture created a narrative of fear for those who were different from us. I was taught to literally fear for my own soul in choosing a partner that was not predefined or pre-approved by my culture.
I’m so glad I finally realized that I was lied to. Because if every good gift comes from God, then that includes my marriage to a man who doesn’t share my faith. Because this relationship is the healthiest and safest I’ve ever known. And you cannot tell me that God isn’t smiling upon us.
I wrote this poem about my love and our relationship, and I published it after we announced our wedding date had been set. I’ve been wanting to create something beautiful with this poem ever since, so this week I sat down and set it to music.
This poem isn’t just about my love story. It’s about all love stories that have been forbidden because of fear or hate. Because interfaith marriage isn’t the only kind of forbidden love in this world.
I hope you like it.
Shari A Smith 