This has, at the moment, got to be one of my very favorite worship songs. The first time I ever spoke in church, I spoke about this song. It's kind of weird the way that I think about it, but it's what hit me the first time I ever heard it. (And you can, of course, hear it by clicking on the title above.)

I hate to tell any of the ladies who are reading this, but my husband can beat up your husband. With all of my heart, I believe that he is even better than Rambo. I firmly believe that he could get up the morning of the Best Ranger Competition at Fort Benning, call up his best friend, show up with no practice, and leave every other Ranger there in the dust. I believe beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is the most brilliant military planner that ever lived. Personally, I feel his chain of command is lucky to have him. I believe that there is not a job in the Army that he can’t do and do perfectly—the first time he tries.

I also believe that he is the greatest husband that ever walked this earth. It’s true; there is no better man on earth. No one is more honest, more sexy, more loving, more open, or a better father than him. I hate to tell you, ladies, but if you didn’t marry my husband, you got gypped.

The thing is, though, that one of my best friends, Jill, believes the same thing about her husband. According to her, KC can beat up Paul, shoot holes in any military strategy he devises, and smokePaul so badly in any competition that he'd make him cry. In order to save our friendship, we’ve agreed not to discuss whose husband is the greatest. (Just kidding… I think.) We now call them “co-Rambo.”

I’m willing to bet that, if I talked to most of you women out there (or to any of the men about their wives), you’d tell me (and Jill) that, actually, it’s you’re husband who can single-handedly save the world then come home and be the most loving and tender husband ever.

Why is that? Why is it that the vast majority of us are convinced that our husband (or wife) is the greatest?

Because we’re in love. I’ve been married for ten years and I have to tell you, he still gives me butterflies sometimes. (Of course, months and months of Army separations probably help to enhance that newlywed feeling…) I can brag about my man all day, through sunset, past midnight, and into dawn the next day (and don’t think that doesn’t totally embarrass him, either… he hates it!). Believe me, there has never been one ounce of shame in my love for my husband.

So why do I bring all of this up? Because I have to ask myself (and you) a question.

Do I love God that much?

Am I so head over heels in love with my God that I publicly display my affection for Him?

Am I willing to talk about all that my God has done until my throat is hoarse?

Do I think—and am I willing to say aloud in mixed company—that my God is bigger than any other god? That He always has been and always will be the Triumphant One?

If I am so ga-ga over a mortal sinful man, how can I fail to be the same way over my God?

There’s no shame in my love for my husband, but is there shame in my love for my God? Am I scared to profess it, afraid that someone will roll their eyes at me or think I’m weak because I love God?

I’d take a bullet for my husband; would I be willing to face death for loving God?

If we really love God, we should be as willing to profess it as we are to profess our love for our spouses. We should be willing to do as much as—well, more—for God than we do for our spouses. Are we?
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