Short Stories

The Narrow Way

A short story by Kelly Wilson 

Part 1: The Unequally Yoked

The rain was relentless, falling in a slow, somber rhythm against the windowpane. Anthony  sat in silence, the flickering television casting shadows across his tired face. The recliner creaked beneath him—not from age, but from the weight of a man who’d stopped moving forward long ago.

Annabelle’s voice drifted faintly from the hallway, soft and melodic—a worship song barely above a whisper.

He resented how peaceful she sounded. Resented how close she was to a God who now felt like a stranger.

When they first married, Annabelle’s faith had been quiet—gentle, like her. She prayed over dinner, went to church once or twice a month, and smiled at the idea of God. But after a spiritual retreat two years into their marriage, she came back… changed.

Radical, even.

Suddenly, the Bible wasn’t a book—it was breath. Worship wasn’t music—it was warfare. Marriage wasn’t a partnership—it was a calling.

Anthony  tried to keep up. For a while.

But eventually, her light only made his darkness more obvious. And instead of letting it change him, he ran from it.

She prayed. He scrolled.

She fasted. He drank.

She submitted. He ignored.

The gap widened.

Now, on this rainy Thursday night, Annabelle sat behind a closed door in prayer—while Anthony  sat in open silence, with a heart he wasn’t sure even worked anymore.

Part 2: Through Thorns

Anthony  wasn’t a bad man.

That’s what he told himself every time guilt clawed at his ribs.

He didn’t cheat. Didn’t hit. Didn’t leave. He provided. He came home. He paid the bills.

But Annabelle never wanted just a provider. She wanted a priest.

She never said it aloud—not in those words. But he saw it in her eyes. When she looked at him during worship and he couldn’t meet her gaze. When she bowed her head and waited for him to lead prayer, only to whisper it herself. When she submitted… to silence.

He felt like a fraud.

So he buried it. In hobbies. In work. In half-hearted podcasts about success and masculinity that never mentioned Christ.

The world had handed him a definition of manhood that didn’t require a cross.

But Annabelle’s eyes told a different story.

He remembered her tears one night when she whispered, “I’m not trying to shame you, Anthony . I just… I miss the version of you that was searching.”

And he had been. Once.

Back when he thought religion was something to explore—before he realized it was someone to surrender to.

Part 3: Through Storms

The argument began over the trash—as many did. But it ended in a silence that lingered for two days.

Anthony  stood at the sink, rinsing out a coffee mug, when Annabelle entered the kitchen. Bible in hand. No makeup. Just softness and sorrow.

“I’m fasting tomorrow,” she said quietly. “For us.”

He didn’t answer.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this,” she continued. “But I can’t pretend everything’s fine. I’m not going anywhere, Anthony . But I’m hurting.”

His hands stilled under the stream of water.

She stepped closer. “I need a husband who chases Jesus. Not because I demand it, but because you were made for it.”

The words cut.

But what hurt more than the words was the truth beneath them.

She wasn’t nagging. She wasn’t controlling. She wasn’t lording her faith over him.

She was begging him to come home—not just to her, but to the One who made him.

And he had no idea how to respond.

Part 4: Unseen Battles

That night, Anthony  dreamed of fire.

Not flames. Not hell. But heat. Smoke. Darkness that clung to him like oil.

In the dream, Annabelle stood in a clearing, surrounded by light. She held out her hand, but something invisible held him back—chains of smoke he couldn’t see, but felt.

He woke in a cold sweat.

The next morning, he didn’t tell Annabelle. Instead, he wandered the house like a ghost. He watched her pray. Watched her journal. Watched her worship.

And something in him cracked.

He didn’t want to be a spectator anymore.

Part 5: Broken Bread

Sunday came. Rain again.

Anthony  dressed in silence. Buttoned his shirt. Shaved.

When Annabelle came out of the bedroom and saw him—Bible in hand—she froze.

He didn’t explain. Just said, “I’m coming with you.”

The sermon was on Ephesians 5.

Of course it was.

“Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her…”

Anthony  sat still. Eyes forward. Heart aching.

The pastor wasn’t preaching at him—but God was.

Christ didn’t dominate His bride. He died for her.

He didn’t demand submission with force—He earned it with sacrifice.

Anthony ’s eyes burned.

And in that moment, for the first time in years, he whispered a prayer:

“God… if You’re real, come get me. I’m tired of leading myself.”

Part 6: The Men’s Table

After church, an older man named Jack invited him to the Men’s Table—a Tuesday night Bible group for husbands, fathers, and men who were tired of pretending.

Anthony  went.

That first night, they didn’t talk about theology. They talked about pride. About porn. About power and surrender.

Raw. Honest. Ugly. Beautiful.

Jack shared how he nearly destroyed his own marriage trying to be a king without a cross.

Anthony  listened. Listened so hard his knuckles went white.

And when they asked him what he needed prayer for, he choked out:

“My wife’s more faithful than I am. And I don’t know how to lead a woman of God.”

Jack smiled, slow and knowing. “You lead her by kneeling first.”

Part 7: What Submission Really Means

Over the next few weeks, Anthony  changed.

Not all at once—but in ways that mattered.

He stopped expecting Annabelle to be both the warrior and the worshiper.

He prayed—awkwardly, but sincerely.

He opened his Bible.

He admitted when he didn’t know things.

He repented—not performatively, but from the heart.

And Annabelle… she wept.

Not because he became perfect, but because he became humble.

One night, while washing dishes, Anthony  said, “I used to think leadership meant control. But now I think it means service.”

Annabelle put her hand on his back. “That’s exactly what it means.”

Part 8: The Garden Again

They started praying together at night.

They laughed again.

They walked hand in hand again.

Anthony  still had doubts. Still wrestled. Still heard the old voices of pride and fear.

But he took every thought captive.

He wasn’t trying to earn God’s love—he was learning to receive it.

And in doing so, he began to love Annabelle not as a man who demanded submission—but as a man who earned her trust by laying down his ego at the cross.

Part 9: Head and Heart

Months passed.

One morning, Annabelle asked him to lead a devotional for the family.

He stumbled. Read too fast. Lost his place.

But she smiled the whole time.

Later, she whispered, “You’re not the man I married. You’re better. You’re becoming who God always meant you to be.”

Anthony  didn’t cry—not outwardly.

But in his soul, something new bloomed.

Not pride. Not power.

Just peace.

Part 10: One Flesh

It was raining again.

But this time, Anthony  didn’t stare through the window like a prisoner.

He stood beside Annabelle, hand in hand, as they prayed over another couple—young, newly married, and struggling.

He looked at the man and said:

“I spent years asking my wife to follow me while I was lost. Don’t make that mistake. Let her follow you as you follow Christ. That’s leadership.”

When they got home, Annabelle kissed him slow.

“You’re leading well, love,” she said.

Anthony  looked to heaven and smiled.

Finally—after all the running, resisting, and wrestling—he wasn’t just a husband.

He was a man of God.

“Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.”

— Psalm 127:1