On a Friday night eighteen years ago, we were setting up flowers and candles. We were practicing a processional. We were finalizing the order of service, the songs, the vows. We had a fancy dinner with our families and closest friends. We said goodnight and goodbye to our separate lives. Eighteen years ago, I went to sleep as a single woman for the last time.
“Our marriage is an adult,” I laughed to my husband the other day on our morning walk. “It can vote. It can make its own decisions.” I can barely remember the young kids in the wedding photos in our home. Inexperienced and untried, marriage was full of possibility. We didn’t know that “for better or for worse” would lean hard on the “worse” part. I guess everyone assumes it will be “for better.” We didn’t know about chronic illness, infertility, a vocation that would break our hearts.
Before you begin to think I’m here to bemoan how hard marriage has been, let me stop you right there. Life is hard and certainly marriage is hard at times, but in eighteen years of mostly externally-sourced suffering, my marriage has been a shelter, a fortress, a refuge, a home, our home. I think hard things in life have a great potential to drive a wedge between spouses, but on the other hand, hard things in life can also wedge you in tightly together. I’m thankful for a husband who has made sure that when the world turns dark, there’s always a light glowing in the window of our marriage.
“Nothing kills a marriage like idolatry,” I heard my husband say recently. Healthy, Christian marriages require a lot of idol-smashing. Being angry, being right, money, intimacy, parenting, miscommunication—there’s no end to the ways we can idolize ourselves and what we want from our spouses. I could smash a new idol every day, honestly. And that’s why my relationship with Christ—what I’m feeding my soul with—matters so much for my marriage. If I’m not reading my Bible, praying diligently, loving my church, hiding God’s Word in my heart, then my earthly relationships, especially the closest ones, will suffer from my inattention to Jesus. I can’t see my idols if I’m not looking at Jesus. Goodness, I’ve seen the consequences of a misplaced gaze in my life so many times. I don’t read my Bible just for me. I read it for my marriage and my motherhood, my friendships and my church. How else will I see what I’m bowing down to? Nothing shines a light on my sin like Scripture.
Eighteen years ago, I knew that marriage was supposed to mirror the gospel, but I hadn’t yet lived it. I hadn’t learned that love and respect are hard when we’re selfish and impossible when we’re prideful. Neither of us really got that, I don’t think. But we learned and moved beyond the hypothetical. We grew up and into marriage. Beyond just staying together, we committed on that day eighteen years ago to something more than longevity. We committed to joy. We didn’t want to make it to the end of our lives together and call mere survival a success. No, we decided that survival must include joy. Not divorcing was bare minimum. Joy was the goal. Maybe it’s naïve, but it’s still our goal.
Has it been joy for eighteen years? I remember an argument we had a few months ago while on a walk. Our five-year-old rode his bike as we walked loops around a church parking lot in our neighborhood; we thought he was out of earshot. When we walked back to the house, our son called out loudly to a neighbor, “Hi! My parents are arguing!” I could tell you in detail about the unsmashed idol that led to that fight. It was mine.
Has it been joy for eighteen years? I remember the time my husband drove me to and from an event where I took the stage for the first time. He turned to me in the car and said, “Our marriage has mostly been about my ministry as a pastor. I’ve ignored your gifts. That changes now.” From that moment, he pushed me to write, to speak, to teach women about Jesus. He has read my words, edited them, talked through theology with me, kept the kids, talked me off more than one “I can’t do this” ledge, and has sacrificed much for me to flourish. I can point you to the exact moment he smashed his idol.
Has it been joy for eighteen years? It has. Easy? No. Trouble-free? Not even close. Free from arguments or financial strain? Nope. Smooth sailing? Only sometimes. But has it been joy? Yes. Because even in the ebb and flow of disagreements and idol-smashing, we both know that there is something we’re both holding on with both hands. Together. Both Hands. Our marriage is about more than our happiness or fulfilled desires. It really is about the gospel of Jesus. We said “I do” because of Him. We smash idols because of Him. We hold on to joy because of Him. In Him, through Him, for Him, by Him. It’s possible, friends. Joy is possible.
Speaking of marriage, I told a friend today, “You spend your whole adult life learning a person. One day we’ll get it right.” We’re in this for all the years the Lord gives us on earth together. By His grace and in His strength, we’ll keep smashing idols—not just so we can make it but so that we can make it with joy.
Happy 18th anniversary, William. There’s no one I’d rather smash idols with than you.
“Nothing kills a marriage like idolatry,” I heard my husband say recently. I could smash a new idol every day, honestly. Share on XPhoto by Photos by Lanty on Unsplash
Glenna Marshall is married to her pastor, William, and lives in rural Southeast Missouri where she tries and fails to keep up with her two energetic sons. She is the author of The Promise is His Presence (P&R) and Everyday Faithfulness (Crossway), and Memorizing Scripture (Moody). Connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter.
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