The day started like any other day, but something felt different in the air. I could not put my finger on it, but I knew that something about this day was different. I stopped by my regular coffee spot to get my breakfast. As I walked in, I noticed a gentleman I’d seen before. I could not remember where I had seen him before, but his face was familiar. You know that feeling you get when you know that someone is watching you? I felt it, the back of my head felt like a hole was boring in it. I placed my order and as I turned to leave, the voice of what I describe as God, greeted me with a, Wow, you are beautiful. That’s it, that is what I felt this morning. My life was about to change; in this very moment, my life was about to change. I smiled at him and said thank you in a bashful, but flirtatious tone. He asked if I came to this coffee shop often, and I said yes. We got into a conversation, and before you know it, we had our first date scheduled for that weekend. Daven was an absolute gentleman on our date. Our conversation was intentional, deep, and we were both looking for the same thing: marriage and family. That date ended with us both knowing we had found the person we would spend the rest of our lives with. Daven and I dated for 3 months, and on Valentine’s Day, he made the most beautiful declaration of our love and journey by proposing to me. It was so beautiful and well-planned. Of course, I said yes. Six months later, with our family and friends as witnesses, Daven and I got married in the beautiful Island of Jamaica. After the wedding, we spent an additional ten days on our honeymoon. I don’t think I could have been happier. The day we got back from our honeymoon, my husband told me he was hungry and asked me to fix him something to eat. I was a little confused as to his request, so I asked him if he was not feeling well. He asked me why I asked him that. I said you just asked me to go fix you something to eat, and if you are feeling well, then why am I fixing you something to eat? That began a breakdown of our new union. Days, weeks and months rolled into years of arguing, disrespect, and what seemed like hate for each other. I started feeling like this had to be the biggest and worst mistake I had ever made in my life, and Daven probably felt the same way. All I wanted more than anything else was to be free of this life-draining relationship. I called my aunt, who is also a minister, and shared with her that I wanted out of my marriage. Her response shocked and irritated me. She asked if Dave and I were physically abusive towards each other. I said no. She said, did either of us feel unsafe at home? I said no. She said did either of us step outside or dishonor the marriage with infidelity, I said I did not, and pretty sure Daven did not either. I asked her what was the point of all these questions. Her response was, Then this marriage is your ministry. I said What, She said A ministry. I told her, I did not sign up for any ministry, I got married to be loved and cared for. My aunt began to share with me that marriage was not created for the cultural definition of what a marriage is, but God created it for a specific purpose and with specific roles.
I couldn’t sleep that night after talking to my aunt. Her words kept echoing in my mind: “This marriage is your ministry.” What did that even mean? I didn’t sign up to be a preacher—I signed up to be a wife, a partner, a woman loved without condition. Yet something about what she said wouldn’t let me go. Ministry? I wrestled with that word until the sun broke through my window the next morning.
That day, I started looking at Daven differently. Not softer, not yet with love, but with curiosity. Who was this man I married? What burdens did he carry that I’d overlooked in the excitement of wedding colors and honeymoon planning? And more than that, who had I become in the quiet war between us? I saw us as enemies when maybe we were just two wounded people guarding our hearts.
We still argued. Sometimes over small things, sometimes over absolutely nothing at all. But now, instead of only reacting, I started reflecting. I began to pray—not the kind of prayer that begged God to fix him, but the kind that asked God to show me myself. What part did I play in the silence between us? In the way we walked past each other like strangers in our own home?
One evening, as I sat on the edge of the bed, tears tracing down my cheeks, I looked over at Daven. He was staring at the ceiling, arms crossed, breathing heavily from yet another unresolved argument. I whispered, “Daven… can I ask you something?” He didn’t move. I tried again. “What happened to us?”
His eyes flicked toward me, tired but still sharp. “We stopped seeing each other,” he said. “We both got so busy trying to be right, we forgot how to love.”
It wasn’t poetic. It was painful. But it was honest.
That moment became the start of something new—not perfect, not magical, but intentional. We made a pact: to go to counseling, to pray together, and to speak to each other with the goal of understanding, not winning. Some days we failed. But some days… we didn’t. And those days gave us hope.
As Daven and I stumbled through the early years of our marriage, I realized something that both terrified and humbled me: I had no idea what I was doing. I knew how to plan a wedding, but I didn’t know how to build a marriage. I had dreamed of love, but not studied sacrifice. I knew how to be a bride, but not a wife. And most importantly, I had invited God into my wedding day, but not into my marriage.
That realization made me look at other Christian couples around me. So many of us were struggling quietly, ashamed to admit that marriage was nothing like what we imagined. We had mistaken chemistry for compatibility, butterflies for calling. We thought love was a feeling, not a decision. And when those feelings faded, we started questioning everything.
I remember sitting in a small Bible study one evening when the topic of marriage came up. A young woman said, “I just want someone who will love me the way Christ loves the church.” It sounded beautiful. But I couldn’t stay quiet. I said, “You do realize Christ died for the church, right? That love you’re asking for—it’s a dying kind of love. Are you ready to be that kind of wife, too?”
The room went quiet.
That moment became a turning point for me. I started studying what God really said about marriage—not just the romantic parts, but the hard truths. Words like submission, sacrifice, servant leadership. None of it fit the fairytale. But all of it fit God’s vision for what marriage could be: holy, not just happy. Purposeful, not just passionate. A reflection of His covenant, not just a convenience.
I began to see that marriage isn’t a reward for being good, or a prize for finally “arriving.” It’s an assignment. A spiritual classroom where you’re taught patience, humility, forgiveness, and faith. It’s not about being completed by someone—it’s about being transformed by God, through someone.
Let’s talk plainly.
We don’t talk enough in the church about what marriage is. We celebrate engagements with excitement, we post wedding photos with hashtags like #blessed and #answeredprayer, and we tell young women to wait on their Boaz. But what we don’t do enough is prepare people for what comes after the cake is cut and the dress is boxed away.
Here’s the truth: Marriage is not a reward. It’s a responsibility.
It’s not a platform for your happiness—it’s a process for your holiness.
If you’re a Christian walking into marriage expecting it to complete you, fix you, or make your life easier, you’re walking into it blind. And frankly, you’re walking into it unprepared. Because biblical marriage was never about comfort—it was about covenant. A covenant means you stay, grow, and love even when it’s not easy, romantic, or Instagram-worthy.
We have to stop treating marriage like it’s just the next step after dating for long enough or reaching a certain age. Marriage is a ministry. That means it will stretch you, test you, and sometimes break you—because it’s meant to build something eternal, not just emotional.
In Ephesians 5, Paul doesn’t describe marriage as a romantic partnership. He describes it as a mirror of Christ and the Church. That’s sacrificial, bloody love. That’s dying to self. That’s forgiveness on a level that doesn’t make sense in the world’s eyes.
So if you’re dating, ask yourself: Are you prepared to serve, not just be served? Are you looking for someone to make you happy, or someone with whom you can fulfill a kingdom assignment? Are you ready for the version of love that hurts sometimes, but heals all the time through grace and truth?
And if you’re already married and struggling, know this: you are not alone. But don’t rush to escape something just because it’s hard. Ask God, “What are you trying to teach me through this?” Sometimes the struggle isn’t a sign you married the wrong person—it’s a sign that God is trying to do the right work in you. Marriage is not just about falling in love. It’s about staying in covenant. Even when it’s hard.
