After taking nearly a year off from blogging, I’m back on the job as I walk through this unplanned journey. You may join me along the way at Strong & Courageous, or you may follow me on Twitter. ~ cck

Most only warned her that the worst is yet to come, “hahaha just you wait until middle school drama and then high school drama.” Why would any friend think that sort of comment would be helpful? Do we have some sort of narcissistic need for our challenges to be worse than those of our friends? Are we playing a game of one-up in which the mom with the biggest problems wins?

When Lily was a tiny baby, I thought I was going insane. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know how to make her stop crying. It took us two months to learn how to breastfeed. I wondered if I’d ever again get to sleep seven or eight or even just six hours straight. Well-meaning friends, friends who love me, friends who probably delivered a meal, would walk into my topsy-turvy house and say, “This stage will be gone before you know it. She’ll be 10 years old in a flash, and you’ll miss these sweet days with her as a baby.” Well, that’s true. Lily is 11 years old, and I’d give anything to hold that little 7-pound sweetheart in my arms again. However, that information did nothing but discourage me 11 years ago. I was just wondering if I’d get a shower that day and if I could keep Lily alive until the next day. The truth of the comment did nothing to help me cherish those precious days. They didn’t feel precious at the time. They felt eternal. The comment only served to make me focus all the more on my glaring inadequacies.

I, too, am guilty of this offense. I wonder how many times a dear friend has shared her struggles or frustrations with me only to be “consoled” by my dueling story of woe. Why would I even think a disheartened friend would find comfort in a tale of my personal affliction? I am exceedingly deluded if I somehow believe my friend will suddenly think, “Wow. Poor Carolyn. I really don’t have anything to complain about compared to her troubles. My difficulties suddenly seem insignificant.” No, my comparable story only serves to fuel my ego at the high price of making my friend feel totally defeated. She needed an ally, but unknowingly woke a competitor.

Why do we feel the need to minimize a fellow mom’s current struggle with foreboding news of the greater misery yet to come? Why do we act like the trials of others are nothing compared with our own? They’re not nothing. Why can’t we encourage each other through places we’ve been and come alongside when our sisters face the stage we hate today? What in us make us say, “You don’t know anything” when what other moms are feeling right now is truly difficult. Who really gives a rat’s ass if 15 is worse than 9? If you’re facing 9 today, you certainly don’t need to worry about 15 today.

Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. ~ Matthew 6:34

The mundane of parenting and of our lives matters to the God of the universe. He cares about crying babies and disobedient children. He cares about clueless husbands, dramatic pre-teens, broken dryers, missing keys, and careless friends. He has included countless examples in Scripture of how He does, indeed, care about the minute details of our lives: The cries of baby Moses’ captured the attention of a princess, and consequently, he lived to save an entire nation; God blessed Sarah beyond her wildest dreams when Abraham moved her away from her family and friends; One mother prepared a little lunch for her little boy, as she probably had every day for as long as she could remember, and Jesus used that little, bitty lunch to feed more than 5,000 people. What we do not see anywhere in scripture is any patriarch, prophet, disciple, or Jesus belittling the pain of others. Whether our problems are as significant as Job’s or as seemingly trivial as Zacchaeus’ height, the Creator, the King of Kings who sits on the throne, Jehovah sees our troubles. He loves us. Our pain always matters to Him.

The next time a fellow mom expresses her frustration over something one of her children has done to exasperate her, resist the urge to one-up her. Tell your friend she’s an awesome mom. Pray for her. Encourage her.

Hey Alice, you rock! Emily is so blessed that you’re her mom. Tell her I think you’re so cool that I wrote a whole blog post about you. She won’t be dramatic forever. Well, she might, but we can pray for God’s grace to get you through it, one day at the time. The good news is that the weekend is here! I’ll pray you can relax and enjoy your sweet, fun family!

In the game of one-up, everybody loses, so don’t play.

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up.
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:11

The theme of the contest was “oasis,” and this could be taken in any direction, any escape from the norm. Paul’s entry, “Slipping the Surly Bonds of Earth in Washington, D.C.” (trip #21709), is a non-literal interpretation of the theme, an oasis in the mind’s eye.

In order to advance to the Finals, Paul’s trip needs to rank in the top 10 among the semifinalists in wishlisting. After a week of wishlisting, Paul’s trip has consistently been ranked in the top 10 out of the 204 semifinalists. The competition is fierce, and the rankings change constantly. You can help by voting. The deadline for voting is September 14 at 7:59 p.m. EDT. Please register at Trazzler.com, find Paul’s trip, and click the green “add to wishlist” button. Detailed instructions can be found below.

In addition to the grand prize, Trazzler will award nine runners up with writing contracts for $250 and four Editor’s choice contracts for $500. The key is to make sure Paul’s trip is in the top 10 on September 14 at 7:59 p.m.

We are grateful for your time and effort to help us, and we are particularly thankful for your friendship. ~ cck

Voting Instructions for Facebook Users:
1) Go to http://www.trazzler.com
2) Click “Sign In Using Facebook”.
3) Find Paul’s trip (typing “koning bonds” in the trip search field brings it up, or you can return to this post and click the link); open it, and read the trip.
4) Click the green “add to wishlist” button. You have voted!

Voting Instructions for Non-Facebook Users:
1) Go to http://www.trazzler.com
2) Scroll to the bottom of the welcome page and click “About Trazzler”.
3) At the top of the next page, click “Sign In or Sign Up”.
4) Find “No Facebook Account?” and click “Sign Up”. (It’s free and takes only a moment.)
5) Register using the sign-up form. (You can opt not to receive e-mails from Trazzler.)
6) Return to the Trazzler home page and find Paul’s trip (typing “koning bonds” in the trip search field brings it up, or you can return to this post and click the link); open it, and read the trip.
7) Click the green “add to wishlist” button. You have voted!

If you’re interested in reading other travel pieces Paul has written, click here. Most of these adventures are about Africa.

Today is my mother-in-law’s 82nd birthday. I miss her. Strange things often remind me of her, like serving spoons and quirky characteristics Lily displays.

I’ve shopped the following article around to a few magazines in pursuit of the elusive publication success. I decided to post it on the blog today as a tribute to the mother of my husband and to honor a remarkable woman of God on her birthday. I wonder how they celebrate birthdays in heaven. I imagine they’re partying big time.

The Mother-in-Law Secret
By Carolyn C. Koning

Mothers-in-law. Some are genuinely winsome—others, fiendish. Alas, even under the best of circumstances, this relationship is often a strained one. Paul’s mother died in 2008 on Mother’s Day in India while on the last of numerous mission trips. I am so thankful I discovered the Mother-in-Law Secret in time to relish this precious relationship.

Paul’s mother was a first-class prayer warrior. At her memorial service, we displayed her tattered Bible and reams of handwritten prayer requests for which she prayed faithfully. She prayed for different extended family members on certain days of the week. She prayed for some of us every day. If she ever said, “I’ll be praying for you,” you can bet your bottom dollar that she carried your concern regularly to the Mercy Seat until she heard that the situation had resolved. She prayed for missionaries around the world. She prayed for her siblings’ children and grandchildren and great grandchildren to come to know Christ. She prayed for our president and other government leaders, for pastors and Sunday school teachers, about the weather, and more. Paul was Gerda’s only son. I’m willing to guess with significant confidence that, from the moment she knew of Paul’s existence, she prayed daily for his future wife. Twenty-six years later, we finally met.

To some onlookers, Paul and I may seem like an odd match, but I believe the way we complement each other is a specific answer to Gerda’s relentless prayers. However, I always worried that she thought I was from a different planet. Gerda and I were east and west, night and day, oil and water. I often wondered if she ever asked God if He had misunderstood her prayers: surely, I was a mistake. I was confident that I was not what she had in mind when she prayed every single day for twenty-six years for a godly wife for Paul. I’m sure she never imagined a woman who talked as much as I do. I’m sure she envisioned someone more like June Cleaver than Lucy Ricardo. The one and only thing Gerda and I had in common was our faith in the Lord Jesus, but in the end and as always, He was enough.

Paul’s mother was a flawless housekeeper; her home was always “Dutch clean.” On a regular basis, she swept baseboards with her little straw whisk broom. A vacuum cleaner attachment did not produce satisfactory results. Baseboards? People really clean baseboards? Cleaning has never been one of my fortes. Whenever Grandma and Grandpa were scheduled to arrive for a visit, I would endeavor in a frenzy to accomplish weeks, maybe months, worth of straightening and cleaning. Generally, the result was presentable, but I knew it was never as good as she would have done. After our children, Lily and Silas, were born, she was rather outspoken about how children should be raised. I was easily offended when she suggested an approach other than what we were doing in response to acting-out behaviors.

Whenever we visited Paul’s parents or they visited us, I found myself begging God, “Please let Lily and Silas be obedient. Please let Lily and Silas be obedient. Please let Lily and Silas be obedient.” Inevitably, because they are, indeed, children, they would get into something or do something they were told not to do or even break something, and once again, our parenting methods were proven to be erroneous and ineffective. My anxiety and even depression at times over the situation caused Paul significant grief. He couldn’t change either me or his mother; he loved both of us, and he desired peaceful, fun family gatherings. Gerda and I were never outright hostile toward one another, but when we were together, I seemed to hyper-focus on my shortcomings, and I imagined that she was critically scrutinizing my every move.

I agonized over this never-ending cycle until I finally figured out the Mother-in-Law Secret. I began to follow the example of my mother-in-law. I began praying for her. Rather than praying for Lily and Silas to be 100% obedient, which is really quite impossible, I prayed for them to be blessings to Grandma. I prayed that she would get to know her grandchildren and enjoy them. I prayed that I would be a blessing to her, that God would show me ways to encourage her, that we would both enjoy our relationship. I consciously had to make myself stop worrying about what she was thinking (or not thinking, as the case may be). I needed to realize that it was not my responsibility to please her and that we might never agree on how to load a dishwasher or how to raise children. In truth, those differences didn’t matter. I began to thank God for her, for her godly example to me and to my children, and for her life of faithful service to the Lord Jesus.

As much as I wanted her to change, I was the one who needed changing. The results were incredibly sweet. I genuinely looked forward to her visits and her company. My soul filled with joy as I watched Silas explaining some convoluted idea to her as she listened attentively. I cherished the scene of Lily and her playing Scrabble for hours, meticulously keeping score. I remember one particular weekend at their little condo when all six of us had worked for hours on an impossible 1000-piece puzzle. Grandpa decided to take Paul, Lily, and Silas down to his little makeshift workshop where he creates spectacles for pennies—his faithful, tireless, never-ending contribution toward the fulfillment of the Great Commission. Left puzzling with Grandma, I thought about what a remarkable woman she was and how blessed I was that she was my mother-in-law. We worked in silence (which was generally easy for her, more challenging for me), but it was a sweet silence—the kind you feel with those you truly love, and who you know love you, the kind you don’t necessarily need to fill with conversation for the sake of conversation. And I thanked my God. He had abundantly answered my prayers.

My in-laws didn’t stumble upon Paul’s name by accident. They named him for one of history’s earliest and most influential missionaries because of their mutual passion for missions. Paul and I met in Kenya where we were both serving as missionaries. While they never said as much, Paul’s parents may have been disappointed when we didn’t return to the mission field soon after we were married. It was no coincidence then that we were in Kenya when Gerda died. Perhaps she had been praying that God would lead us back into missions. His timing may have been different than she would have liked, but ultimately, her faithful God answered her prayer, as He always had. Grandma and Grandpa were in India teaching Indian Christians to make Grandpa’s glasses when God called her home. Even in her death, she continued to be a godly example for my children.

I’m so thankful I figured out the Mother-in-Law Secret in time to enjoy that relationship and to appreciate God’s blessings for me through her. God has infinite blessings for daughters-in-law through mothers-in-law if we will simply allow Him to speak and work through people we may perceive to be unlikely candidates.

A passing reference to Area 51 appears in National Treasure II, the film Lily and two of her closest friends watched in the car on the way to Wrightsville Beach yesterday, the official celebration of Lily’s 11th birthday. We briefly discussed the location of and legends surrounding Area 51 and immediately moved on to more significant topics and escapades. Three 11-year-old girls who have known each other for six years generate ongoing silliness beyond all reason and audible natural explosions that rival those of drunken sailors and fraternity boys.

After five hours of sand, surf, and sunscreen, Lily had a hankering for clam chowder at The Dockside, one of our family’s long-time favorites. This birthday extravaganza needed only dessert for total perfection. We made the happy discovery of Rita’s Ice Custard Happiness! Gelatis (“a layering of your favorite Italian Ice and creamy Frozen Custard”) in hand, we loaded into the van for the two-hour drive back to Raleigh.

At some point along I-40, Betsy squealed, “I spilled my slushy in Area 51!” I glanced back to see Betsy’s lap covered in sour apple slushy. As if that wasn’t funny enough to cause me to drive into a ditch, Olivia had to add, “Well, I have sand in Area 52!” Betsy announced, “I can just ride home in my underwear,” but Lily reminded, “You’re not wearing underwear.” The girls had worn their bathing suits in the car on the way to the beach, but Betsy had forgotten to include panties among the items in her change of clothes. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to control side-splitting laughter and deliver Lily’s friends safely to their parents.

We would be wise to teach our daughters that Area 51 is very special and secret, should remain a mystery to outsiders, and can only to be visited by one who has the highest level of security clearance. ~ cck

We’re redoing our front yard. It’s only a hair bigger than a postage stamp and only seems to be able to sustain crabgrass, bermuda, and weeds. We are abandoning grass completely and gunning for a Monet-ish garden.

We continue to be the bane of the neighborhood. Last Fall, I sprayed the whole yard with Round-Up, still thinking we might attempt grass. We went with this dead look for about six months. This Spring, a lovely crop of weeds sprang up. Then I reconnected with a friend from high school who has a master’s degree in landscape architecture. She agreed to help us out. Her first act in transforming our dirt and weeds into a Monet painting was to dump a truck load of topsoil in the front yard and a truck load of mulch in the driveway.

In case you don’t have boys, you may not fully appreciate the lure of a huge mound of black dirt on an eight-year-old’s psyche. After we finished homework, Silas, Lily, Silas’ two neighborhood buddies, and I began spreading dirt with an assortment of shovels, pitch forks, rakes, a borrowed wheel barrow, and a wagon. We all anticipated Paul’s enthusiasm and gratitude when he saw his army of zealous helpers. My understanding was that Paul was coming home early to help spread dirt. Instead, we welcomed home a tired, grumpy daddy who was not early.

Paul’s love language is “quality time” (The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman). That means he feels loved and demonstrates love by doing things with the people he cares about – camping, hiking, going to a ball game or movie, going anywhere, really, as long as we’re together. Paul often works in the yard alone (not on the grass), but he truly enjoys the “quality time” opportunity yard work offers.

Not today.

He looked on our questionable landscape team with utter bewilderment. He proceeded to ask why we had done this and why we had done that. After some sort of unkind muttering to Paul which our little gardening crew witnessed, I, furious, sent all the kids to the back yard. I stomped around putting tools and wheel barrows away, secretly vowing not to touch the yard ever again, as long as I live. Paul, equally brooding, at least in my imagination, went off to mow what little grass we do have.

The three boys had a little squabble in the back yard, and not being in much of a peace-keeping mood, I sent everybody home. I wonder if they thought I had gone insane. They generally believe I’m sort of a fun mom.

Not today.

I walked into my room to freshen up so I could cook dinner and found both Lily and Silas, still FILTHY, lying on MY bed watching television. I lost it. I unleashed all my wrath on my pumpkins, turning off the television in the middle of a favorite program (Phineas and Ferb is the most hilarious cartoon ever created!), shouting all sorts of admonitions for having grungy feet, hands, clothes, and everything on MY bed, evicting everyone to pursue showers. Lily started bawling, “I just helped you for four hours [it was actually more like two]. Why are you being so mean to me?” I did confess that I was mad at Daddy, not so much at her, but I did want her nasty self off MY bed.

I was banging and tossing things around in the kitchen when Paul appeared. “I was trying to speak YOUR love language” is as far as I got. I realized someone else was in the kitchen with us, but I thought it was Lily. She was behind me, so I only saw her enter in my peripheral vision. I suddenly realized it wasn’t Lily; it was Julie.

Julie is a missionary kid we got to know last year at RVA. Her parents also worked at the school and are some of our dearest friends. Paul has known her parents longer than he’s known me. When Julie decided to go to Wake Tech for college, we invited her to live with us. That’s why she was in the kitchen; she lives here.

God sent Julie to the kitchen at that precise moment! Before I could lay into Paul with all my hurt feelings and “You can do the *$%@# yard by yourself from now on,” Paul and I both fell out laughing. Julie had no idea she had circumvented an argument. Later she told me she was thinking, “How cool that they’re talking about the love language book.” She recently read the love language book, and like I felt when I first read it, she thinks it’s the greatest insight into relationships since the creation of marriage.

Thanks to Julie, I wasn’t mad any more. We’ve had the movie Fireproof  from Netflix for over a month and still haven’t watched it. We joked during dinner that perhaps we should watch it now. Later, we were able to have a civilized conversation about the yard debacle. The truth of the matter is, very little is worth going to war over. And having a college student live with you is good for the soul on multiple levels. ~ cck

The Finleys have partnered with LifeSong for Orphans, a non-profit Christian ministry dedicated to help meet the needs of orphan children around the world. As a non-profit, LifeSong can receive donations on behalf of Katya and the Finleys and provide their supporters with a tax deduction. Contributed funds go towards the adoption fees that will exceed $25,000, an impossible amount for a family of eight living on a small church’s pastor’s salary.

Sometimes we don’t even realize when we encourage others. Lily and Silas won the NCAA pool at Paul’s office. The pool administrator joked that they should start calling it the Koning Kids’ College Fund. Two or three years ago, Silas finished second after Lily had made a stellar showing along the way. They chose to give 10% of their 2009 winnings towards the expenses of the Finleys adopting Katya. I wrote Cindy so she would know that the majority of my check was actually from Lily and Silas, not me and Paul. Little did I know how much that information would encourage her. Visit her blog for her shout out to Lily and Silas!

My point is not to teach your children to gamble, and God will bless them, so they can bless others. I simply hope to persuade you to encourage others today. You never know who may need a little cheer, hope, or faith. You never know how a kind word, smile, or crazy story will remind others of God’s love and faithfulness. Who needs your encouragement today? To whom can you send a quick e-mail with a few words of comfort? Can you easily double the dinner you’re cooking tonight for supper? If so, who would be blessed by a meal? Little or big, it matters not. You have great power to bless others. How will you use your newly realized super power? ~ cck

If you have a message of encouragement for the people, please speak.
~ Acts 13:15

Encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing.
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:11

Encourage one another daily, as long as it is called Today, so that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness.
~ Hebrews 3:13

One day I was musing with my friend Laura about the wreckage we call our family room. I told her about all our cool souvenirs from Africa that I would love to use to create an Africa-themed room – gorgeous Coptic crosses from Ethiopia; ebony, soapstone, and wood carvings; batiks; colorful kangas and kikoys; an interesting collection of knives, swords, and other weapons; Arab chairs hand crafted in Lamu; gazillions of kikapus (baskets) every shape, color, and size; endless photos of African wildlife captured by none other than my multi-talented husband. I commented to Laura what a warm, fun room it could be if I had any sort of imagination to use all our special African keepsakes.

“You should post your room on Rate My Space. You would definitely get on the show.” Of course we wouldn’t get on the show. Who are those people who end up on the HGTV shows anyway? Laura managed to convince me that our goals for the room and the story behind our intentions are interesting. She persuaded me that our history of living in, working in, falling in love in, and taking our children to Kenya would create a unique, episode-worthy angle. Laura argued that “they” wouldn’t be able to resist our story that has inspired our dreams for the family room/play room/office/ex-junk room. Who “they” are remains an elusive mystery.

Suddenly, I found myself in the unlikely position of posting the awful embarrassment of the aforementioned room on the World Wide Web for everyone to see my organization-cleaning-unpacking-decorating failure. We haven’t yet unpacked completely from our year in Kenya, and we’ve been home more than nine months. We’ve collected a deluge of family treasures as Paul’s father purged his life of all nonessentials (which, for this truly Dutch, former missionary, is everything other than a couple pairs of boxer shorts and a tooth brush) for his move to Michigan. We have more books, games, and crafts supplies than a single family should have. “Oh, the toys! Oh, the toys! Toys! Toys! Toys!”

You are cordially invited into the forbidden room. Here’s an opportunity to improve your self concept and confidence in the areas of cleaning, organization, and decorating. You can always remind yourself, “At least our house isn’t as bad as the Konings!” If you physically came to our home, you would be vigorously discouraged from venturing up the stairs. However, oddly enough, I’m inviting my friends, family, and even strangers up the stairs into my chaos. Please visit our family room/office at Rate My Space and give us a Poor rating. We’ll see if a high number of hits and Poor ratings produce any interest from the HGTV wizards. I wonder how many site visits actually attract the attention of the decorating deities. Maybe we’ll all find out.

If you post a comment, perhaps don’t let on that you actually know us (granted, you do know us). I imagine the HGTV chiefs may not appreciate our shameless self-promotion efforts. Thanks, y’all! ~ cck

Actually, my pie tastes just like Mrs. Newby’s, and I’m ecstatic over Lily’s appraisal because that means I’ve been making it right all these years.

Not marrying until I was nearly 31 gave me the opportunity to be involved in all sorts of activities that, had I married young, I may have missed. One of those activities was helping with my church’s middle school youth group. Through that ministry, I got to know the Newbys. They married in their 30s and struggled with infertility. They adopted their first child right before I met them.

I spent many days during grad school hanging out with Macon, eating grilled cheese sandwiches, watching her love and discipline her children, and talking about Christ and the impact He can have on every facet of our lives.

One of the many seemingly insignificant things Macon taught me was how to make a drop-dead-delicious chocolate pie. That pie has become my signature contribution at every social gathering between here and Kijabe. Sally Dillon, daughter of my good friends Ann and Chris, will practically pass out with exaggerated melodramatic elation when I appear at their door with one of my chocolate pies, so I nearly always present two or three for Dillon parties. In Kenya, I took chocolate pie to Christmas dinner. I made it for dorm girls and delivered it to friends. Every time someone new indulges in my chocolate pie, they must endure the chocolate pie story about how my dear friend Macon Newby taught me about life and chocolate pie.

I had lost touch with Macon until recently. She is Lily’s teacher at AWANA*. This week, Macon evidently brought chocolate pie for all the girls. I find it unbelievable that Lily didn’t remember that the recipe originated with Macon. I can hardly make the pie without paying homage to Macon Newby. Once while we were in Kenya, I made too many pies (if such a thing is possible) for our dorm girls, and the Konings had no business eating all that chocolate pie, so Lily and I wrapped up individual pieces of pie and traipsed all over the mission station giving them to folks, and of course, telling each recipient of the beloved pie about the beloved mentor.

I’ve always regarded the chocolate pie as a symbol for the wife, mother, mentor, and woman I’ve aspired to be. I doubt my metaphorical pie is “just like Mrs. Newby’s,” but maybe I can be encouraged that I’m at least in the same kitchen. ~ cck

Macon’s Fudge Pie

Pie crust – bake at 400 degrees until brown (approximately 5 minutes; I actually never do this.)

Mix:
1 stick melted butter
2 eggs
1 cup sugar
3 TBSP cocoa
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 – 1/3 cup plain flour (I always use 1/3)

Dump in pie crust. Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 25 minutes or until the middle does not jiggle (I always bake for 35 minutes, at least; if you’re baking more than two pies at the same time, 40 – 50 minutes may be needed, but watch the crust so it doesn’t burn).

*AWANA stands for “Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed” from 2 Timothy 2:15. AWANA is an interdenominational Christian program during which children memorize scripture, learn about God, play games, and have fun.

We do, of course, remember the ill fate of this particular marriage. Princess Buttercup is an uncooperative participant, and Prince Humperdink has self-serving ulterior motives, all of which contribute to the immediate demise of this big-screen union.

However, in recent months I’ve grieved over the number of failing marriages among people I know, care about, and love. One of the most disturbing facts about some of these situations is that Christian couples appear to be pursuing temporal, easy solutions to spiritual problems. Research indicates that the divorce rate among Christians is, indeed, slightly lower than the national average, but not significantly, and the actual results and findings appear to depend on who’s doing the research.

Why are Christian marriages failing? What could Paul and I possibly be doing right that others seem to have missed? Paul and I certainly are not marriage rocket scientists. We are not, nor have we ever been, any sort of example to be followed in the area of successful marriage. We don’t read books about Christian marriage, nor do we attend marriage classes or conferences. Like the members of most marriages, we don’t always communicate clearly, kindly, or, sometimes, at all. We misjudge each other’s motives. We neglect spending one-on-one time strengthening our marriage. We’ve gone through seasons of being ordinary or perhaps even boring. We’ve struggled financially. We keep score.

Granted, most of our friends whose marriages are crumbling are doing so for much more serious reasons than the slights and benign insults experienced in the Koning household. In a few cases, affairs have been the major factor. In others, allegations of or substantiated abuse complicate already emotionally charged situations. I agree with a nationally well-known psychiatrist that adultery, addiction, and abuse are legitimate reasons to pursue divorce.

Can the God of the universe overcome these sins against another? Can the Creator really heal and restore? God will not circumvent the natural order of His creation, so there will always be consequences. However, the God who turned absolutely nothing into a beautiful, elaborate universe; the God who delivered Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego unsinged from the fiery furnace; the God who brought Lazarus to life three days after his death and burial; the God who conquered the power of sin and death at the cross and victoriously reigns on high today–that same God can and will bring new life and even great joy to a dead marriage. Even in situations involving the three A’s–adultery, addiction, and abuse–if both partners are sincerely working to overcome these evils, God will bring renewal to these couples. We know of marriages who faced serious challenges, persisted, and are flourishing.

One couple faced ongoing unfaithfulness. The husband confessed his sin and begged for his wife’s forgiveness. While it wasn’t easy and took months, maybe years, to sort through the carnage, this marriage is stronger today than ever. They even counsel other couples confronting infidelity.

While I realize some don’t recognize this as having a negative impact on marriage, pornography addiction is, in my opinion, a devastating force in marriages. Unfortunately, I know of many situations in which a husband has struggled with pornography or other sexual temptations. These men’s wives were willing to prayerfully work through the issues of mistrust and rejection. Once again, in nearly every case of which I’m aware, these marriages have emerged stronger than they had been previously. One woman told me recently, “I have the marriage I’ve always dreamed of.” A couple of years ago this same woman was crying her heart out over her husband’s obsession with pornography. Jesus Christ really can redeem circumstances we believe to be irreparable.

Perhaps most confusing to me are the Christian marriages ending because of boredom or because the euphoric feeling of love has waned. John 3:16 does not say, “For God so loved the world that he had lots of warm, fuzzy feelings.” “For God so loved the world that he gave!” Contrary to what our culture tells us, love is not a feeling; it is action. And God loves those who are hostile to Him, hate Him, curse His name, despise everything about Him. He loves them enough “that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” If God loves me that much, even when I was His enemy, certainly I can love my husband who’s pretty darn nice to me most of the time, even if our marriage is fraught with imperfection.

So what’s mine and Paul’s secret to blissful happily ever after? I’m not really sure; it’s a bit fuzzy, to tell you the truth. The first thing that comes to mind is loyalty. We promised to love, comfort, honor and keep each other, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon one another our heart’s deepest devotion, forsaking all others, and keeping ourselves only unto the other as long as we both shall live. We knew what we were getting into. We signed up for this. If I’m bored or melancholy, it’s my responsibility to fix it by pursuing appropriate treatment or to work it out with Paul one way or another. In no way do I mean to minimize the effects of depression; in fact, I have been diagnosed with clinical depression in the past. No, depression is not a legitimate reason to walk out on Paul. The endorphins (or, as the case may be, lack thereof) in my brain are the problem, not Paul. Loyalty is one of the givens in our marriage. No matter what happens, we’re both in it to the end.

Secondly, I think we err when we blame our relationship troubles on our spouse. Certainly, with the help of God’s Holy Spirit, the two people in the marriage are the only ones who can address their specific struggles; however, the enemy of our souls is the one with whom we battle. We are deceived if we believe we will be happier or more content once we leave a seemingly unpleasant situation. Satan’s only purpose among those who have put their faith in Christ, because he has lost all claim to our immortal souls, is to make us miserable. He comes only to steal our joy, to kill all hope, and to destroy our peace (John 10:10a). He cloaks his schemes with false promises of contentment and fulfillment. If we chase after these empty claims, we will be left even more hopeless than we imagine we are within the marriage. He causes us to misinterpret our spouse’s voice tone. He goads us on as we are easily annoyed by habits that once charmed us. He tempts our eyes to glance towards greener pastures. All the while, he is chipping away at the very foundation of our marriages, completely annihilating our vows one self-centered irritation at a time. No, we must not allow Satan to win this battle. We must allow Jesus Christ to bring full, abundant life to our broken marriages (John 10:10b).

Finally, I think our friend “The Impressive Clergyman” is much wiser than he appears. Well, maybe not. He exhorts the strange pair before him to “tweasure your wuv.” Marriage is a gift from God. It was His idea, created for the purpose of blessing His children. Marriage is sacred. Catholics uphold marriage, along with baptism and the Holy Eucharist, as a sacrament. Marriage is, indeed, a precious gift to be treasured. If it doesn’t seem to be worth treasuring today, the almighty God of the universe can and will transform that which seems hopeless, desolate, empty, or dead. He is the God of the impossible. ~ cck

Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” ~ John 16:33

Retrouvaille (pronounced re-tro-vi with a long i) is a French word meaning “rediscovery” and is a marriage program offered in communities across the U.S. and abroad. The initial weekend experience and subsequent series of 6-12 post-weekend sessions offer tools needed to rediscover a loving, vital marriage relationship.