On Tuesday, September 16, 2025, we celebrate twenty-five years of marriage. That sentence lands with both the weight of time and the lightness of grace. We didn’t arrive here by perfect planning or flawless execution. We arrived here by choosing—again and again—to return to the table, to tell the truth, to forgive, to laugh, and to keep Jesus at the center.

I used to imagine anniversaries as fireworks and sweeping gestures. Sometimes they are. More often, they’re a Tuesday night with dishes in the sink, someone who needs help with something, a text that says “on my way,” and a quiet moment to look at each other and remember: this is the life we promised to build, one ordinary day at a time.

1) The real miracle is endurance.

Falling in love is a spark; staying in love is stewardship. The miracle isn’t that two imperfect people found each other—it’s that they keep showing up for each other. We’ve had seasons when we were shoulder-to-shoulder, charging the same hill, and seasons when we were back-to-back, covering each other from in the midst of life’s battles. God met us in both.

2) Forgiveness is a rhythm, not a single act.

We’ve apologized badly, and we’ve apologized better. We’ve learned to say, “I was wrong,” and then give each other room to heal. Forgiveness doesn’t erase consequences, but it does open a door for hope to walk back in. Jesus taught us that. He keeps opening doors we would have nailed shut.

3) Small is the new grand.

Grand gestures are wonderful. But the quiet things—the hot coffee, the prayed-for meeting, the “text me when you get there,” the hand on the small of the back at church—those stitch a life together. Love is heaped up in teaspoons.

4) Unity doesn’t mean uniformity.

We haven’t always agreed on pace, plan, or paint color. (Can I get an amen?) Unity for us has meant honoring the same mission: to love God, love each other, and love the people He puts in front of us. When we aim our hearts in the same direction, the rest gets easier to sort out.

5) Laughter is holy maintenance.

There were years when laughter was thin. Then we remembered how to look for it, invite it, and protect it. Joy isn’t a denial of reality; it’s proof that grace is still at work in it.

God’s Design for Marriage

Marriage was never our invention—it was God’s. From the beginning, He set it apart as a covenant, not a contract. His design was that husbands would love their wives as Christ loved the church, and wives would respond with trust and respect, both walking in step with Him.

I have seen my husband live that design every single day. He has demonstrated unconditional love to me just as God tasked him with. It’s easy to follow a man so full of humility, who demonstrates courage by leading us and others with his heart instead of his head—even when he’s encouraged to do the opposite—because he knows that’s not consistent with the Word of God.

He is a man I can trust to have the integrity to behave in public the same way he does behind closed doors, in public conversations and private ones. He constantly seeks to build and grow people, even at great cost to himself, never tearing them down or demeaning them.

He is a true servant leader in word and action—one who doesn’t make decisions to make things easier on himself but easier on those he leads, just as Christ did.

That is the man God gave me. And that is the design God gave marriage: love that lays itself down, leadership that serves, and a covenant that reflects Christ Himself.

6) We needed the third strand.

“Two are better than one… and a cord of three strands is not quickly broken.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9–12) We are not the heroes of our story—Jesus is. When we braided Him into our everyday: our calendars, our money decisions, our parenting, our apologies, our celebrations—that’s when endurance turned into peace.

A Prayer for Us (and for You)

Lord, thank You for the gift and grit of marriage. Teach us to serve more than we demand, to listen more than we defend, and to forgive as we’ve been forgiven. Continue to be our third strand—our strength, our wisdom, and our peace. Amen.

If you’re celebrating an anniversary this year—or clinging to hope in a hard stretch—drop a comment. I’d love to pray for you and cheer you on.

“What’s the point in raising your hand if you don’t raise it high?” Today, I’m raising mine—high—for the promise we made and the God who’s kept us.