We didn’t use an umbrella that first night. Just stood in the rain, got wet, and got to know each other. He tried to kiss me. I pushed him away. I was a senior in high school. Scott a freshmen in college. Two kids who fell in love fast and crashed and burned hard.

We dated for a rocky year, spent nine months apart trying to go our separate ways, then wobbled through another year engaged before we married.

Still young.

And then practiced poverty together.

Our first big married fight was over a pumpkin. Scott said we couldn’t afford it. I said, who gets through October without a pumpkin on their porch? I cried, Scott got the pumpkin, and I gave it to the little boy next door whose dad said they couldn’t afford a pumpkin. Who gets through October without a pumpkin on their porch? Certainly not a little boy.

We couldn’t afford a clothes dryer, either. The washer we found at Goodwill. Our Staffordshire Terrier tore our clothes off the line time after time. That dog could really jump. When you’re young and in love, you can do without a lot of things on an army base in Alabama.

It didn’t take long for a baby girl to join us, and the army to deploy us. We grew up in Germany. Hated France together. Loved and ate our way through Italy. Did I say we ate in Italy? Made a baby there, too.

Stood silent at the Berlin wall. Played in the snowy Alps. And returned home to America with another baby girl in my belly.

 

Four years later, with Scott flying helicopters and me writing for a newspaper, we finally had a baby boy. A colicky little boy. And life got hard. With three small children, both of us working jobs we loved maybe more than we loved each other at the time, life got hard.

After ten years, we had a lot more money, but hungry careers were eating our marriage. Scott lived in a helicopter, always flying. I wrote a novel, won a contest, and went to Hollywood. The book never got published, the movie never got made, but miraculously our marriage survived.

To resuscitate our love, Scott stopped flying and I stopped writing. Sometimes you have to just breathe in and out for each other for awhile. We sold our two-story house, moved into a small rental, and walked humbly into church because we knew we needed Jesus.

A few years later, with our marriage sunny again, Scott became a teacher, I grew a garden, and we grew another baby. Then another baby. And another baby. Then Scott really, really wanted one more baby with both of us in our forties.

We found the faith for this large family in Jesus.

After twenty-five years of marriage– our silver anniversary next week– I want to tell you there’s hope and healing and new life for your marriage in Jesus.

Most of us marry for happiness. But the truth is: a spouse can’t make us happy. Not every day. Not all the time. Not when the baby’s crying, the dishes are soaking, and bills in white envelops cover the counter like snow.

Happiness is a flower, not the roots of a relationship. Flowers bloom in season. Not every season of your marriage will be happy. Storms strengthen trees because trees sink their roots deeper into the soil when harsh weather hits. Remember this when your marriage gets rough.

Sink your roots deep into God.

And pray.

Ask God to help you. To protect and strengthen your marriage.

A number of times in my own marriage, I’ve reminded myself, I stood in the rain with Scott that first night. I can stand in the rain again.

The Bible says, “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends” 1 Corinthians 13:7-8.   

If your Valentine’s Day isn’t happy, remember Jesus loves you with an everlasting love. He won’t give you chocolates, flowers, or sweets, but he will give you life, abundant life if you fall in love with him.