I’ve shared this story from the pulpit numerous times. Occasionally, I’ll present a shorter, more lighthearted version as a joke. Here’s the joke: I like my second wife a lot more that I liked my first. People laugh, and I allow them to, because humor has always been a great coping mechanism, especially in difficult situations. However, I don’t want this joke to be the sole version of this story you ever hear from me. The actual story is far more serious and offers valuable insights that a mere punchline could never provide.
Donna and I met at a camp meeting in Kentucky. Our relationship progressed rapidly, and we dated for eleven weeks before getting married on January 27, 1990. At the time, she was eighteen, and I was twenty-two. On May 23, 1991, we welcomed our twin daughters, Nikki and Susie, into the world, and on December 7, 1994, we had our son, Jeremiah.
In the early years of our marriage, we dedicated ourselves to full-time evangelistic work and then began our lead pastoring and growing a small church. This meant a demanding schedule, significant financial strain, and the added pressure of caring for the families of those we ministered to, while our own family was quietly struggling in the background.
I want to be honest about this because I have never believed that vague testimonies are helpful. It was not infidelity on either of our parts. The pressures of ministry and the actions of some individuals who claimed to be Christians and our inability to process these "challenging saints" were the primary causes of the damage to our marriage.
I refer to the years that followed as "the shelf years" because that’s precisely how they felt. After enduring a decade of marital struggles, we separated and eventually divorced. For approximately two years, there was no apparent path back toward each other. I won’t pretend that season was brief or straightforward. It wasn’t a single challenging period that we overcame. It was a multi-year journey, most of which transpired long before anyone who watched us ever witnessed the restoration.
If you’re interested in a comprehensive account of the factors that led to our divorce, I’ve written about it in detail in my book, “Divorced, Remarried, Restored.” I’m not going to repeat everything here because I’d rather focus on the aftermath and the true cost of our journey, as those are the aspects people ask us about the least and most need to hear.
Restoration wasn’t a single grand gesture. It didn’t happen because one of us finally said the right thing at the right moment or caved into the other. Instead, it came from a long list of small, unassuming decisions, exercised repeatedly, long after it would have been easier to simply walk away and let the divorce be the final word.
On September 11, 2001, the same day the Twin Towers were attacked, Donna and I were remarried. We’ve described that day as bittersweet, and it truly is. A day of national grief transformed into the day our own family was reunited. We’ve been living in the miracle of that restoration ever since.
One element neither of us has discussed adequately is how much the years spent on the shelf taught us about the words we used when addressing each other. It also made us become aware of the words we used when speaking about each other. These words were being exchanged in the privacy of our own home long before either of us felt comfortable saying them out loud in public. Proverbs 18:21 states that death and life are in the power of the tongue, and I assure you that a struggling marriage will teach you that verse, whether you are prepared to learn it or not.
We delved deeper into this principle in our book “Divorced, Remarried, Restored,” and it directly applies here. There’s a distinction between stating a fact and proclaiming a truth about it. For a considerable period, our marriage was undeniably broken. However, this fact didn’t negate the enduring truth of Scripture: God’s grace is abundant for every repentant heart, and beauty can emerge from ashes. Honesty in acknowledging both the hard truth and the deeper revelation, without allowing either to overshadow the other, was a crucial aspect of our journey back to home.
I’ve been teaching for years that divorce doesn’t make you unworthy of God’s love or negate the calling He has placed on your life. Donna and I are living proof of this, however, I want to be cautious here because I’m not suggesting that restoration always means remarrying the same person. Sometimes it doesn’t, and that’s not a sign of failure of faith. What I’m saying is that God’s grace doesn’t run out on a broken marriage, regardless of the shape the restoration takes.
Your marriage is not beyond what God can restore. Our marriage was not either. It didn’t happen because we were stronger or more spiritually inclined than anyone else going through a similar situation. It happened because we persistently chose to persevere in the fight, and because God is faithful to complete His work, even when the timeline extends beyond our expectations.
If this resonates with where you are, my book, Divorced, Remarried, Restored, tells the fuller story. And if you want to go deeper into what it looks like to walk daily in God's presence, whatever season your marriage is in right now, I would love to send you a free copy of my ebook, Presence Driven.
Remember, the Word will work if you work the Word.
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