A Marriage Reflection on Walking Together Toward God

Over the last weekend, my wife and I celebrated nineteen years of marriage. Nineteen years by civil law, seventeen within the Church.

We first got married in a small private ceremony. Her fiancé visa required us to wed within ninety days of her arrival here in America, but our pastor at the time wanted six months of preparation before he would marry us in the church. We had to do something because we didn’t want her to be deported.

Two years later, after moving to a different parish in a different diocese, we stood before the altar on the same date as our civil marriage and celebrated the Sacrament of Marriage in front of the eyes of the Lord.

That second “I do” was different. It was the moment we invited God into the center of our promise.

But the years between those two vows were not easy.

Two days after our first wedding, we were in a horrific accident. We were scarred in more than one way, but we walked away. Someone else did not. In an instant, joy turned to shock and grief. The weight of that tragedy settled over us and quickly became the first wedge in our marriage.

I didn’t know how to process the depression that followed. I felt isolated. She felt alone. And even though we were newly married, there was already a distance between us that we didn’t know how to bridge.

A year and a half later, wanting to make it up to her in some way, I contacted the priest at a church we had been attending on and off and began the process of having our marriage blessed in the Church. I thought it was for her. I didn’t realize it would also be for me.

We went through the process and finally stood before God to make our vows again. Only later did I understand how much I needed that sacrament, even if I couldn’t see it at the time.

Even with the Church wedding under our belts, the struggles didn’t vanish. Depression lingered. Resentment crept in. Isolation and loneliness became familiar. On top of that, she wanted a child and that took us eight years before our son was conceived. We loved each other, but there were thorns we could not seem to pull out.

Our faith suffered too. My own struggles pulled my wife away from the Church. She was a good Catholic back in her home country, going to every Solemnity on the calendar. But because of me, she stopped going.

We knew our faith, but we didn’t live it. Easter and Christmas were the only times we might go to Mass. Life became busy and tired, and God seemed far away.

When our son was born, there was a slow shift. As he grew, and especially when he entered second grade and began preparing for his First Reconciliation and First Communion, we started going to Mass every week. We wanted to be able to answer his questions about what he was learning in school, so we began to show up. But something more was stirring.

Later that same year, I went to a Welcome Weekend retreat at our parish. I didn’t know it then, but that weekend would change my life.

I found forgiveness for things I thought I could never let go of. I let God back into my life in a way I had never known before. That renewed faith began to change how I saw my wife, my marriage, and myself. She noticed it too.

Slowly, we began to heal. Her faith, which had been dimmed by years of strain, began to grow again. We started praying more. Serving more. Talking more. Our marriage wasn’t perfect, but we were walking together toward something greater than ourselves.

That’s the thing about marriage in the Church. It isn’t simply a legal agreement or a partnership for convenience. It is a sacred covenant that binds a couple together under God and within His Church. It is a lifelong exchange of vows, rooted in the love of Christ for His Bride, the Church. This covenant does not only join two people. It unites them with God Himself, calling them to walk together toward Heaven. In a way, it becomes its own trinity: husband, wife, and God.

Our story isn’t unique. I’ve seen the same quiet drift in other couples. It rarely starts with a blow-up fight. More often, it’s a slow fade. One keeps going to church. The other stays home. At first, it’s just a difference in Sunday routines. But over time, it can start to feel like you’re living in two different worlds.

I’ve heard people say it’s almost like the Church becomes a rival for affection. A hidden third party. And if that hurt is left alone, it can grow into resentment. I’ve watched it weigh on marriages until joy seems hard to find.

Prayer gets crowded out. Conversations shrink to bills, schedules, and who’s picking up dinner. I’ve tried to pull someone along with guilt before. It doesn’t work. Hearts don’t open through pressure. They open when they’re invited. Sometimes the most powerful witness is living your faith with quiet joy and letting God work in His own time.

It’s even harder when kids are involved. I’ve seen children take the side of the parent who doesn’t go to church, especially if it means staying home on a Sunday morning. That deepens the divide, not just between husband and wife, but in the family’s spiritual life.

I’ve felt that tension in my own home. It’s hard to keep going when you feel like you’re the only one trying. But every time you show up, you plant a seed. You may not see it sprout right away. You may not see it for years. But God has a way of making those seeds grow.

When a couple shares the same faith, the Sacrament of Marriage becomes more than a promise. It’s a lifeline. The vows aren’t just for the easy days. They take on their deepest meaning when love costs something. That’s when the covenant comes alive.

It’s the kind of love that says, “I’ve seen your worst, and I still choose you.”

I know there are couples living in that in-between space right now. One believes. One doesn’t. If that’s you, I want you to hear this: you are not alone. Others are walking the same road. And more importantly, God is walking it with you.

For me, nineteen years of marriage have taught me that unity in faith isn’t about thinking exactly alike. It’s about heading toward the same place. Even if your steps aren’t in sync, the destination is still Heaven. That’s what we promised each other before God. And it’s worth every prayer, every patient conversation, every choice to love when it’s not easy.

If you’re in that place today, keep going. Pray for your spouse. Pray for your children. Keep the light on. Trust that God is at work, even when you can’t see it. There is help. There is hope.

Marriage is His gift. And when He is at the center, hearts can find their way back, to each other, and to Him.