Beyond Ordinary: When a Good Marriage Just Isn't Good Enough (13 page)

GOD’S PATH TO CHANGE

God’s desire from the beginning has been to live in covenant with us. His desire for your marriage is for you and your spouse to live in covenant with each other. All the contracts in the world—with their rules, contingencies, and stipulations—won’t give you an extraordinary marriage.

Through Jesus, we have the promise of a new covenant. Maybe you need to have a new covenant in your marriage, as well. Maybe you need to stop trying to create an extraordinary marriage from an ordinary contractual system. What would be different if you started living and loving from a covenant?

While it might seem like a cliché, the best picture of a covenant marriage is found in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7:

This description isn’t something that just sounds good when read at weddings. It is God’s plan and God’s vision for a covenant marriage. Marriages built on contractual agreements will always fall short of these covenant ideals.

But you might be wondering, what if your husband doesn’t do his part? It is a risk. What if your wife still takes advantage of you? It is a possibility. What if your spouse doesn’t change his or her behavior, even though you removed your conditions and stipulations? It could happen. But look at it this way: you can’t keep doing what you’ve always done and expect a different result.

That was the biggest mistake Trisha and I (Justin) made. We thought we could do more of what we’d always done and have a different marriage. We only improved at being dysfunctional. We only got better at ordinary. Trisha and I found ourselves surrounded with everything that should have given us an extraordinary marriage: a great home, good friends, a Christ-centered church, a growing ministry, and a marriage that appeared healthy. Despite all of that, I needed more. Despite all of that, Trisha couldn’t convince me it was enough.

QUESTIONS

1. Which best describes your marriage relationship: covenant or contract? In what way(s) does this description fit?
   
2. What role does discontentment have in your life and marriage?
   
3. In what areas do you feel entitled in your marriage? How does this sense of entitlement reveal itself?
   
4. What steps can you take to make your marriage more covenant than contract?
   

The story of Samson (Judges 13–16) is a story of unrealized potential. Yet Samson was always presented in a heroic way in Sunday school. He was a champion sent by God to rescue God’s people. He was like He-Man before there was He-Man. Yes, he got his eyes plucked out and lost his strength, yet God still allowed him to push the pillars of the pagan temple over and crush the Philistines. He sacrificed himself to save his people.

When that story was told in Sunday school, it made little kids everywhere want to lift weights, grow their hair long, and knock down buildings with their bare hands. But when you read his entire story, you realize it is the story of what might have been. It is the story of a man who, because of his own poor choices, sacrificed something God never intended him to sacrifice.

An angel appeared to Samson’s parents before he was born and predicted his birth. The angel commanded Samson’s mom to not
drink any alcohol or eat any forbidden food. In addition, the angel instructed Samson’s mom to raise Samson as a strict Nazirite (see Numbers 6). Nazirites were to make three commitments:

• they could not cut their hair;
  
• they could not drink alcohol; and
  
• they could not touch a dead body.
  

Submitting to God in this Nazirite vow would be the source of the strength Samson needed to accomplish the mission God had given him. His commitment to the vow would allow him to realize his potential and save Israel from its enemies.

But while Samson had tremendous physical strength, he had weakness of character. When giftedness outweighs character, implosion isn’t a matter of
if
but of
when
. Samson was impulsive. He saw something, he desired it, and he did whatever he had to do to get it.

Samson saw a Philistine woman. He went home and told his mother and father that he wanted to marry her. His father protested and encouraged him to marry an Israelite, but Samson insisted that he marry the Philistine. “Get her for me,” he said. “She is the one I want.”

See. Want. Get.

A lion attacked Samson, and the Bible says that he ripped the lion apart with his bare hands. By any standard, that is impressive. Later he went back and saw that bees had made a hive in the carcass of the lion. Samson scooped some honey out of the lion’s carcass and ate it, even giving some to his parents. But Samson wasn’t supposed to touch anything dead, and he made a decision in this moment that he would repeat throughout his life: he chose not to tell his parents that he had broken his vow and touched a dead animal.

See. Want. Get.

Some would call Samson driven, but his drive was often irresponsible. While being driven can be a good thing, it can also be destructive. Sometimes it isn’t the big decisions we make that rob
us of our potential, it is the small compromises along the way, the impulsive things we do that don’t seem like that big of a deal but that bring consequences far bigger than we could imagine. Samson is a picture of hidden impulses and uncontrolled desires that rob people of their potential.

Samson’s pattern of see, want, get was unfortunately reproduced in our marriage, and it had similar potential-destroying effects.

JUSTIN:

Potential
is a loaded word. In my mind potential has always been tied to significance. The greater your potential, the greater your ability to be significant. All through college, my professors told me how much potential I had. Usually, though, I was told this in a conversation that took place after I had missed too many classes, gotten a low grade on an exam, or turned a paper in late. It was more about what could have been than the potential I had realized.

When I got into ministry, the word
potential
came up often. After I would speak on a Sunday morning, an older person in the congregation would tell me how much potential I had. What I heard when they tossed out
potential
was, “Someday you’ll be a good speaker.” Potential reared its ambivalent head in performance reviews as well. I felt cursed at times because the gifts and abilities I had were enough to impress those I worked for, but the weaknesses and blind spots were enough to frustrate them. “Your potential is off the charts. If only you were more organized.” “You have so much potential. If only you were more responsible.” Potential felt like a backhanded compliment. In my mind, when someone wanted to tell me how far short I had fallen from their expectations, they used the word
potential
. I had the potential to be a great leader, pastor, and speaker. Achieving my potential became the pursuit of my heart. I was more concerned with what I could accomplish than with who I was becoming.

Potential was a pretty big word for our marriage as well. Our
marriage had tons of potential. Two gifted people in love with Christ, his church, and each other. Now six years into our marriage, I felt like my role as a husband was more a picture of potential lost than potential realized. “You’d be a really good husband if you were home on time.” “You’d be an amazing husband if you would pick up your underwear.” “You’d be a perfect husband if you could calm my fears and take away my insecurities.” Not realizing potential professionally or in my marriage didn’t just make me feel like a failure, it allowed me to see how close I came to being successful, yet still falling short.

It was especially difficult when I compared my potential to Trisha’s. While Trisha was feeling valued in our ministry and church in Kokomo, I was feeling taken advantage of. As people in the church grew in their respect for Trisha, I felt disrespected by staff members and volunteers. While Trisha was realizing her dream of being known and knowing others, I feared being found out.

One night after youth group, one of the volunteers in our ministry asked Trisha if she could come over to our house. I arrived home to find her and Trisha sitting on the couch talking. I quickly realized that she wasn’t there to talk to Trish; she was there to talk to me. Courageously and humbly, she talked to me about my role as a pastor and how much she looked up to me. But she had noticed several times in the past few months when she knew I had stretched the truth or had not been entirely honest.

She was right. It wasn’t that I was lying about big things. I had exaggerated parts of a conversation. I’d left out details of a story. I’d added information that would make me look good or sound spiritual or impress people. All of it was small and subtle, but this volunteer had spent enough time with me to notice, and my credibility was questioned as a result.

She told me that she had talked to our senior pastor about it, and he had encouraged her to speak the truth in love to me in the presence of Trisha. In that moment, I felt caught. Trish had already questioned my ability to share all the details of a conversa
tion. She knew I would frequently fabricate or embellish a story while I was speaking. We had talked about it, and I had blown her off. I thought she was overreacting. But now, not only did my wife know the truth about me, the senior pastor knew, and I was convinced that he would tell the entire staff. I didn’t feel known—I felt found out.

I stood at a crossroads in the area of integrity. I could own my mistakes and admit my faults, or I could try to talk my way out of them.

The next day I had a meeting with our senior pastor, and I tried to justify the partial truths I had been telling. I wasn’t sorry for what I had done; I was sorry I had been caught. This church didn’t value me, I thought. They didn’t know what a great gift they had in me. They only wanted to point out my weaknesses. It felt like everyone there was out to get me, and I wanted to leave. A new start was what I needed.

TRISHA:

It’s true that pastors, professors, friends, and family saw great potential in Justin, but I was his number one fan.
Twilight
fans may choose Team Edward or Team Jacob, but I was Team Justin all the way. The potential in Justin and my passion for team living were like fuel to a fire, and I loved seeing Justin shine brightly.

When Justin said we were moving from Illinois to Ohio, I knew we would do great things. When we moved from Ohio back to Illinois, I knew we could do even greater things. But when we moved from Illinois to Indiana, I knew we would do the impossible, and in our first three years in Kokomo, we felt like we were doing just that.

Still, I knew that some of the problems Justin had faced before were making a comeback. But I thought that because our ministry—and our family—was thriving in Kokomo, there was no way Justin would want out.

When Justin mentioned, out of the blue, that he was talking to
a church in Nashville about a youth pastor position, Team Justin was about to become a one-on-one contact sport. No longer was I for Team Justin. I was becoming his enemy.

I loved our home, our ministry, and our church family. I couldn’t imagine leaving. Justin framed the conversation about the move saying that it was God’s will, but how could God be calling him to something greater when what Justin was already doing seemed so great? I knew Justin still had untapped potential, but did we really have to move to Nashville to see him achieve it? It was difficult to discern what was God’s will and what was simply hidden impulses and uncontrolled desires. Then again, who was I to get in the way of the bigger picture that God might have for us?

In keeping with team spirit and being obedient to what we thought was God’s will, we moved again—but this time not as teammates. I had checked out of the game altogether.

JUSTIN:

The more my character came into question, the more I felt disrespected by our staff and by Trisha. They didn’t truly appreciate what I was accomplishing. At the same time, my best friend and our student ministry worship pastor, Kerry, came to tell me he was resigning in order to move to Colorado to help start a church. Kerry was instrumental in the growth we were experiencing in Kokomo. Students were drawn to the culture of worship Kerry had created. He was going to be missed. I had no idea how to replace him.

One afternoon my senior pastor came into my office and handed me a phone number. He told me that a friend of his was on staff at a church in Nashville and that he might be a good contact to find Kerry’s replacement. I had no other leads, so this seemed like a great idea.

I called the number Mark gave me. “Hello, this is Pete.” The name on the paper was Eddie. Maybe I had the wrong extension?

“Hi, Pete,” I said. “This is Justin Davis. I’m looking for Eddie.”

“Eddie just resigned,” Pete said, “and I’ve taken his place.”

This was odd, but I was desperate. I shared my situation with him and that I was looking for a student worship leader for our ministry. I told him of the growth we had experienced over the past two years and that this could be a really good position for the right person.

Pete said, “I’m new here, and I honestly don’t know of anyone who would be a good fit. I am looking for a youth pastor here, though, so if you know of anyone I could talk to, please let me know.”

We talked a few more minutes, and he told me about the church and the position. I told him I would let him know if someone came to mind.

A few days later, Pete called me back. “Have you given the youth pastor position any more thought?”

“Not really,” I said. “I don’t know anyone who would be a good fit.”

“What about you?” Pete asked. “Why don’t you apply? You’d be perfect for this position.”

I was a bit taken aback. I told him, “If you don’t mind hiring a divorced youth pastor, then I might apply.”

“You’re divorced?” Pete asked.

“I will be if I try to move my wife again,” I said, only half joking. “It’s just not going to happen.” We hung up that day, and I didn’t give Pete’s suggestion much thought.

A few days later, Pete called me again. We talked about the church he had planted in Kentucky and his philosophy of ministry. We had a lot in common, and we got along really well. A few days later, we talked again. I started thinking that Pete appreciated me more than the staff I worked with. I was already dissatisfied in Kokomo, and I thought my situation would probably be better in Nashville. Pete’s church was four times the size of the one I worked at. Bigger was better, I thought, and I could finally get the respect I deserved.

After about a month of talking to Pete behind Trisha’s back,
I finally approached her and told her of our conversations. She wasn’t happy. No, that’s an understatement. She was
furious
. I told her I wasn’t asking her to move—yet—because I didn’t know whether God was in this possibility.

Within a few short weeks of my confession, I wore Trisha down to embracing the potential of moving. We would be at a bigger church. We would have more influence. We could do greater things for God’s Kingdom. Starting all over would be hard, I reasoned, but it would be worth it. God could use us in more impressive ways.

It is so easy to equate following your own desires with pursuing God’s will, and that is exactly what I’d done. In my thought process, I wanted to be noticed and respected more by leading a larger ministry. Because of this, I had moved my wife from a church that loved her, from friends she was attached to, and from a community we were invested in to a place without any of those things. And what was so damaging to our marriage was that I presented it all under the umbrella of God’s will. My attitude had become, “I deserve this, so this must be God’s will.”

Shortly after moving to Nashville, we came to another crossroads. From the moment we arrived, we noticed there was turmoil and turnover on the staff of the church. Within a few months of our arrival, nine different staff members resigned. I remember standing in the auditorium on Sunday morning shortly after we moved and whispering to Trish, “I’m so sorry. We made the biggest mistake of our lives by moving here.” She didn’t say anything, but tears streamed down her face during worship.

Because of the conflict on our staff and the constant tension and transition I was dealing with, I became very disconnected at home. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to invest. I felt numb—in our marriage and in my relationship with God. I didn’t want to have to feel anything. Trisha had had all she could take.