Meyu Changkiri
Twenty years ago, my wife and I entered into marriage. As we mark this milestone, we do so not with a sense of personal achievement, but with gratitude - for life, for companionship, and for the grace that has sustained us through seasons we could not have imagined at the beginning.
Long marriages are often admired from a distance. What is less visible are the quiet struggles, the unexpected losses, and the steady perseverance required to walk together when life unfolds differently from what was planned. Over time, we have learned that marriage is not something one conquers; it is something one grows into, shaped slowly by responsibility, patience, and commitment.
Before we were married, both of us had received theological training. Perhaps because of this, we were not given formal pre-marital counselling. Yet even then, we felt the need for elders who would speak honestly about married life - not only about love and companionship, but also about loss, disagreement, and endurance. Looking back, it is clear that many couples enter marriage with sincerity but without fully discussing how they will face challenges together.
One lesson that became clear early on is that the relationship between husband and wife is central to the stability of the home. Careers, responsibilities, and social roles may change over time, but marriage remains the anchor. When that relationship is nurtured, it becomes a source of strength; when it is neglected, everything else is affected.
Marriage is sustained not merely by emotion, but by friendship. Friendship means listening without rushing to fix, respecting differences, and choosing cooperation over competition. It is the quiet decision to walk together as partners, especially when circumstances are uncertain.
Marriage should also not be entered into merely for material security or outward comfort. It is not a bed of roses. Those who expect ease may find themselves unprepared for its demands. Shared values and a shared sense of purpose provide a firmer foundation than wealth or status, especially when life becomes difficult.
Within the early years of our marriage, we experienced repeated loss within our family - arriving with little space to recover between them. Grief became part of our shared learning. We were learning to live together while learning to grieve, and to carry responsibility sooner and more heavily than we had anticipated. There were no quick answers, and little time to pause between events.
We share this not to invite sympathy, nor to suggest that suffering carries special merit. Hardship is neither a sign of moral failure nor evidence of divine absence. Rather, those years taught us humility - an awareness of how limited our control truly is - and the importance of standing together when answers are few.
At times, grief also revealed how easily pain can be misunderstood, adding quietly to the burden of those years. Such moments taught us restraint, patience, and the necessity of learning not to define ourselves by the opinions of others.
In our helplessness, we explored every practical option we knew. Over time, however, we learned that peace does not come from control, but from acceptance and surrender - acknowledging what cannot be changed and choosing to respond with faithfulness rather than resentment.
Marriage, especially in such seasons, teaches perseverance. It teaches responsibility. No one rescues a marriage from the outside; growth begins when couples take ownership of their situation, communicate honestly, and commit themselves again and again to walking together. Blame may offer momentary relief, but it erodes trust. Endurance, though costly, strengthens it.
Marriage also teaches that forgiveness is not a single act, but a repeated discipline. In prolonged seasons of stress, misunderstandings are inevitable. Learning to apologise, to listen, and to extend grace becomes essential - not for perfection, but for survival.
Over the years, we have discovered that marriage is sustained by small, faithful decisions rather than dramatic moments: choosing silence instead of argument, continuing daily routines when strength is low, remaining present when solutions are unclear. These ordinary choices, repeated over time, quietly shape a resilient partnership.
These experiences also shaped how we listen, how we respond to others’ pain, and how carefully we hold our responsibilities when serving families and communities.
In time, we were entrusted with a daughter and a son, whose presence brought both responsibility and quiet joy to our shared life.
Twenty years later, we do not claim to have mastered marriage. We are still learning. But we have learned this much: marriage is not about avoiding hardship, but about facing it together. It is not about having all the answers, but about remaining committed when answers do not come.
As we look ahead, the future remains uncertain, as it always has been. Yet we face it with gratitude - for shared years, for lessons learned, and for the grace that has sustained us thus far. Marriage, at its best, is not a story of ease, but of faithfulness: the steady choice to remain present, to keep learning, and to walk forward together with hope.
