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Let us take marriage as a specific example of how suffering can be misinterpreted and misapplied when viewed from a human-centered perspective rather than through the lens of God’s eternal purposes. From the outset, it’s essential to note that God’s perspective on suffering often differs from ours. Where we see inconvenience, pain, or the unraveling of what we hoped life or marriage would be, God usually sees opportunity—opportunity for growth, for repentance, for transformation, and ultimately, for His glory to be displayed in vessels that are made weak so that His strength might shine through.
Many professing Christians wrongly equate harmony with blessing and difficulty with divine absence. Yet, Scripture gives us the opposite pattern. Sometimes God’s path for His people is through hardship, not around it. We must not forget that it pleased the Father to crush His Son (Isaiah 53:10). The crucifixion was not a tragedy in heaven’s eyes; it was a triumph. And yet, in our natural thinking, we recoil from anything that causes discomfort or exposes our frailty. We resist the very instrument that God may be using to sanctify us.
What we often fail to see is that the road to peace and contentment does not bypass suffering; it passes through it. While suffering is not a required condition for a harmonious marriage, it is often the crucible through which deeper unity, humility, and Christlikeness are forged. I am not suggesting that suffering in marriage always leads to a restored relationship in this life, nor am I saying that all hardship will end with visible resolution. Even Paul, the apostle of grace, carried a “thorn in the flesh” that the Lord chose not to remove. He asked three times for it to be taken away, and God’s response was not healing, but grace.
“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).
Paul’s embrace of suffering was not passive resignation; it was active trust. He saw in his weakness the opportunity for Christ’s power to be magnified. Many Christians, however, continue to view suffering through the lens of self, rather than the lens of God’s glory. From a biblical standpoint, suffering encompasses at least three key truths:
Your difficult marriage may not be a curse to escape, but a classroom in which God is teaching you how to glorify Him more fully. This perspective does not mean you should passively accept abuse or neglect, but it does mean that your first response should not be to bail out, but to ask, “How can I honor the Lord in this circumstance?” The Lord’s purpose in suffering is not to punish His children, but to refine them, and often our relational trials are precisely the tools He is using to that end. When we align ourselves with God’s methods—especially in suffering—we will begin to experience something unexpected: peace and contentment, even in the midst of life’s storms. The reason? Because our primary objective is no longer our own comfort, but God’s glory. And many times, it is suffering that helps us see and embrace this objective most clearly. God’s ways are rarely intuitive to our fallen minds; in fact, they are often counter to everything we assume to be true.
These paradoxes are a picture of the gospel. God’s economy runs on different principles than ours. While we try to avoid discomfort at all costs, He invites us to endure it for the sake of knowing Him more deeply. Sadly, few Christians view the world this way. Isaiah 40:22 tells us that God sits above the circle of the earth, and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers. We often flip this truth. From our perspective, we imagine ourselves to be the center of the universe, and God becomes a tool in our hands to fix what is broken. Rather than living in His world, we expect Him to live in ours. This inversion makes God optional—something to be used rather than Someone to be worshipped.
This tension is especially evident in counseling scenarios. A spouse often enters a session hoping to get their marriage fixed by Christ rather than for Christ. They want relief, not refinement. They want results, not righteousness. However, those who truly desire to glorify Christ in their marriage will embrace the long and painful road if it means knowing and reflecting Him more. The one who wants their marriage fixed by Christ is impatient and demanding. The one who wants it fixed for Christ is willing to endure, to repent, to grow, and even to suffer because they know that the glory of God is a greater prize than the temporary peace of man.
Several years ago, a woman came to counseling devastated and weeping. She was broken over her husband’s long-term pattern of sin and his utter disregard for their marriage covenant. He was a long-standing member of a motorcycle club that held monthly meetings and, on occasion, participated in large coastside rallies that lasted for weeks. During these extended trips, he would completely give himself over to the desires of the flesh. He slept with multiple women, drank heavily, partied deep into the night, and lived as though he had no wife or children at home. His lifestyle was not hidden; his wife knew the details, and the grief of it bore down on her soul daily.
Meanwhile, she remained at home, faithfully raising their children, managing the household, and nurturing her spiritual growth. Her question when she came to me was not full of bitterness or vengeance. She simply asked, “How do I respond to my husband and his actions?” She was not looking for permission to escape; she was asking how to walk faithfully within the mess. We prayed together and spent hours talking through her pain, the gospel, and her marriage. After much reflection, she came to a clear and sobering conviction: she believed she was the closest person in his life who could influence him toward Christ.
She chose to stay, not out of co-dependence or resignation, but from a deliberate decision to live according to a God-centered view of suffering and the redemptive love of God. She interpreted her marriage not as a trap to escape from but as a mission field ordained by God. For eighteen years, she endured his unfaithfulness—eighteen years of betrayal, loneliness, and spiritual tension. And then, through a providential chain of events, God broke this man. He was humbled, convicted, and came to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. Today, he is a deacon in a local church. His adult children are now married and following Christ, and his wife—the same woman who bore the burden of those years—now serves joyfully beside him in ministry. She did not just get her marriage “fixed”; she gained a front-row seat to the transforming power of the gospel.
In another situation, a different woman approached me about her adulterous husband. Her concerns were similar in circumstance but different in tone. What stood out to me immediately was the nature of her question. She did not ask, “Can I get a divorce?”—a question many ask, often hoping for permission to go forward with what they’ve already decided. Rather, she came with a heart that desired biblical clarity. She wanted to know the best way forward, not the easiest. Her concerns were centered on how to raise their children, whether reconciliation was still possible, and how to remain faithful to the Lord in the process. When I asked her why she hadn’t immediately sought a divorce, her answer was both simple and profound: “Because I love him, and I want to glorify God through this marriage.” Like the first woman, she saw beyond her pain and held to the hope that God could still use her to point her husband to Christ. Her heart was not fixated on personal justice, but on spiritual restoration—for herself, her husband, and her children.
Both of these women exemplify biblical wisdom in action. They were not blind to their suffering, but they chose to interpret their suffering through a Christ-centered lens. Their hope was not in their husbands’ behavior, but in God’s purposes. They believed they were not living in a world of random events, but in God’s world—a world governed by His sovereignty, shaped by His will, and saturated with His presence. They were willing to have their marriages restored for Christ, not merely by Him. And here’s the result: the first woman was granted both restoration and transformation. Her husband repented, her family was restored, and her endurance bore fruit. The second woman’s husband, however, chose to divorce her. He walked away, unwilling to repent. But she still gained something far greater than she lost: a deeper intimacy with Christ, a sharpened testimony, and the assurance that she had lived honorably before her God.
When we encounter suffering in marriage, our reflex is often to escape, fix, or fight. But as we’ve seen in the lives of these two women, there is a different kind of response—one shaped not by cultural norms or personal comfort, but by a deeply rooted theology of suffering. These stories are not easy. They are uncomfortable, even countercultural. And they should not be carelessly applied to every struggling marriage. Their choices to remain—amid betrayal, abandonment, and unmet expectations—were not made because suffering is inherently virtuous or because staying is always required. Rather, their decisions flowed from a Spirit-empowered conviction that their pain was not wasted. They believed that even in the fire, God was at work—in them and, potentially, in their husbands. Their perseverance was not about preserving the institution of marriage at all costs. It was about magnifying the glory of God in the crucible of relational sorrow.
But let us be clear: these narratives are not mandates. Not every spouse should stay. Not every case of marital difficulty is a context for redemptive waiting. There are situations—especially involving unrepentant abuse, adultery, or abandonment—where leaving may be the wisest and most biblically faithful course. Discernment, counsel, and a robust ecclesiology are essential in those decisions. Still, what these women show us is powerful: suffering can be formative, not futile. The culture teaches us to interpret pain as a sign that something is broken and must be discarded. But Scripture invites us to see pain as a platform. For some, it will be the stage where the Lord displays His redemptive power. For others, it may be the means through which the Spirit forms Christlikeness in deeper ways than comfort ever could.
Our call is not to judge their decisions or to universalize their paths. It is to consider what kind of God could produce such hope, strength, and worship in the midst of such hardship. He is the same God who walks with every suffering spouse—not as a distant observer but as a compassionate Redeemer.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
